Kissing in the Dark (18 page)

“It seems he got in a scuffle with a couple other children last week.” Duke pushed to his elbows and turned so he could see her. “One of those men I was talking with after church this morning was Ike MacEnroy, Adam’s teacher. MacEnroy broke up a commotion in the school yard last Monday, and said Adam was disrespectful to him.”

“He’s never been disrespectful to anyone, including me.”

“I’m repeating what MacEnroy told me,” he said. “He didn’t seem that upset over the incident, and I suspect the man admires Adam’s intelligence. Archer was the one demanding that I punish Adam for attacking his children, Melissa and Nicholas.” Faith gasped. “Adam would never attack a person unless they were threatening to harm one of us.”

Duke couldn’t picture Adam attacking anyone either. Especially if unprovoked. Those scratch marks on Nicholas’s neck didn’t come from Adam. “Archer’s story is one-sided. Since Adam hasn’t told you about this, don’t mention it to him just yet. I want to confirm the story with my niece Rebecca, who was also involved, then I’ll talk to Adam.”

Faith leaned her hip against the table. “So this is why Adam avoided you today” She buried her face in her hands. “What next? I can’t handle another problem.”

She looked exhausted. And scared. Duke pushed to his hip and swung his legs off the table so he was sitting. He put his arms around her and made her sit beside him. “Let me handle it with Adam. I’ll be fair. You know that.”

She sighed and lowered her forehead to his shoulder. “I could get used to having you around.”

And he could get used to holding her in his arms. He liked the feel of her body against him, the warmth of her breath on his bare chest. He stroked his fingertips over her back, and she melted against him. He knew how good it felt to have the tension rubbed from his sore body, and he wanted to give her that pleasure. With light pressure, he kneaded the muscles in her neck and down between her shoulder blades.

“Mmm . . . that’s nice,” she said, relaxing her breasts into his chest, and sending a firebolt of lust burning through him. He could make her feel so much better if she would get in that tub with him, if she would let him make love to her.

He wanted to keep her in his arms, but she deserved better than his selfish fondling. “Lie down and let me rub your back.”

“I’m supposed to be doing that for you right now,” she said, her voice so slow and dreamy it kicked his lust up another notch.

“But you need it more than I do.” He kissed her forehead. “Lie down.”

“I won’t get back up if I do.”

It was easy to angle his shoulders and pull her down onto the table with him. He lay on his back on the cool wood, with her lying on her side, half on his stomach, staring down at him with shock in her eyes. She braced her hand on his bare chest.

“What are you doing?”

“Making it easier to rub your back,” he answered, demonstrating by rubbing his palm down her spine.

She lay against him, her knee braced on his thigh, her breasts pressed to his chest, her mouth inches from his, and her eyes full of suspicion. “I think you’re taking liberties with me because I let you kiss me.”

Her accusation stung. “I think someone in your past made you distrustful of men, and I’d like to beat the heck out of whoever did it. I won’t deny having a hundred thoughts about making love to you on this table and in that bathtub, but I won’t force you into anything, Faith. Not ever.”

She perched against his side, looking ready to bolt.

“You’re fully clothed, and so am I in every way that counts.”

“We’re not married.”

“We’re courting.”

“And unchaperoned.”

“A widow doesn’t need a chaperone,” he countered.

“Because she knows where this situation can take her.”

“It won’t.” He held her chin and forced her to look in his eyes. “You can trust me.”

“Then let me up.”

He sighed and lifted her off him, bringing them both back to a sitting position.

He expected her to move away, but she stood and faced him. “I trust you,” she said softly. “But I’m afraid we’ll get carried away again and I can’t . . . It’s improper for us to . . . I like your kisses too much.”

Her confession warmed him. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her between his knees. “It was my fault that we got carried away. I won’t let it happen again.”

Down went her lashes, and she leaned her forehead against his chest. “Duke?” He liked the sleepy softness of her voice. “I changed my mind about the sword swallower being the best show.”

He’d forgotten the circus.

“The clowns were the best.”

He stroked her back, pleased that the clowns had made Cora and Adam laugh, but even more pleased that they’d made Faith forget her troubles for a while.

“Thank you for taking us to the circus today,” she said.

“I should be thanking you,” he replied sincerely. “This is the best day I’ve had in . . . I don’t know how long.”

She lifted her head. “Truly?”

“Truly,” he said, liking the way her gaze roved across his face and lowered to his mouth. Their eyes met, and his heart pounded while he waited for her to decide on their next step. Would she kiss him or torture him by starting his shoulder treatment?

Her lips parted and she lifted her mouth to his. The kiss was soft, tentative, lingering, and it drove him wild and made him want to take it slower and deeper until they were naked and making love. But he clenched his fists and ordered his body to settle down, letting her decide where the kiss would lead, knowing it wouldn’t lead far enough, but craving every second of what she was giving him.

o0o

Faith thought her heart would explode from the pressure building inside it. She had never initiated a kiss before, but oh! She liked kissing this man.

Three men at the brothel had stolen kisses, once when she was thirteen, twice when she was eighteen; and Jarvis had romanced her into accepting his kisses, then misled and pressured her into forfeiting her virginity. Never had she felt free to pursue a man at her own exploratory pace. She liked being able to take her time now, to feel the texture of Duke’s lips with the tip of her tongue, to hold her mouth an inch from his and feel his warm breath caress her lips.

His hard chest muscles bunched beneath her palms, both exciting and scaring her. He could easily take what he wanted, and his shaky breathing and dark, intense eyes said he wanted more than her kiss. But she drank in the masculine beauty of his face, feeling a deep urge to give him more.

He nibbled at her lips, drawing her mouth to his, softly at first, then deeper and slower, sweeping his tongue into her mouth in a seductive rhythm that melted her against his hard body. The birds in her stomach soared to the sky and dove to the sea in a mad, repetitive rush that stole her breath. Her nipples hardened and she longed for the caress of his hands in all the places he was making her ache. But she forced herself to break the kiss. Widow or not, he would expect her to retain some shred of respectability, which she
must
do at all cost.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, his arms encircling but not imprisoning her. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“For the kiss?” she asked, as shaken and breathless as he appeared.

“For stopping before you drove me insane.” He opened his eyes and winked at her.

Nothing could have pleased her more than that teasing wink. To know he could enjoy kissing her like this, and could stop without growing petulant or angry as Jarvis had, told her everything she needed to know about Duke Grayson. He was a man worthy of a better woman than a prostitute’s daughter, but Faith was going to claim him for herself. And she would do whatever it took to make sure he never regretted it.

Chapter 16

Faith was in the house folding clothes with Iris when someone knocked on the door.

“If that’s Adam or Cora clowning with us, I’ll hang them on the clothesline,” Iris said, heading to the door.

Faith smiled and shook her head. If it was one of the children, Iris would wrangle a kiss or a hug from them before sending them back to play. For all her starch, Iris was a softie.

When she opened the door, a man nearly as tall and wide-shouldered as Duke stood on the doorstep, looking like an overgrown farm boy in denim jeans and a blue cambric shirt. He wasn’t catch-your-breath handsome like Duke or his brothers, but his boyish good looks brought a spark to Iris’s eyes that put Faith on guard.

“Well, well, well.” Iris smiled and leaned against the door frame. “Are you lost, farm boy?”

His gaze swept down her body and back to her face in a slow, seductive appraisal that said he’d rather be inspecting Iris with his big hands. Faith and Iris were used to being ogled, and at the brothel they knew exactly why the oglers came knocking. But this handsome, overgrown farm boy wasn’t looking to buy anything; he was here to sell. To Iris.

He braced his muscled forearm against the door frame and gave her a wolfish smile. “I’ve been waiting all my life to knock on a door and find you on the other side.” he said.

In all the years Faith had known Iris, no man had ever left her speechless. Until now. Until this stranger brazenly leaned in her door with that honest face and those blue eyes that declared Iris his even before asking her name.

He tilted his head. “Are you not telling me your name for any particular reason?”

Iris lifted her chin, but Faith could see her aunt was rattled. “I’m Iris Wilde— with an ‘e’.”

He chuckled, “Well, Iris Wilde with an ‘e’, are you married?”

“I’ve never found a man worth marrying.”

“Well, you’ve found him now, Miss Wilde. I’m Patrick Lyons. I suppose you’ll want to be courted before we marry?”

Faith nearly gasped aloud. What a rascal!

But Iris seemed to like his too-forward outrageous manner, because she laughed. “Mr. Lyons, what are you delivering to my door other than blarney?”

He glanced at Faith, then leaned closer. “It’s Pat, or Patrick, if you prefer. I have a delivery for Faith Wilkins.”

Faith lowered her lashes, embarrassed that she’d been shamelessly eavesdropping. But with that heated introduction, how could she not?

“Oh . . . of course,” Iris said, but Faith heard the disappointment in her voice. She obviously liked the man and enjoyed his flirting. Too much, by Faith’s measure. Iris had promised to behave herself, but that promise had flown on the wind the minute Patrick Lyons had come knocking.

Faith waited for someone to speak to her, but the odd silence made her lift her head. Both Iris and Patrick were gone.

Ridiculously curious, she went to the door. To her shock, a wagon stacked five feet high with lumber was being backed toward the house by a team of the biggest horses she’d ever seen. When the driver stopped the wagon near the door, she ducked back inside.

Patrick came in carrying an armload of planks, followed by Iris, who was swinging her hips like she used to do at the brothel.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” Patrick said with a nod at Faith. “Mind if I use this empty corner?”

“I’m Mrs. Wilkins, and I didn’t order lumber,” Faith said.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wilkins, but Sheriff Grayson said to deliver it here.”

“You know the sheriff?”

“He and his brothers are my best friends.” Patrick nodded to the corner. “Mind if I put this down before I strain something important?”

Iris laughed. “Go ahead. That corner has been lacking something from the day we moved in.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “I like you, Iris Wilde with an ‘e’.”

“Likewise, Mr. Lyons.” She gave him a flirtatious smile that made Faith’s heart hammer with fear. What on earth was Iris thinking? Flirting with a stranger, especially a man who knew the sheriff, was appallingly inappropriate.

Another similarly dressed man carried in an armload of fresh-smelling wood. He stood three inches shorter than Patrick, who Faith estimated at nearly six feet, and was lean with sinewy forearms and a weathered face that suggested he was at least forty.

“This is Cyrus Darling,” Patrick said, pausing to introduce him to Faith and Iris.

The man set down the wood then tipped his cap to greet them.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Darling,” Faith said.

Iris gave a pleasant nod, but a smile broke across her red lips and she winked at Faith. “I can just hear Tansy greeting Mr. Daaahlin’.”

“Hell of a name for a man to be stuck with,” Cyrus said, “but I’ve owned it for forty-five years and suppose I can survive a few more years of taunts and grins.” The man radiated kindness and a quiet serenity that told Faith he was not only comfortable being alone, he preferred it.

“Why, Mista Daaahlin’ sounds like a perfectly handy name to me,” Iris said, mimicking Tansy’s southern drawl, and horrifying Faith. “Cyrus, dahlin’, thank you for carrying in that wood. If I were your wife, dahlin’, I’d tell you to forget the wood and give me some sugar.”

Pat’s hoot, and Cyrus’s chuckle, interrupted Iris’s performance, but Faith stewed. Her aunt had promised to act like a lady, but here she was flirting like a prostitute with not one but two men!

“Thank you, Miss Wilde,” Cyrus said. “That sweet southern touch makes it a handy name indeed. Guess I need a southern gal who can appreciate it.”

“Then you must meet Tansy.” Iris headed for the door, but turned back, her dark eyes lit with mischief. “Mr. Darling, do you sing by chance?”

Patrick’s laughter boomed through the building, and he clapped a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder. “I’d be careful how you answer that, Cyrus. That’s one of those tricky female questions that can trip a man right into marriage.”

“I’ve avoided marriage this many years, I don’t see how my worst vice could hook me into it.”

Iris clasped her hands together in front of her chest. “Mista Dahlin’, if singing is your worst vice, Tansy is going to adore you.” With a laugh, she ducked outside leaving Faith with two strangers and a fury she could barely control.

o0o

“Faith isn’t going to like this,” Adam said, holding a stud in place while Duke nailed it into the wall.