Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [80]
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over.
Her cries turned into hiccups. She wiped her face and nose with a corner of the blanket.
“We need to tell the sheriff,” he said.
She burrowed closer, drawing up her knees. “Not yet. Please. I don’t want to be alone.”
“He needs to know.”
“Then, take me with you. But don’t leave me by myself.” The tears started again.
He rested his cheek against her head. “I’ll be back quick as a wink.”
“No.” She wrapped a fist around his overall strap. “No.”
He acquiesced, making no move to leave the couch.
Her breathing leveled. Her tears slowed. “You brought me a Mai tree?”
Running a hand over her hair, he kissed her head. “Yes.”
She lifted her chin. “Why?”
He traced her jawline with a finger, its roughness abrading her skin and sending tingles along its path. “I don’t know.”
“No one’s ever brought me a Mai tree before.”
“Then the men of this town are idiots.”
Snaking a hand out from the blanket, she drove her fingers into his thick, rich hair. “Your hair’s wet.”
“I was hot after chopping down the tree and jumped in the creek to cool off.”
“It must have been freezing.”
“It was.”
She wished she could see his eyes, but there was no fire lit in this room. She applied the slightest pressure to his head with her fingers. It was all the coaxing he needed. Bringing his lips to hers, he kissed her with a tenderness so sweet, her body turned to liquid.
He rode a hand down the length of her arm, then stalled, stroking, stroking, before continuing to her waist, dragging the blanket with it.
She shivered.
He pulled back. “You need to get dressed.”
With all that had happened, she’d totally forgotten she was in her nightdress. And though she should be embarrassed, shocked, she felt neither. Not anywhere close.
He gently pushed her knees from his lap and lifted her to her feet. “Go on, now.”
Her legs wobbled.
He held her waist until she steadied.
“You won’t leave?” she whispered.
“I’ll be right here.”
Tugging the blanket back up to her shoulders, she padded to her room and clicked the door softly behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Georgie stepped back into the living room, her hair up and her chemise, corset, petticoat, stockings, shoes, and gown in place. Somehow, completing her toilette caused her to be starkly aware of how disheveled she’d been before. A delayed sense of embarrassment and shame swept through her.
A fire blazed behind the grate. The switchboard sat upright. Luke crouched behind it, only his elbows and knees visible. At the sound of her door opening, he slowly stood, his gaze traveling from her coif clear down to her boots.
Her cheeks burned.
“You all right?” he asked.
“I’d like to apologize.”
Frowning, he laid a pair of pliers on top of the switchboard’s hutch. “Apologize? For what?”
She lowered her chin. “For not repairing myself immediately. For . . .” She twirled her hand toward the couch. “For crying all over you while I wore no more than . . . than my nightclothes.” She choked. “I’m so sorry. You must be mortified.”
A log in the fire popped.
He approached, his footsteps loud against the plank flooring. With an index finger, he tilted up her face. “Mortification isn’t exactly the word I’d have used.”
His eyes were penetrating. His lower lip full. His whiskers dark.
The blackness beyond the windows reminded her she stood alone, in her home, at two in the morning, with an unmarried man.
“I think you’re right,” she whispered. “You’d best go get the sheriff.”
“There’s no need. I fixed the board and called him already. He’ll be here any minute.”
She slid her eyes shut. Her reputation would be ruined. It hadn’t even occurred to her until this moment. But no one would believe she was still chaste after being set upon by three men. And even if they did, an unmarried man had been the one to rescue her.
“Are you sure that was wise?” she asked.
He drew his brows together. “You think your attackers might retaliate?”
“I think my reputation will be in shreds come morning.”
His entire face paled. “But nothing happened.