Promises Reveal (10 page)

No immediate answer. She was definitely off center.

A cooler breeze crept through the open windows, riding the last shafts of sunlight, rifling through the stagnant heat of the room. Ten feet away, Evie stood braced for a fight. His wife, his partner, and more than likely the person who would be hurt most when this was all over. Too good and too sheltered for the likes of him, yet they were married. As her husband, he owed her a lot of things. About the only thing he could deliver was a little fun until the showdown came, but there couldn’t be any fun if she saw him as the enemy. “The only direction we have to go is forward, Evie.”

The face she turned toward him was completely controlled, the only indication of her distress was the way her hands fisted at her side. “Is that what you’re planning on doing? Moving forward?”

“Yes.” He held out his hand. “Want to come with me?”

She stepped back, eyeing his hand as if he were the devil leading her into temptation, and ran up against the barrier of the bed. Sunlight, still struggling to maintain dominance in the small room, accepted her into its embrace. She looked like an angel with her hair shining pure gold and her eyes glowing so blue. She nervously licked her lips. His gaze dropped to the pink fullness. A very tempting angel.

“You’re saying you don’t want to fight,” she whispered.

If he were closer he could lean down and take the fullness of her lower lip between his teeth, tease it with his tongue, catch the little expulsion of breath she’d make in his mouth, taste her pleasure in the small caress, make it his . . . “Not on my wedding night.”

Her head canted to the side, feeding his imaginings. “We’re going to fight eventually.”

Yes they would. Passionately, he imagined. His cock throbbed at the possibility. And then they’d make up, just as passionately. For a heartbeat, he pictured it, her eyes flashing defiance and invitation as she sprawled naked on the bed, her perfect breasts flushed with desire, her legs opening in challenge—welcome—as he came over her.

“More likely than not.”

That was something he was definitely looking forward to experiencing. He picked up the satchel she’d dropped. Putting it on the chair, he flipped the latch. A froth of lace spilled into the vee of the hinge. Fingering the silky nightgown, he caught her gaze. “I’d like to see you in this.”

The color in her cheeks flamed to a brilliant red. She rushed through the shadows striping the room. The chair rocked on the wood floor as she snapped the satchel closed, trapping a lacy fold in the hinge. “What you want doesn’t matter.”

He crossed to the bureau and helped himself to the decanter there. He poured two fingers of whiskey into each of two glasses. They were both going to need something to steady their nerves. He handed her one. She eyed the contents suspiciously.

“What’s this?”

“Whiskey.”

Sniffing cautiously, she asked, “Why?”

“For the shock.”

“I’m not in shock.”

He smiled. “You’re going to be when you find out what I want tonight is about all that does matter.”

“You’re trying to scare me.”

Was he? Maybe. The way she had of charging through life as though there were no consequences scared the piss out of him. Not to mention made him incredibly hard, picturing that lack of restraint set loose in his bed. He touched his glass to hers. “To a happy marriage.”

“May it be short and painless.”

Shaking his head at her stubbornness, he lifted his glass to his lips. Evie followed suit. The whiskey was smooth and burned a familiar path to his stomach.

Evie took a large swallow, immediately turned red-faced, and spit half back into her glass, gasping as the rest burned down her throat. Obviously, this was her first time indulging.

He shook his head, taking another quick swallow before reaching over to pat her back. Good sipping stock did not deserve the sputter and wheeze Evie was indulging in. “That’s no way to treat good whiskey.”

Eyes watering, she tried to give him back the glass. “That is not good.”

He took another sip of his, ignoring the glass she held out. “You’ll be hard-pressed to find better.”

“Really?”

Holding the glass up so the last bit of sunlight was absorbed into the pool of amber, he nodded. “Doc’s finest, to be sure.” He motioned with his glass. “Drink some more. It’ll settle your nerves.”

“I don’t have nerves.”

Like hell she didn’t. “Humor me. Pretend you do.”

Frowning, she accused, “You just want me drunk.”

“Nope. Drunk you’d be no fun at all. I’m betting though that you’d be a chuckler with a couple drinks in you.”

She blinked. “I can be fun without being drunk.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing it.” He motioned again. “Take another sip.”

“It was bad enough the first time.”

“The taste grows on you.”

“Now, that’s hard to believe.”

“Want to place a little wager on it?”

She perked up. “What kind of wager?”

If Evie had a weakness, it was that she couldn’t resist a dare. The tendency made her vulnerable in all sorts of ways a cad could exploit. A husband would protect her from that vulnerability—as long as that husband wasn’t also a cad. “If you get to liking it, then you agree to wear that lacy bit of nothing for me.”

“And if you lose?”

“Well, then, sweetheart, I’ll wear it.”

Her brows rose as she eyed the bit of lace escaping from the satchel. “It’ll be worth another sip to see you in that.”

Oh no, she wasn’t getting off that easily. “It’s got to be more than a sip. You’ve got to give yourself time to get used to the taste.”

“How much time?”

“You have to finish the glass.”

She contemplated the two fingers in the glass and, with a small grin that showed she had no appreciation for the potency of whiskey, said, “Agreed.”

Another sip and another grimace and then, “So what do we do now?”

He could think of several things all within easy reach. Undoing the buttons on her blouse, tasting the lightly scented hollow of her throat, untying the ribbon at the top of her camisole, cradling her breast in his hand, plumping it to the pleasure of his mouth.

He looked at the innocence in her eyes. She had no idea of the thoughts running through his head. He sighed. Either Evie was a complete innocent or playing preacher had totally blunted his dangerous edge. “Well, we could stand here staring at each other.”

Her lips twitched on a suppressed smile. “Or?”

“What makes you think there’s an
or
?”

“I’ve been studying you, remember? You always have an alternative.”

The room was getting dark. Taking a sulphur from the bureau top, he lifted the lid off the oil lamp, struck the match, and lit the wick. Holding it up so the flare of light played over her expressive face he noted the apprehension, the anticipation, the sheer joy of life that surged so strongly within her. No wonder Pearl couldn’t control her. Evie wasn’t a woman who could ever be forced into anything. She had to be coaxed.

“Well, I was thinking we could play some cards.”

“YOU’RE CHEATING.”

Wood creaked a protest as Brad settled into the ladder-back kitchen chair with that deceptively easy way of his and eyed Evie with the same casual nonchalance. Cards snapped against the gleaming wood table as he made a bridge of his hands and the cards tumbled between, going from two piles to one with a hypnotic simplicity that spoke of long practice. “What makes you think that?”

“The way you’re handling the cards, for one.”

“You’re calling my honor into question because I know how to shuffle cards?”

He made it sound so preposterous.

She frowned at him, taking a distracted sip of her whiskey, ignoring the taste and burn as she watched him pick up the pack.

“Nobody’s that lucky. You’ve beat me four hands in a row.”

His right eyebrow went up and a smile played about his lips. “I could just be that good.”

“No one’s that good at cards. Especially a minister.”

“Why especially?”

As if he didn’t know. “It’s your job to discourage people from gambling.”

“To hear you tell it, it’s my job to keep people from having any kind of fun.” He shuffled the cards so fast she couldn’t really see much beyond a blur of motion. That could be because she wasn’t wearing her glasses for up close things or because a comfortable lethargy was invading her limbs. It had been a long day. She smothered a yawn.

“Isn’t it?”

“Do you want it to be?”

Sometimes
.
“Why do you keep answering a question with another question?”

“Probably because, as you seem to have already decided on the answers, it saves time.”

She sighed as he split the deck with a smooth maneuver of his fingers that fascinated her. He was right, she did. But only because it was easier to think she’d married a dull-as-mud minister, rather than the real man she suspected lurked beneath his profession. “I do do that, don’t I?”

It was his turn to look surprised. “Yeah.”

Taking another sip of her whiskey, one big enough to burn all the way to the bottom of her stomach, she confessed, “I’m not a big fan of preachers.”

“I noticed.”

Up until the wedding, she’d thought she’d been pretty quiet on those particular views. “You did?”

“I saw the painting, remember?”

“What on Earth do you dislike so much about the painting?” She flopped back in her chair, glad the high back was there to support her spine. For some reason it felt about as substantial as dandelion fluff. “I put shadows in to give you mystery, painted it from an angle looking up to give you grandeur. I spent hours just getting the color of your hair right.” Capturing the sun-streaked blonds and browns had been a real challenge. She frowned at him. “You have a very difficult hair color, but I captured it perfectly.” Looking him over, she felt a spurt of satisfaction. She really had, including how his hair tended to fall over his brow, giving him a sexy, dangerous look completely out of place on a man of God. “I captured
you
perfectly.”

The cards slid together with a clench of his fingers. “So you keep telling me.”

Could he be that vain? Was that the problem? Did he want to look even more attractive than he was? “You know there’s a limit to how much even I can do to enhance reality.”

There was a pause. He started dealing with efficient moves, the cards flying across the table with a speed that could imply anger. “Uh-huh.”

She decided to change the subject. “You’re very adept at card handling.”

“It keeps my fingers limber.”

Picking up her cards, she glanced up from the dismal mismatch of a two and a king. He probably had aces in his hand. “Why do you need your fingers limber?”

There was another almost infinitesimal pause in which she had the distinct impression he was thinking fast, but then it was gone, and that easy smile was back on his lips. “In case anyone tries to take back their contribution to the collection plate. The church doesn’t run on good graces alone.”

“I can’t imagine anyone stealing from you.” She picked up the rest of her cards.

He glanced over. The blue backs of the cards deepened the blue of his eyes until they almost appeared black. “You can’t?”

Rats
.
A three, a four, and another two. She shook her head and took another drink. A pair of twos might as well be nothing against Brad’s overwhelming luck. This one didn’t burn so badly. “No. The McKinnelys would kill him.”

Might that have been a bit of surprise in the twitch of his eyelids? Why? He had to know the McKinnelys would protect him. They were known to be very protective of their friends, and from everything she’d seen of Brad and the McKinnelys, they were friends. “They will, you know. You don’t have to worry about that.”

His mouth twisted. “Good to know you think I need them to hide behind.”

“They’ve been trained to handle trouble. They’re marshals.”

“Not anymore.”

“It still makes them more than capable of protecting you.” It occurred to her, belatedly, that he might be having an issue with her thinking he needed protecting. “Everyone in town, actually,” she tacked on hastily.

He grunted and rapped the deck on the table. His “How many?” was sharp.

“Two.”

She placed them on the table and bit her lip. Poker wasn’t the easy game he’d painted it when he’d proposed it as an option. The element of luck was so much higher than with bridge. And she, apparently, had very bad luck.

“Holding your breath isn’t going to make that straight happen.”

How did he know she was trying for a straight? “It can’t hurt. Nothing else seems to be working.”

“It’s a sucker’s bet.” With a motion of his hand, he indicated her discarded cards. “Sure you don’t want to take it back?”