Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [15]
And she hadn’t given him the time of day.
He’d sensed there was more to her than met the eye, a restless sadness that she’d tried like hell to keep hidden. She’d been a challenge, the first woman he’d had to pursue in years.
He’d been in lust from the first time she’d turned her back on him and, with a careless toss of mahogany-colored curls in a sassy ponytail, walked away. Things hadn’t changed all that much since then.
After being with her today, he’d half convinced himself that tonight was the night he needed that final smoky shot of nicotine, but he tucked his last little crutch back into its dilapidated home and shoved the pack back into his pocket. No doubt he’d need a smoke later.
He checked his watch and figured he had at least an hour before Maggie arrived. Maybe two. Feeling cold snow hit the back of his neck, he headed for the porch and kicked off his boots. He opened the door and ignored a warning growl from the crippled old shepherd lying on a rag rug near an antique rocker. “I’m not gonna hurt anything,” he told the dog.
Eyeing the cozy cabin with its five small rooms and yellowed pine walls, he pulled a pair of gloves from his back pocket, stretched them over his fingers, and steeled his jaw. Without second-guessing himself, he stole down the short hallway to Maggie’s bedroom.
At the doorway he paused, felt a tiny jab of guilt, then tossed it aside as he entered. The room was cramped with its double bed, dresser and a desk shoved under the corner windows.
The scent of Maggie’s perfume lingered in the air and he had to remind himself that he was on a mission; he couldn’t be distracted. According to the old alarm clock sitting on a bedside table, he had just long enough to do what he had to.
Before all hell broke loose.
Chapter Three
Thane was waiting on the porch swing. Huddled in a sheepskin jacket, one booted heel propped on the opposite jeans-clad knee, he glowered into the night, rocking, the swing gently swaying as the wind cut across the valley. Barkley, turncoat that he was, lay docilely near the door.
Maggie braced herself as she cut the engine. She switched off headlights and radio and told herself that her nerves were shot because of Becca’s accident and Mary Theresa’s disappearance. It had nothing to do with Thane and his innate, earthy sexuality. Nothing. She was just tired. There wasn’t a thing about the man that got to her. She was being a fool. Thane Walker was only a man, and a lying one at that.
Slowly he climbed to his feet, and his silhouette was cast in stark relief against the porch light. All male. And dangerous. Long legs covered by low-slung battered jeans, and a chest that was wide enough to be interesting without a lot of extra weight.
Just muscle.
Great.
His physique was the last thing she should notice.
“It’s been too long,” she muttered. Too many months without a man.
“What?” Becca roused.
“Nothing, honey. We’re home.” Pocketing her keys, she touched Becca on the shoulder and looked away from the dark sensuality of a man she didn’t trust, a man who’d stolen her heart only to break it.
Becca blinked and rubbed the sleep from her eyes as snowflakes hit the windshield, collecting on the wipers. She looked at the cabin, lights glowing warmly in the cold night, then rolled her eyes expressively. “Terrific.”
“I’ll get the crutches.”
“Don’t need ’em.”
“Of course you do.” Shouldering open the door, Maggie ducked her head against the flurries of snow and dashed to the back of the Jeep. Over the noise of the wind, she heard Thane’s boot steps steadily approaching, gravel crunching. Stupidly, her heart began to pound. “Get a grip,” she admonished.
Don’t even think about him.
“How is she?” he asked, pulling the crutches from the cargo space.
“She’ll be okay. The doctor thinks it’s just a sprain. Not a bad one at that.”
“Good.” He actually seemed relieved. As if he cared. What a joke. Maggie wasn’t going to fall into that particular trap. Not when Thane Walker