Chapter Seven #2
“To flirt. They spend so much time alone, or with other men, that they don’t know how to approach women. I’ll teach them how to be charming. To make women desire them.” She cut a glance sideways at him, from under her lashes, putting action to words. “You could use a few lessons too.”
Panic gnawed at his gut, like a trapped animal chewing off a leg to escape. She’d known it was him, watching her from the shadows last night. Like a wolf stalking sheep, she’d found the weakest lamb in the flock.
Then, his backbone delivered a roundhouse kick to his brain.
What the hell was the matter with him? Was he always this slow?
Unsettling others was how she asserted herself.
She couldn’t tell her brother she didn’t want to marry a man he’d chosen for her.
It probably hadn’t even occurred to her to do so.
Instead, she was going to do whatever she could to make herself unfit for the marriage he chose.
That was behind the adventure she’d dreamt up to give Mavis. A ruined woman represented freedom, whereas sheltered, pampered-princess Malika had none. Even here, in Burning Scrub, freedom was an illusion for her.
If she wanted to pretend to be a ruined woman as part of her adventure, what was the harm? The rest of it was none of his business.
Twenty-five million dollars.
There was no need for guilt.
They reached the stable. The moon reemerged from the clouds and the smell of ozone abated. If they’d been in for a thunderstorm, the threat was now over. He pushed the stable door open. He turned, and moonlight captured her face.
She looked so pretty. So young. So optimistic.
So weirdly na?ve. Teaching grown men to flirt…
He wasn’t one hundred percent sure she knew what the word meant.
He could see that business venture going sideways on her real fast. Burning Scrub didn’t have many unmarried men, but there were a few, and Jayce didn’t trust any of them.
He didn’t trust Andy Danvers, in particular.
His sense of honor was the kind found among thieves.
He’d have to tell Mavis about Malika’s plan. Between them, they’d keep her out of trouble. For the ranch’s cut of twenty-five million, his dad could manage without him this summer.
“I surely could use a few lessons,” he said, breathing easier now that his head was on straighter and he’d made his mind up. “But you might want to think about pie-baking too. My great-grandma always said—the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
“Good food does help to make a home happy,” Malika said thoughtfully.
He had no idea what she was going on about now.
He could see that she’d saddled Saber herself, though, and done a decent job of it, which he took note of when he checked the straps before removing the saddle.
She then helped him bed Saber down for the night without needing direction, proving she really did know a few things about horses.
Neither did she get all girly about the skittering noises in the dark recesses of the stable, or fret about mice in the hay before she grabbed up an armful.
She was a puzzle.
By the time they finished with Saber, and began the trek to the lodge, the town had gone completely silent. All its windows were black.
There were only so many questions he could ask without stepping out of his role, and sound carried when nights were still, like tonight, so he didn’t bother.
Malika was quiet, too, which was okay with him.
He never knew what she was talking about.
And if she was planning to attempt another escape, he was already on it. He’d sleep in the stable.
They left the town behind. Shortly after, the black shape of the lodge loomed at the end of the woods path.
“Why did you stay in the shadows last night?” Malika asked, out of the blue. “Why didn’t you join me?”
He’d been trying hard not to think about that. There was nothing honorable about it. It wasn’t part of his role. He’d hoped they could pretend it hadn’t happened.
He should have known better.
“No idea what you’re talking about, ma’am,” he said, sweating a little. “I slept in the bunkhouse last night.”
She touched his arm. She tilted her head, looking up at him from a slight angle. Moonlight brightened her eyes. “Where will you be sleeping tonight?”
She continued to shock him. The invitation could not be more explicit.
He wasn’t stupid enough to accept, even though the memory of the way she touched herself while he watched—and how much he’d enjoyed the display, despite how shocked he’d been by it—had him in a state of unrest that was going to plague him tonight and for many more nights to come.
He doubted very much if this was what her brother had in mind when he’d said to make her adventure realistic.
She ended up in his arms anyway, with one hand cupping her butt, and the other exploring the smooth, warm skin under her shirt. He had one knee between her thighs, and her breasts pressed to his chest. His mouth was on hers. And her invitation became sorely tempting.
Except…
Except she didn’t know what to do with her hands.
Awareness of that detail hit like a douse of cold water, along with a truth. She was more innocent than she let on, despite her actions, and her talk of teaching men how to flirt. He remained unconvinced that she understood what flirting meant. Perhaps the spin she put on the word was accidental.
Anything further tonight—or any other night for that matter—would create nothing but problems. For her, even more so than him.
He suspected she knew that. It was likely her goal.
She was Sheik Ali of Djitania’s sister, engaged to be married to a man the sheik had chosen for her, but who she didn’t want.
Jayce was merely the cowboy filling in for the servant who’d ruined her in the narrative she’d drafted. He was her easy way out.
Yeah. He didn’t think so.
He untangled their limbs.
“Sleep tight, ma’am,” he said.
He made it as far as the trees, where he had to pause and give his protesting gonads a stern talking to, because they’d gone from unrest to outright rebellion, and they refused to believe he hadn’t just kicked them, himself.
*
Malika
Someone knocked on the front door of the lodge before dawn.
Malika rolled over in bed, placed her pillow over her head, and ignored them. She’d been having sweet dreams about the handsome cowboy, and the fiery kiss that began with such promise but ended in disappointment.
The person knocking on her bedroom door was more difficult to ignore.
The bedroom door opened. Footsteps crossed the room, and someone threw back the drapes that covered the glass doors. Sunlight spilled in.
Malika blinked and sat up, rubbing her eyes. Perhaps the day was further along than she’d thought.
“Get up,” Mavis said.
“Come back this afternoon.” Malika flopped onto the mattress and pulled the blankets over her head to block out the blinding light.
Mavis, however, did not have a compassionate soul. She grabbed the blankets and yanked them to the foot of the bed. Malika hadn’t bothered to put on pajamas, in the hopes that Jayce might return, so the moment proved awkward, but only for her.
Her lack of pajamas didn’t appear to be a problem for Mavis, who opened the closet and pulled out an especially ugly, two-piece dress that Pearl had left for Malika, and Malika had ignored.
The sturdy cotton fabric was muddy brown and sprinkled liberally with tiny white flowers.
It looked like something a peasant might wear, not a fashionable French lady. Pearl called it a house dress.
Mavis tossed the bodice and skirt on the bed.
“Get up,” she repeated. “Get dressed. We can’t have a young woman living alone. You’ll move in with me until your brother returns.”
“But I’m already a ruined woman,” Malika protested. “What difference does it make if I live alone?” She’d planned to enjoy being ruined. How could she enjoy it if she lived with an old woman?
“You’re a penniless ruined woman who can’t afford to pay rent, and we can’t have you corrupting the impressionable youth of this town. You’ll find that westerners are much more forgiving of checkered pasts than easterners if you put it behind you,” Mavis said.
“I like my checkered past.”
“I’m fond of mine too. And once you reach my age, eastern or western, no one will give two hoots about it. But you have quite a few years to go until then, and you’ll need to learn other skills to keep you fed after you’re too old to be ruined.”
Malika tried to envision Mavis being ruined.
She was gray-haired and stout at the waist. If she’d ever been pretty, it was so long ago that her face had forgotten.
Her buckskin clothing and tall boots, plus the gun holster, spoke more of a woman who preferred other women than an ageing femme fatale.
She was Belle’s grandmother, however, and since there’d been no mention of any husband, the possibility of a ruined youth existed, which meant her point might be valid.
Malika hadn’t thought ahead to the years when men no longer cared to stare at her body and have her boss them about while they pleasured themselves.
The market would dwindle as she aged, because men who enjoyed older women were not as abundant.
There was no harm in learning other new, useful things for later in life.
“Can you show me how to make pies?” she asked Mavis.
The other woman looked startled. “If you’d like to learn.”
She would. Pie-making had seemed important to Jayce.
She leaped out of bed. “When can we start?”