Promises Prevail (The Promise Series) (23 page)

He shrugged, stroking the smooth skin of her cheek where her dimple would be if she were happy. “Maybe, but it sure can be a useful philosophy if you want to grab hold.”

He dropped his hand back to his side. She didn’t say a word or look at him again. She just kept twisting her hands under the blanket and chewing on her lip. He turned on his heel and entered the bath.

* * * * *

She was going to have to leave the bathing room sometime. Jenna knew that. The last fill on the tub had exhausted the hot water and while the air surrounding her was warm and scented with the rose bath oil Clint had dumped in, the water itself was getting chilled. The problem being she didn’t know what she wanted to do when she got out.

She’d never heard of a man giving a woman a choice when it came to anything. Her father had ruled her house with a heavy hand and her husband had made her father look positively benevolent. Having the protection of a man’s name without having to suffer the attentions of a husband was every woman’s dream. It was her dream. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too good to be true.

Which meant she had to think. She had to make this work for her. Not just for today, but down the road, because as of yesterday she was Mrs. Clint McKinnely, married to one of the most powerful, respected men in the territory. She’d asked God for a miracle and He’d seen fit to send one to her in the form of Clint, and she wouldn’t be offending the Almighty by snubbing his offering. Or treating it shabbily. Which she would be doing if she took on all the trappings of being Mrs. McKinnely without keeping up her end.

She stood. Water poured off her body in a cascade of sound. She glanced at the door while grabbing a towel off the rack, half-expecting Clint to come through it like Jack always had. Jack had liked catching her vulnerable and naked. Liked turning her pleasure to humiliation. Seemed to relish the power he felt when he did. But there were no sounds of footsteps and the knob didn’t rattle.

And now that she thought on it, there wouldn’t be. By all accounts, Clint wasn’t like that. He was a hard man. A dangerous man, but he wasn’t a bully. Tales about his ruthlessness when it came to criminals were widespread and the whispers that followed him when he came to town were many. Enough so that she knew he was hard on women, but no one ever complained that he had a heavy hand, which was more than she could say for Jack. And he was fair. Clint McKinnely was scrupulously fair.

She squeezed out the thick rope of her hair and then wrapped it up in a towel. She took the second towel and dried off her shoulders. Stepping out of the tub, she wrapped the towel around her and probed her knowledge of Clint. He was a sucker for little things. He’d held Brianna for all of two minutes before he was under her spell. He liked kittens and fed them rather than killing them. And more importantly, he tolerated their affection. He’d been demanding in the barn, but not cruel. And to be fair, she’d started it. And last night, he’d been kind, not beating her when she’d unthinkingly refused him. She could do a lot worse. It was scary that he was so different in that she couldn’t predict what he’d do, and it was possible that she could inadvertently trigger his temper. But, if she were careful, and did as he asked, there would be no reason to anticipate him losing his temper.

She pulled the towel from her hair. And tonight he’d asked for the right to pamper her. And she’d turned him down. She closed her eyes. Her husband had wanted to be nice to her, and she’d rejected him. Oh God, how stupid could she be? She hung the towel on the hook. She’d prayed for the Almighty to send her a husband, one who would be kind to her, and when he had tried, she’d told him no.

She had to fix that. She eyed the doorknob. It looked so innocuous. A simple black metal latch, but if she did what she was thinking, there’d be no going back. No changing her mind. She bit her lip so hard it brought tears to her eyes. The knob blurred out of focus.

If she did this, and Clint took it wrong, there would be no forgiveness. She reached for the handle, doubt eating at her gut. She’d never been bold and this went against everything she’d been taught, but she honestly didn’t know what else to do to fix the mess she’d made. She turned the handle, lifted the latch quietly, let the towel drop, and stepped through the door.

Clint was sitting in the big leather armchair to the right of the settee. His forearms were resting on his knees. He cradled a cup in his hands. The scent of coffee filled the room along with a hint of wood smoke from the stove. On the table before him was a tray with a porcelain pot and another cup. Bright light spilled through the windows, the sun amplified by the freshly fallen snow. The harsh light accented his hawk-like profile, the firm set of his lips, the harsh set of his jaw. He did not look like a happy man.

Oh God, this was such a bad idea. Such a stupid plan. She was always coming up with stupid plans. She grabbed for the towel. Clint looked up. The cup dropped from his hands, and his eyes, those black eyes lit from within with a searing heat.

“Jenna?”

She swallowed hard, all her courage gone right along with her voice. She straightened, the towel dangling from her hands.

She stood there while he looked her over, vividly aware of every bulge, every scar. Such a stupid plan. He called her name again, his drawl deeper, hoarser.

“Come here, Sunshine.”

She wanted to. Knew she had to, but her feet wouldn’t move. She was frozen in the door, the soft scent of the rose bath salts she’d used wafting around her, incapable of doing anything except drawing short hard breaths and panicking.

Unbelievably, Clint smiled. A genuine smile that softened his hard face and took it from handsome to mesmerizing. He rolled to his full height with a lazy flex of muscle.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked as he came toward her.

It took him only ten steps to get to her side. She knew because she counted them, trying to focus on anything except her pounding heart and her inability to breathe. She expected him to stop, but he didn’t. He just kept on coming until she was in his arms, her cheek pressed against the hard muscles of his chest and her body flush against his. All she could think of to say was, “You changed your clothes.”

“And you lost yours.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“Please don’t make me.”

His big hand cupped her head, dwarfing her, overwhelming her with the gentleness of his touch when she was expecting roughness.

“Can I guess?”

She nodded, the button on his shirt scraping her cheek. Anything was better than trying to make her voice work again.

“Would you be trying to tell me you want me?”

“I want our marriage to work.”

Which wasn’t exactly the same thing, Clint knew. Jenna’s muscles were like rock under his hands and she was shaking. She was scared to death. He just wasn’t sure of what.

“So you decided to step out here and catch my eye?”

“You said you wouldn’t touch me.” He couldn’t tell if she was complaining or reminding.

“Unless you asked,” he qualified.

There was a long pause and then a harshly croaked truth, “I don’t know how to ask.”

He suspected she didn’t know what to ask for either, but this was a start and he could teach her what she needed to know. He let his hand slide down to the base of her spine, urging her closer. Her flesh was soft under his hands. A silky, delicate, womanly expanse he’d love to run his mouth over.

“Lean into me, baby.”

She did immediately. He took advantage of her distraction to swing her up in his arms. Her squeal and grab made him smile.

“I won’t drop you, Sunshine.”

“But…”

He shook his head at her. “No buts.”

His words didn’t result in an appreciable lessening of her grip, but since holding him so tightly kept her breasts squashed against him, he wasn’t going to complain.

The damp towel was wadded between them. The first thing he did after settling them on the settee was to discard it. “I don’t think we need this.”

For all that she agreed, her fingers were reluctant to let it go. He grabbed the knitted comforter off the back of the settee and draped it over her. She seemed flustered by the small consideration, but let the towel go. He tossed it in the direction of the stove. It landed on the hardwood floor.

“Oh no!” Jenna sat up straight in his lap. He had to duck her elbows as she tucked the throw around her.

He recognized that tone. He’d heard it from Mara often enough.

“What?”

She froze, looked at him, the towel, and then back at him before dropping her gaze. “Nothing.”

It was obviously something. She was practically twitching. “Out with it, Jenna.”

“The towel will stain the wood.”

“Ah hell.” If Jenna felt halfway about household things the way Mara did, he wasn’t going to get anywhere until the towel was moved. He slid her onto the settee and grabbed the towel off the floor. With a flick of the wrist he tossed it over the arm of the parlor chair. A quick glance at Jenna had him checking it again. Her lip was between her teeth and a frown pleated her brow. Son of a bitch. He took it off the chair and draped it over the handle of the stove. If she didn’t like that it was just too damned bad.

He headed back to the settee, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. From the way Jenna shrank back into the seat, he might be letting his impatience show through. He worked on gentling his expression. He needn’t have bothered. She took one look at his chest, and all the fear left her face.

“Oh my God!” Her eyes rounded in horror.

Damn! He’d forgotten about the scars. “Sorry.” He started buttoning back up.

She was off the settee and at his side, her hands undoing buttons faster than he could do them.

“No one told me,” she whispered as she parted the halves of his shirt. Her soft hands were infinitely careful on his chest. She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears and pity. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Because it didn’t matter.” And he didn’t want it mattering now. He caught her hands and pulled them away from his body.

She yanked her hands free and swatted his arm. “Of course it matters.”

He looked down to where she’d hit him. Hit him. This from the woman who ate until she vomited because he’d ordered her to.

She traced the broad puckered scar that cut diagonally across his chest and abdomen. “You got these that night, didn’t you?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“My God.”

Jenna stared at those scars that covered his hard muscled chest and abdomen. They were broad, newly healed, and had to have hurt like hell. She couldn’t imagine voluntarily enduring them for any reason. Least of all saving her. She rode the ridges of the biggest as it followed the hills and valleys of the slabs of muscle cutting across his abdomen until it disappeared beneath the waistband of his denims. She’d never thought, not once, that he’d been hurt saving her. Never thought it because she couldn’t conceive of a man doing something so unselfish. She placed her palm over the scar, feeling the smoothness of the new skin, the ridges of the perimeter and the heat and strength of the man beneath.

“My God.”

He’d endured hell for her and had never said a word, asked for a thing. Except last night when he’d asked for her trust. She leaned forward and kissed the smaller round burn just to the left of his breastbone. He could have anything he wanted of her. Anything at all.

“Son of a bitch!” Clint’s hands on her arms were rough. Not hurting, but not gentle either, as he set her away from him. “I don’t want goddamned gratitude fuck.”