warning.
"I have a pair of sandals, but they rubbed blisters on my feet, so—"
"Sandals?" He didn't give a damn about sandals. He'd been wondering what, if anything, she wore beneath that flimsy, clinging garment, and he needed a distraction, time to gather his thoughts and quell the desire that threatened to take control of his body.
"Yes, one of the women made them for me," she explained. "Oh, I can't believe her name has slipped my mind. I'll think of it."
"More gifts for the healer?" he asked, gazing around the flower-filled room.
In truth, he was proud and a little in awe of her ability to heal sickness and mend broken bodies. She'd acquired that skill in another life, in a dark, distant past that she could remember but he could not share. It added to her mystery and his torment.
He wanted to explore her uncharted wilderness. His body and soul cried out for it. But someone had been there before him. Someone had laid claim to her heart and her body, someone whose shadow still moved behind her eyes. She had a whole history he could not control because it had happened without his knowledge or consent.
Secrets. He wanted to delve into her mystery and learn all there was to learn about her—her past, her likes, her dislikes. Had she been happy as a child? What were her parents like? Her father had been a doctor, and she had respected him enough to want to follow in his footsteps. Why? Where had they lived, her family?
But he knew that he could not plumb her depths without opening himself up to her scrutiny of his past, and he would not allow it, not even if it meant losing her forever.
"What did you say?" he asked, aware that she had spoken.
"I asked how the work was coming on the dam."
She was deliberately turning the subject away from the copious bounty her medical skills had earned, but he decided to allow it—for now.
"Slowly," he said.
"I treated two more injuries today," she told him.
"I'm aware of that." Did she think he didn't even know what happened with his own men?
"They were both careless accidents." She moved to sit on the settee, taking great care in arranging herself before pulling a fan of colorful toucan feathers out of nowhere and proceeding to fan herself.
Another gift, no doubt, he thought with a scowl. The generosity and gratitude of his people were fast approaching the ridiculous. It was almost embarrassing, the bounty they had bestowed upon her. As if reading his thoughts, she drew the feathers of the fan together, running them through her hand, her mouth set in a stubborn line, though she did have the grace to appear at least a little chagrined.
"The men are tired," she said, her eyes sincere as she leaned toward him like an advocate pleading her cause. "And so are you. When's the last time you got a good night's sleep?"
"As I recall, it must have been the spring of 1870," he said caustically. What did she know about him or his men? The running of the fazenda was none of her business.
"I'm serious, Jason. You're pushing them and yourself too hard."
"I can't imagine that either of my men would have complained to you." He struggled to keep his temper in check. She was intruding into matters that didn't concern her; he didn't appreciate her interference in the least.
"Of course not," she said defensively, as if he'd accused her of something.
"So, in addition to being a healer of the sick, you are also gifted with second sight?"
Her chin went up and her jaw tightened and he knew he'd managed to sting her.
"Or are you speaking from your vast storehouse of knowledge about running a coffee fazenda ?" he went on, intentionally spurring her to anger. An angry Caroline was much easier to manage than a beguiling Caroline. "Yes, let's see, you've been here, what, nineteen days? That should be quite long enough for someone with your natural talents to develop into quite an expert."
Her face reddened, and she swept the fan open again. "No, I haven't been here long, and I don't know all
"I have a pair of sandals, but they rubbed blisters on my feet, so—"
"Sandals?" He didn't give a damn about sandals. He'd been wondering what, if anything, she wore beneath that flimsy, clinging garment, and he needed a distraction, time to gather his thoughts and quell the desire that threatened to take control of his body.
"Yes, one of the women made them for me," she explained. "Oh, I can't believe her name has slipped my mind. I'll think of it."
"More gifts for the healer?" he asked, gazing around the flower-filled room.
In truth, he was proud and a little in awe of her ability to heal sickness and mend broken bodies. She'd acquired that skill in another life, in a dark, distant past that she could remember but he could not share. It added to her mystery and his torment.
He wanted to explore her uncharted wilderness. His body and soul cried out for it. But someone had been there before him. Someone had laid claim to her heart and her body, someone whose shadow still moved behind her eyes. She had a whole history he could not control because it had happened without his knowledge or consent.
Secrets. He wanted to delve into her mystery and learn all there was to learn about her—her past, her likes, her dislikes. Had she been happy as a child? What were her parents like? Her father had been a doctor, and she had respected him enough to want to follow in his footsteps. Why? Where had they lived, her family?
But he knew that he could not plumb her depths without opening himself up to her scrutiny of his past, and he would not allow it, not even if it meant losing her forever.
"What did you say?" he asked, aware that she had spoken.
"I asked how the work was coming on the dam."
She was deliberately turning the subject away from the copious bounty her medical skills had earned, but he decided to allow it—for now.
"Slowly," he said.
"I treated two more injuries today," she told him.
"I'm aware of that." Did she think he didn't even know what happened with his own men?
"They were both careless accidents." She moved to sit on the settee, taking great care in arranging herself before pulling a fan of colorful toucan feathers out of nowhere and proceeding to fan herself.
Another gift, no doubt, he thought with a scowl. The generosity and gratitude of his people were fast approaching the ridiculous. It was almost embarrassing, the bounty they had bestowed upon her. As if reading his thoughts, she drew the feathers of the fan together, running them through her hand, her mouth set in a stubborn line, though she did have the grace to appear at least a little chagrined.
"The men are tired," she said, her eyes sincere as she leaned toward him like an advocate pleading her cause. "And so are you. When's the last time you got a good night's sleep?"
"As I recall, it must have been the spring of 1870," he said caustically. What did she know about him or his men? The running of the fazenda was none of her business.
"I'm serious, Jason. You're pushing them and yourself too hard."
"I can't imagine that either of my men would have complained to you." He struggled to keep his temper in check. She was intruding into matters that didn't concern her; he didn't appreciate her interference in the least.
"Of course not," she said defensively, as if he'd accused her of something.
"So, in addition to being a healer of the sick, you are also gifted with second sight?"
Her chin went up and her jaw tightened and he knew he'd managed to sting her.
"Or are you speaking from your vast storehouse of knowledge about running a coffee fazenda ?" he went on, intentionally spurring her to anger. An angry Caroline was much easier to manage than a beguiling Caroline. "Yes, let's see, you've been here, what, nineteen days? That should be quite long enough for someone with your natural talents to develop into quite an expert."
Her face reddened, and she swept the fan open again. "No, I haven't been here long, and I don't know all
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