She didn’t stir.
“Kaira,” Quin said louder. Pulling out of his chair, he walked toward her. “Hey, wake up. You need to go to bed.”
She moved her head slightly, but remained still.
Tarnation, he had two choices; let her sleep or rescue her from a crick in her neck. She was an investment, and if she couldn’t walk tomorrow because of sleeping sitting up, she couldn’t find any news at all, worthless or not.
Quin owed her. After all, she had probably saved him from a public tar and feathering by reminding him of little Briar’s christening.
Gently, he lifted her into the cradle of his arms. He could feel her soft breath against his neck as she snuggled into his shoulder. The sweet scent of lily of the valley once again shrouded him. “Kaira, I’m taking you to bed,” he whispered so close to her ear that he could feel his own breath.
“Good.” Kaira’s voice was barely audible.
Quin felt the words more than heard them, her lips feather-touched his neck, arousing his passion once again.
She nuzzled closer, like a newborn kitten-needy and hungry.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he quickly reached the landing without waking his charge, and pushed his bedroom door open with the toe of his boot.
Outside, the night sky blazed with angry blue-white lightning, setting the room aglow. Fat raindrops splattered against the windowpanes as cannon-blasts of thunder echoed in the distance.
Protectively, Quin tightened his hold on Kaira.
His breath caught in his throat and his heart missed a beat, not from the electrical storm, but from what he saw in his bedroom.
“What in the hell?” He almost dropped Kaira on the wooden floor. “What in Sam Hill did you do?”
Chapter 9
Shocked beyond belief, Kaira steadied herself and watched Quinten Corbett stalk down the stairs. Never had she been treated in such an undignified fashion. He hadn’t quite dropped her, but had unceremoniously plopped her on her feet. Quinten shot her a glare that would melt a horseshoe before he walked-rather, stomped-out, leaving her staring at the south end of the northbound pigheaded editor.
Kaira flounced to the window, pulled back the lace curtain, and watched lightning arc from cloud to cloud.
Why the sudden change with Quinten? And, just when she had come to enjoy the feel of his forceful hands as they cupped her posterior. A rock-solid chest that held a heart that sounded like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest cavity. Muscles of iron protecting her against the raging storm, and his tenderness…was a trait she hadn’t expected in the big man.
A rambunctious clap of thunder caused her to jump.
Could it be that Quinten recognized that she only pretended to be asleep? Or that she played an innocent shenanigan on him by copying some old articles that she knew would catch in his craw? After all, isn’t April Fools’ Day a time of trickery? But then, he probably hadn’t noticed and she hadn’t had a chance to remind him. Kaira enjoyed a good prank every now and again, especially one that held promise. But this one had failed miserably. She ended up the fool.
Oh, Kaira had no intentions of allowing Quinten to touch her inappropriately, or do anything unacceptable to a lady. Nothing she didn’t want him to do.
A flash of light lit up the room again.
She would not be treated so shabbily. She had done nothing wrong. He had suddenly turned coat and stomped away. He couldn’t touch her the way he did, setting off sensations that no well-bred Bostonian lady should feel, and get away with it. By daybreak, she might be on the next train back to New England, but she deserved an answer from Mr. Corbett. He might be a handsome, rugged cowboy with a fiery, white-hot touch, but he would not trample on her emotions.
After taking a moment to pile her hair on top of her head and reinsert hairpins, she straightened her blouse and tinted her lips. Throwing her shoulders back, she headed downstairs to locate the jackass.
Quinten was nowhere in sight and the office was dark, except for soft light slithering from beneath the door of the back room, which served as storeroom, a place for the type to be cleaned, and a small corner kitchen.
Cautiously, she touched the closed door. Detecting the rush of water hitting a basin, she tested the knob. Unlocked.
Uncertainty knotted in her soul. Quinten was no doubt still angry for reasons she couldn’t phantom. Kaira swallowed her misgivings, knowing she mustn’t allow an innocent joke to turn into something it was never meant to be.
She wanted to help Quin succeed, while learning journalism herself. Kaira realized that the whole thought of being taken sincere was foreign to her. She had never thought of herself as a journalist or anything except a product of an affluent family who gave her the best. From a French nanny to an education at the elite Boston College, she was given everything her heart desired and more. So why the sudden need to have Quinten’s approval?
Easing the door open, she made less noise than a scampering mouse in a cotton field. She caught sight of Quinten’s magnificent near-naked body with nothing on but his unmentionables. Her heart leaped to her throat, and she felt sparks burst into flames and shoot directly to a place where such sensations were alien to her.
Never had she seen anything as shocking, or riveting. Kaira tried to quell the awareness flittering in her body.
Quinten leaned over the washbasin and splashed water on his face. Picking up the pitcher, he doused himself with cold water, leaving his hair shimmering in the soft lamplight.
Kaira wondered if he was trying to wash away his anger. Her gaze froze on his tall, beautifully proportioned body.
He shivered as the cold stream hit, making his muscles ripple like skipping stones on water.
From powerful thighs made for a pair of tight jeans to the slimness of his hips, she studied every muscle, every inch of the man that exuded masculinity in every breath. He shifted his weight, exhibiting a forceful body better fit for a saddle than a desk.
Her gaze stopped below his right shoulder. Numerous pitted pockmarks were lodged around a deep, purplish, and jagged scar plowed into his back. Suppressing an outcry, Kaira covered her mouth and closed her eyes. Not from repulsiveness, but from being unable to bear thoughts about a man carrying such a horrid disfigurement. What horrible accident had caused the scar?
Composure held a fragile shell around her. Kaira opened her eyes but continued to stay fixed on the painful- looking, long-ago-healed wound. Her stomach knotted. Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she grabbed the doorframe for balance.
Quinten whirled.
Kaira stood frozen. His physique was even more impressive face on. Since he had already seen her, she might as well make the most of the opportunity. After all, she’d never seen a man in his unmentionables before. In boarding school a floozy described a naked male body to her, but it paled in comparison to this magnificently built man.
She took the liberty to study his features. From his chiseled jaw covered with a smidgen of dark stubble, past angry lips and stormy eyes raging with furor, to that God-awful scowl he seemed to reserve just for her.
“What in the hell?” A muscle clenched along his jaw. He grabbed his shirt. Pulling it over his shoulders, he left the front open, and took a decisive step toward her.
But not before she got a good look at his memorable front side. As she had suspected, beneath his shirt he had a broad chest with a massive triangle of dark hair that disappeared somewhere beneath his flat stomach, short of his unwhisperables. His nipples formed perfect peaks on the swells of muscle. He looked magnificent, as though created from some novelist’s imagination.
Bewildered at his outburst, and not sure whether it was a question or profanity, Kaira refused to respond and
