was like a wall, protecting her from the elements.
Chivalry. From a Yankee.
She wanted to say something, but for once her gift for meaningless Southern courtesies had deserted her. His silence was so heavy, so thick, enveloping her like a living blanket, smothering her.
Except that it wasnât really his silence that enveloped her.
It was his desire.
He wanted her and sheâ¦oh, no. She wanted him.
What was she thinking?
Okay, she wasnât thinking. She wasâ¦feeling. Feeling the tension rising from deep inside, taking control of her heart, her mind, her nerves. She trembled from the dampness that seeped through her jacket to her skin, from the cool air that broke the heat like a sledgehammer.
She took a long breath, trying to get control. She could smell the rain, but she could also smell himâsoap and a faint scent of, um, wellâ¦he made her think of sex.
He must be throwing off pheromones. That was the only explanation for the way her lids fluttered and drooped, the way the blood in her veins slowed and heated, the way she bit at her lip to stop a flirtatious smile.
As if it mattered. He couldnât see her, not unless he had a catâs vision. The darkness grew blacker. The storm shattered the air, hail denting plastic garbage cans, lightning striking hard and white, thunder cracking over their heads.
He was a stranger. He was everything a Yankee could beâblunt, impatient, rude, large, bold, roughâ¦all domineering male. And he made her aware, for the first time in too long, that she was a female ripe for mating.
My God, if she didnât seize control of herself, sheâd soon be fluttering her fan and drawling endearments to him.
Yet her body didnât care. Her hands lifted. She was going to put her palms on his chest, see if the promises he made with his still body and his unexpected chivalry were as solid as they felt.
Then, as roughly as it started, the hail stopped. The thunder still rolled, but farther to the east. The rain continued, but after the cacophony of the hail, that seemed like silence.
She dropped her wayward hands to the clasp of her purse, hoping he hadnât noticed their journey toward his chest.
With a blast, the Southern sunlight hit the streets.
She blinked and found herself staring into a set of dark eyes.
He scrutinized her, stripping her down to her bare emotions. Stripped her nakedâand he didnât like what he saw.
With a jolt, she realized he didnât like her. She didnât know why, but clearly he didnât.
So he was a fool, for she knew very well her own worth.
âWe can go now.â She stepped out from behind him.
He moved aside easily, without hesitation, and the thick sexual tension dissipated in the cool air.
It hadnât really existed. It had been the imagination of a woman whoâd deprived herself of a relationship for far too long. Maybe the aunts had a point. Maybe it was time for her to get out a little. After all, dedicating herself to the bank wasnât giving her any satisfaction.
The sun went back behind the clouds. Blazed out again. Went behind the clouds. Steam rose from the street.
âWe need to get back to theâ¦the bank.â So she could go home and get ready for the party. âThe weatherâs not usually like this. So unsettled.â In the alley, she bent down and picked up a hailstone in each hand. They were uneven, jagged, both about the size of a golf ball. She balanced them, marveled at them. âIâve never seen them so big before.â That sounds sexual. âI meanââ She caught herself before she could say another word.
What was it about him that made her lose her glib good sense? She had to get him back to the bank now. Taking one step, she slipped on the hail-covered street.
He caught her arm, held her up when she would have done an ignominious case of the splits.
She glanced up at him and he looked dangerous, like a mugger far too
Chivalry. From a Yankee.
She wanted to say something, but for once her gift for meaningless Southern courtesies had deserted her. His silence was so heavy, so thick, enveloping her like a living blanket, smothering her.
Except that it wasnât really his silence that enveloped her.
It was his desire.
He wanted her and sheâ¦oh, no. She wanted him.
What was she thinking?
Okay, she wasnât thinking. She wasâ¦feeling. Feeling the tension rising from deep inside, taking control of her heart, her mind, her nerves. She trembled from the dampness that seeped through her jacket to her skin, from the cool air that broke the heat like a sledgehammer.
She took a long breath, trying to get control. She could smell the rain, but she could also smell himâsoap and a faint scent of, um, wellâ¦he made her think of sex.
He must be throwing off pheromones. That was the only explanation for the way her lids fluttered and drooped, the way the blood in her veins slowed and heated, the way she bit at her lip to stop a flirtatious smile.
As if it mattered. He couldnât see her, not unless he had a catâs vision. The darkness grew blacker. The storm shattered the air, hail denting plastic garbage cans, lightning striking hard and white, thunder cracking over their heads.
He was a stranger. He was everything a Yankee could beâblunt, impatient, rude, large, bold, roughâ¦all domineering male. And he made her aware, for the first time in too long, that she was a female ripe for mating.
My God, if she didnât seize control of herself, sheâd soon be fluttering her fan and drawling endearments to him.
Yet her body didnât care. Her hands lifted. She was going to put her palms on his chest, see if the promises he made with his still body and his unexpected chivalry were as solid as they felt.
Then, as roughly as it started, the hail stopped. The thunder still rolled, but farther to the east. The rain continued, but after the cacophony of the hail, that seemed like silence.
She dropped her wayward hands to the clasp of her purse, hoping he hadnât noticed their journey toward his chest.
With a blast, the Southern sunlight hit the streets.
She blinked and found herself staring into a set of dark eyes.
He scrutinized her, stripping her down to her bare emotions. Stripped her nakedâand he didnât like what he saw.
With a jolt, she realized he didnât like her. She didnât know why, but clearly he didnât.
So he was a fool, for she knew very well her own worth.
âWe can go now.â She stepped out from behind him.
He moved aside easily, without hesitation, and the thick sexual tension dissipated in the cool air.
It hadnât really existed. It had been the imagination of a woman whoâd deprived herself of a relationship for far too long. Maybe the aunts had a point. Maybe it was time for her to get out a little. After all, dedicating herself to the bank wasnât giving her any satisfaction.
The sun went back behind the clouds. Blazed out again. Went behind the clouds. Steam rose from the street.
âWe need to get back to theâ¦the bank.â So she could go home and get ready for the party. âThe weatherâs not usually like this. So unsettled.â In the alley, she bent down and picked up a hailstone in each hand. They were uneven, jagged, both about the size of a golf ball. She balanced them, marveled at them. âIâve never seen them so big before.â That sounds sexual. âI meanââ She caught herself before she could say another word.
What was it about him that made her lose her glib good sense? She had to get him back to the bank now. Taking one step, she slipped on the hail-covered street.
He caught her arm, held her up when she would have done an ignominious case of the splits.
She glanced up at him and he looked dangerous, like a mugger far too
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