“Keeping Ginny content is my main mission in life,” he had replied dryly, and saw a faint, rewarding flicker darken Bishop’s eyes. “She creates too much havoc when she’s not happy with me.”
But there was more to it than that. Dammit, didn’t he and Ginny deserve some kind of peace? Once all this was over and Mexico was not in turmoil, he meant to see to it.
10
On their last night in New Orleans, her trunks were packed and stood against one wall in the sitting room on the ground floor, but Ginny paced the thick gold carpets of the second-floor bedroom, waiting for Steve to return. A lamp burned with low light; the windows were open to allow in fresh air and the sound of his arrival. He’d been gone all day. No doubt by now Paco had told him about their meeting, warned him that she’d be waiting for him with questions.
How like Steve, to avoid her when he didn’t want to deal with inconvenient questions!
She intended to be calm when he finally arrived, but this time she would not let him distract her from finding out his intentions, no matter what he did. This time, there would be no secrets between them.
In spite of her resolutions, however, Ginny found her temper and her patience strained when Steve arrived. He did nothing to avoid it, of course, sauntering in well after midnight when she had long given up and gone to bed, waking her as he shut the bedroom door. A single lamp illuminated the room, leaving it in pale light and deep shadows.
Ginny considered feigning sleep, but she somehow gave herself away and saw through slitted eyes that he knew she was awake. Indignant, she sat up, glaring at him.
“Did you know, my love,” he said softly, “that your eyes glow like a panther’s in this light? All green fire and hot flames. Is that passion I see, or should I prepare to defend myself?”
“You should prepare to answer my questions,” she began tartly, but he shrugged and yawned, obviously intent upon ignoring her as he sank onto a chair and tugged off his boots, then let them drop to the floor.
“I’m surprised you’re still awake, Ginny, when it’s so late and we have to get up early. I hope you’re packed, and that you aren’t trying to take half of New Orleans’s dress shops with you.”
“Tessie finished packing for me.” She pulled the coverlet up to her neck, eyeing him narrowly as he stood up and shrugged out of his shirt, then began to unbuckle his belt. The muted clink of his buckle sounded loud in the soft gloom. “Where have you been? With Bishop? Have you decided yet if you’re going to stay with me, or if you’re going to go running all over Mexico or wherever it is he wants you to go now?”
Pale light gleamed on his bare chest and shoulders, softening the patchwork of scars from knives, bullets, a whip—that memory was far too cruel, and she shuddered as he said, “I hear you’ve been talking to Paco.”
“Yes, I have. Well? Do you deny it? Do you intend to leave me behind? You promised that we’d be together, Steve. This time there were to be no secrets between us, nothing to keep us apart. Have you forgotten, or did you ever mean those promises?”
“It’s late, Ginny. I’m in no mood to get into this discussion. We’ll have plenty of time on the ship to talk about promises.” He eyed her darkly for a moment, a frown hardening his mouth. “You aren’t turning into a shrew again, I hope.”
Rising to her knees in the middle of the bed, she glared at him with renewed ire. “You’re avoiding the issue. This is important, Steve. What are you not telling me?”
He dropped to the bed next to her and rolled to his side without replying. Goaded, she put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back to face her.
Immediately, his hand clamped onto her wrist, held her in a steely vise, fingers digging into her skin firmly but not painfully. “Let it rest, Ginny.”
“I can’t—I have to know if you’re going to run off on me again, or leave me to the mercy of whatever forces come along. Oh, let go of my arm, Steve.”
To her surprise, he did, eyes narrowed and glinting darkly up at her. He stretched lazily like a big cat, folded his arms behind his head and lay there with a maddening half smile on his mouth.
“You’re quite fetching in that gown, my love. It shows off your breasts and that creamy skin. You know, I think I prefer you looking all white and soft—virginal. How do you manage to look so innocent after having two children?”
It was an attempt to cloud the issue, and she sat back, legs folded, crossed arms holding her knees against her chest as she stared back at him.
“I refuse to be drawn into a discussion of anything but an answer to my question. What are your plans?”
Before she could avoid it, his hand flashed out, snared her wrist again and yanked her forward so that she fell across his chest in an inelegant sprawl. He held her, one hand splayed on the back of her head, his fingers tangled in her hair to hold her still. His skin was warm; he smelled of bourbon and tobacco.
“I plan,” he muttered against her mouth, “to make love to my wife.”
“Steve, damn you—stop that!” But Ginny found herself swiftly pushed onto her back with him over her, his weight holding her down despite her angry struggles.
Oh, why did she bother to fight? He held her down so easily, with a competent strength that summoned memories of
