she burrowed any further under his skin.
"I'll wake you when I get up tomorrow and drive you to your house. You can get your car, pick up your things, and drive yourself to a motel. Any motel. I don't care. Just as long as you're not in my house when I get home tomorrow night."
#
As Mourning Doves cooed their love song, a moat-like mist shimmered off the dewy grass and streams of sunlight broke through a sentry of pines to fall across The Castle tower. But it wasn't the idyllic veneer of mist, stone, and seemingly unscathed first and second stories Tess surveyed through the broad windshield of Roman's truck.
Sooty stains fanned upward from The Castle's third floor windows and streaked the shingled siding. The roofline to one side of the house was interrupted where flames had leapt into the sky two nights ago. Then there was the yellow tape draping her broad stone steps warning away any without authorization to enter and a sheet of plywood nailed up where once had been a massive, hand-carved, oak door. The Castle looked about as patched together as her nerves. Why did she have to go and get naked with the tall, strong, and most assuredly not silent Roman St. John? That last was what spurred her own wicked tongue to counter his every word and deed.
Wrong. What goaded her to fight him was that, somewhere deep inside her, she knew she was more attracted to him than she wanted to admit. Oh how her father would gloat if she fell for a man with baby-making on his mind.
Her father who was no closer to recognizing her self-sufficiency than he'd been the day she'd bawled her way into the world as a six pound thirteen ounce newborn. His third daughter. He'd wanted a son. She knew because, whenever his parents fought, her father always threw it up to her mother that, in three pregnancies, she had failed to provide him a son. The only thing her father wanted from her now was a son-in-law.
Tess' fingers flexed around the travel mug of now tepid coffee she'd hugged against her chest as Roman had driven her into town. The essence of the man whose work-roughened hands had played her body like a finely tuned instrument last night now crowded in on her in the small cab of the truck. Her nerves were frayed, doing jumping jacks across her skin as though she'd drunk a mug of espresso. Maybe Roman had been right to evict her from his home.
Roman shifted on the seat next to her, stirring the air between them. "You waiting for me to open the door for you, Princess?"
Again with the princess. How she hated that. Tess wrinkled her nose at him and jerked on the passenger side door handle. "Don't trouble yourself helping me with anything, St. John. I got this."
"Remember what the Fire Chief said," he called after her as she dropped to the ground. "Stay out of the fire area until the Fire Marshal has had time to inspect it."
"I know what the Fire Chief said," she retorted and slammed the empty coffee mug down on the floor of the truck, closed the door with more force than necessary, and strode purposely up to the house.
She tore away the yellow tape and climbed the broad stone steps to the sweeping stone porch. She tested the edge of the plywood nailed across her front door…if she even had a front door any longer. The plywood was securely anchored in place. She wouldn't get in this way without a crowbar and it would be a cold day in hell before she asked Roman to loan her any tool from that industrial sized toolbox in the back of his truck. Besides, there was always the back door…provided that too wasn't boarded up.
She descended the steps. He stayed in his truck, one elbow hooked casually through the open window. Clearly any notion to help her eluded the inconsiderate lummox. Not that she was asking for his help.
"Wound a man's ego by refusing to have sex with him and he pouts," she muttered under her breath as she headed toward the back of the house.
If that was a truck door she heard open and close, he was too late to make amends. Tess
"I'll wake you when I get up tomorrow and drive you to your house. You can get your car, pick up your things, and drive yourself to a motel. Any motel. I don't care. Just as long as you're not in my house when I get home tomorrow night."
#
As Mourning Doves cooed their love song, a moat-like mist shimmered off the dewy grass and streams of sunlight broke through a sentry of pines to fall across The Castle tower. But it wasn't the idyllic veneer of mist, stone, and seemingly unscathed first and second stories Tess surveyed through the broad windshield of Roman's truck.
Sooty stains fanned upward from The Castle's third floor windows and streaked the shingled siding. The roofline to one side of the house was interrupted where flames had leapt into the sky two nights ago. Then there was the yellow tape draping her broad stone steps warning away any without authorization to enter and a sheet of plywood nailed up where once had been a massive, hand-carved, oak door. The Castle looked about as patched together as her nerves. Why did she have to go and get naked with the tall, strong, and most assuredly not silent Roman St. John? That last was what spurred her own wicked tongue to counter his every word and deed.
Wrong. What goaded her to fight him was that, somewhere deep inside her, she knew she was more attracted to him than she wanted to admit. Oh how her father would gloat if she fell for a man with baby-making on his mind.
Her father who was no closer to recognizing her self-sufficiency than he'd been the day she'd bawled her way into the world as a six pound thirteen ounce newborn. His third daughter. He'd wanted a son. She knew because, whenever his parents fought, her father always threw it up to her mother that, in three pregnancies, she had failed to provide him a son. The only thing her father wanted from her now was a son-in-law.
Tess' fingers flexed around the travel mug of now tepid coffee she'd hugged against her chest as Roman had driven her into town. The essence of the man whose work-roughened hands had played her body like a finely tuned instrument last night now crowded in on her in the small cab of the truck. Her nerves were frayed, doing jumping jacks across her skin as though she'd drunk a mug of espresso. Maybe Roman had been right to evict her from his home.
Roman shifted on the seat next to her, stirring the air between them. "You waiting for me to open the door for you, Princess?"
Again with the princess. How she hated that. Tess wrinkled her nose at him and jerked on the passenger side door handle. "Don't trouble yourself helping me with anything, St. John. I got this."
"Remember what the Fire Chief said," he called after her as she dropped to the ground. "Stay out of the fire area until the Fire Marshal has had time to inspect it."
"I know what the Fire Chief said," she retorted and slammed the empty coffee mug down on the floor of the truck, closed the door with more force than necessary, and strode purposely up to the house.
She tore away the yellow tape and climbed the broad stone steps to the sweeping stone porch. She tested the edge of the plywood nailed across her front door…if she even had a front door any longer. The plywood was securely anchored in place. She wouldn't get in this way without a crowbar and it would be a cold day in hell before she asked Roman to loan her any tool from that industrial sized toolbox in the back of his truck. Besides, there was always the back door…provided that too wasn't boarded up.
She descended the steps. He stayed in his truck, one elbow hooked casually through the open window. Clearly any notion to help her eluded the inconsiderate lummox. Not that she was asking for his help.
"Wound a man's ego by refusing to have sex with him and he pouts," she muttered under her breath as she headed toward the back of the house.
If that was a truck door she heard open and close, he was too late to make amends. Tess
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