Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(63)
“Mostly what Mister Hawkins could do if he stirred himself—repair her boats and that sort of thing.”
“At the rate your money is accumulating, you’ll not be with us too long,” Shanna commented.
“Money has never been my problem, Shanna. Considering events of late, I would say ‘twas women, or more aptly perhaps, woman, as my problem is only one.”
Ruark’s gaze was now direct, challenging, almost insulting, raking her from her trim and shapely ankles adorned in white silk stockings showing beneath the lifted hem of her skirts, and passing over the narrow waist cinched tightly in the pink-and-white-striped gown, and then more leisurely over her round bosom. The neckline of the bodice was demure with a froth of delicate white lace at her throat. Still, Shanna felt undressed beneath his stare. Self-consciously she plucked at one of the lace inserts in a wide, voluminous sleeve.
“Do you regard me, then, as your problem?”
“Occasionally, Shanna.” His countenance grew serious as he met her gaze. “For the greater part, I regard you as the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“I cannot for the life of me believe that I am your problem, Ruark,” Shanna chided him. “I have scarcely seen you these past weeks. I would say you overstate your case.”
His lips spoke no word, but his eyes clearly expressed his wants. The bold stare touched a quickness in her that made her feel as if she were on fire. It flamed in her cheeks and set her fingers to trembling as she stared back at him. He was bathed in a light cast by the setting sun and was aglow with deep golden colors that rippled along his hard, lean frame. He was Apollo cast in gold, and she was no less shaken by the sight of him than by his slow perusal.
“You must have been raised with the savages,” she snapped in verbal defense. “You seem to have an aversion for wearing clothes.”
Ruark chuckled softly. “At times, Shanna my dearest, clothing can be a hindrance. For instance,”—his eyes again caressed her from toe to top—“a man finds them very troublesome when his wife wears them to bed.” His smile grew wicked. “Now that bit of a thing you wear to sleep in, ‘tis close to naught. It wouldn’t be much of a bother to slip a woman out of it.”
The color in her cheeks deepened. “You have your nerve, wandering beneath my balcony like that!”
Abruptly Shanna turned back to the desk as if dismissing him and flipped a page that might as well have been blank for as much as she saw on it.
A soft light shone from a small, high window set in the wall above the desk, outlining her profile in a radiance that made her seem warm, almost angelic. Ruark’s eyes touched the hair that tumbled in gold-veined cascades down her back. Just to stand this near to her was a heady wine. He saw the arch of her brow, the delicate line of her nose, the sweet, full curve of her lips which he longed to caress with his own, the firm but gentle thrust of her jaw and the slim, white column of her throat where her hair fell away, baring its ivory softness. His own blood thudded in his ears, and his feet seemed to move of their own volition until he stood close behind her.
Shanna could feel his nearness in every fiber of her being. The manly odors of sweat, leather, and horses invaded her senses. Her pulse raced, and her heart took flight. She wanted to say something, do something to turn away his attention, yet it was as if she were frozen and could only wait for his touch. His hand moved toward her, his fingertips brushed her hair—
Hurrying footsteps came along the wooden planks of the front porch, and a small woman’s shape moved across the windows toward the door. Ruark straightened and moved quickly away, and when Milly Hawkins came bursting through the door, he made a show of sorting through a pile of hats. The desk was hidden from view behind a stack of small kegs as one entered from the front, and the girl completely missed Shanna’s presence in her hasty glance about the store. She saw Ruark’s bronzed back and ran toward him, clutching a bundle of his bondsman’s garb against her breast. He had no choice but to face her as she rushed into an explanation.
“I saw ye coming into the village, Mister Ruark, and I thought to save ye from havin‘ to fetch yer clothes we washed for ye.”
“I pass near your house on the way home, Milly. I could have picked them up then.” He gave her a lame smile and over her head caught Shanna’s brittle regard of them.
“Oh, Mister Ruark, that’s all right. I weren’t doing anything an‘ I thought I’d save ye some time.” Milly tossed her raven curls coyly, and her wide, black eyes touched him everywhere. Boldly she reached out and ran a hand along the lean ribs.