he thumped away from the sink, leaning heavily on his cane. “A man needs a reason to live, you know.”
As if there was any question women would find him attractive, Sarah thought. Even beat-up Matt Thorne was the most desirable man she'd ever encountered. She gave herself the luxury of studying him as he made his way slowly across the bedroom. The perfect width of his shoulders was emphasized by his T-shirt. His back tapered to trim hips, to— She jerked her gaze upward again and fastened it on the back of his head. His black hair was tousled, reminding her he had just gotten out of bed.
She, on the other hand, had been up for hours. In truth, she could have saved herself the trouble of going to bed at all, she'd gotten so little sleep. No matter what mundane or spiritual matter she had tried to concentrate on, her thoughts had turned again and again to the man sleeping just down the hall from her—his smile, his teasing, the feel of him against her. Thoughts like that would only lead to trouble, she knew, but she had never had much success at squelching her imagination. She had always resented the need to try. It didn't seem a sin to her to appreciate Gods handiwork. The Almighty had done a fine job with Matt Thorne. What was the point if He hadn't meant for others to notice?
The word temptation crossed her mind, but she dismissed it. If the Lord had not meant for men and women to notice each other, then He wouldn't have made them so different in such interesting ways, she reasoned.
Of course, his maleness wasn't the only thing that made Matt a temptation. Sarah's heart squeezed a little at the thought of what it would do to her family if she gave in to her inner yearnings and became involved with an Englishman like Matt Thorne. They would be so hurt. All her life she had been something of a disappointment to her father because of her insatiable yearnings for things she was not supposed to have. To want Matt Thorne, to succumb to that want would be her ultimate sin in Isaac Maust s eyes. She would be cut off from her family, from her people. Her standing with her father was tenuous at the best of times, so she could easily imagine life without him, but her mother was a different story. And her sister, Ruth, and brothers Daniel and Lucas and Peter and Jacob. Most especially she would miss Jacob; he was more like a son to her than a brother.
It was a moot point, at any rate, she told herself as she watched Matt settle himself carefully on the bed with his back against the high-carved oak headboard, and his legs stretched out on top of the rumpled covers. What would a worldly man like Matt Thorne want with a little Amish country mouse like her?
“Are you sure you know how to do this?” he asked, eyeing her nervously as she set a bowl of water on the nightstand.
“I used to shave my grandfather after his eyesight failed,” she said by way of an answer as she leaned over him and draped a towel across his chest.
Matt's thoughts wandered for an instant while he appreciated the proximity of Sarahs breasts. Now that he knew the shape of them by touch, the fact that her garb hid them didn't hinder his imagination any. He pictured them as fitting perfectly in his hands, plump and firm like ripe peaches with dusky nipples that would pout for his attention.
“I thought Amish men wore beards,” he said hoarsely as she moved to pick up the razor.
“In our order they do wear beards once they marry.” She settled on the edge of the bed, facing him, and her breath caught as her hip pressed against his thigh. “But they wear no …
The word escaped her as her gaze met Matt s. The awareness in those dark eyes sent her heart racing. To her credit, she tried to gather her wits and hold on to the thread of the conversation. “They don't wear… urn …” When she lifted a finger and traced the line of his upper lip, electricity sizzled through her, shooting like lightning from her fingertip to all the most feminine parts of her body. “Um, mustache,' she mumbled breathlessly, too rattled to realize she had used the Amish pronunciation.
Matt watched the parade of emotions passing over Sarah's face. She was attracted to him and that attraction frightened her. The chivalrous part of him, the gentleman, wanted to reassure her. But he couldn't quite separate the need to reassure from the need to hold her. She was pretty and sweet and a breath of fresh, air. And his own emotions seemed to be rocking. It was true, he genuinely liked all kinds of” women, but the fact of the matter was he only played with the ones who knew the rules. He doubted Sarah Troyer would even realize it was a game. Still, he didn't see the harm in flirting with her a little.
Her fingertip was still lingering in the foam along the bow of his upper lip, teasing him, tempting him. He caught her delicate wrist and drew her hand downward so that the finger in question skipped over his upper lip and landed firmly on the lower one. He drew his tongue across it, watching with pure male satisfaction as Sarah's eyes widened and darkened, and her cheeks flushed with the unmistakable color of desire. The look of panic that followed that automatic sexual response hit Matt like a whip and he released her hand.
A teasing light sparkled in his eyes as he said, “When I was a kid, I always thought this stuff would taste like whipped cream. It tastes like Styrofoam.”
Sarah made no comment, but set about the business of shaving him, alternately worrying she might cut him because her hand was less than steady and entertaining thoughts of deliberately doing him in for unleashing such raw desires in her.
Of course, it wasn't his fault she was not content with her life, she reflected as she carefully avoided the stitches on his chin. She couldn't see that it was anyone's fault really; it just was. She hadn't asked to have this yearning to learn or to experience or to want excitement. It was something that had always been in her, something she had had to struggle to subdue her whole life. Matt Thome set it off like a match struck to dry tinder, but that wasn't his fault.
Her father would have something different to say on the matter, she was sure. His opinions of the English and their evil, tempting ways were well-known. But then, she had no intention of telling him about Matt Thorne or her desires. The less he knew about her job at Thornewood Inn, the better. He was already unhappy about it. Thankfully, the money she was contributing to the farm had diluted his dislike so far.
“Sarah?”
The sound of her name jolted her from her thoughts. She stared at Matt, knowing he had asked her a question that she hadn't heard. “I'm sorry. What?”
“I asked how you came to work here. I admit I don't know much about the Amish, but I wouldn't have thought Amish girls were allowed to work outside their own community.”
“Oh, sure,” she said, making light of what was a very touchy issue among her people. “We can take jobs so long as they don't go against the teachings of the church.”
“But your people don't believe in using electricity or indoor plumbing, do they? You use those things here. Doesn't that go against the church?”
“We don't have those conveniences because we believe they act as corrupting influences on the family, but we don't claim they're evil nor do we begrudge others having them,” she explained. Personally, she had never understood how a toilet could corrupt anybody, but she kept her opinion to herself. “Hold still now or you'll be short a nose.”
It was only after she had finished shaving him that Sarah brought up the one question she had been wanting most to ask Matt. She sat back with the damp towel wound around her hands. She knew she should move to the chair beside the bed, but she had grown comfortable sitting next to him, and in truth she enjoyed the small tingle of pleasure that came from her hip brushing against his leg.
“Ingrid told me you'd been injured in some kind of attack, but I didn't understand.”
“I'm in charge of the emergency room at a hospital in the Cities,” he began. “Its a county hospital in what has become a very bad part of town. We see a lot of victims of crimes, a lot of criminals.” He broke off, frustrated. “Do you know what street gangs are?”
She nodded solemnly. “I read about them in Ingrid's
The idea of Sarah reading
“This time it happened right in my emergency room—with me in the middle of it. The Disciples and the Vice Lords got into a little disagreement over a drug deal.” He pointed to the bruise above his left eye. “I got hit here
