Free Molly by Peggy Webb Page B

Alabama, but she wasn’t about to
knuckle under.
    Being told what to do always brought out the
worst in her.
    She raked her hand through her hair, lifting
it seductively off her neck. Then she shrugged her shoulders so
that her other strap slide down her arm.
    “What’s the matter, Sammy baby? Afraid you’ll
lose me to some good-looking local hunk?” She batted her eyelashes
at him. “Why, baby, I’d be more than willing to give the Florence
boys a thrill.”
    He tossed the dress onto the bed and pulled
Molly so close she lost her breathe. She glared straight into his
eyes.
    “Don’t you ever let me catch you playing
games with the men in this town. Is that clear?”
    There was more in his face than anger. There
was pain—a hurt buried so deeply that only someone with Molly’s
compassion could see it. Her anger drained away, but she’d be
darned if she would let him order her around.
    “It was not my intention to play games,
Samuel. I chose this dress because I wanted to stay cool.”
    He loosened his grip on her shoulders,
suddenly ashamed. Never in his life had he treated a woman – or
anybody else, for that matter – with such high-handed tactics.
    “Did I hurt you, Molly?”
    “No.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Yes,” she whispered.
    “I’m sorry, Molly. I don’t know what got into
me.”
    “Nerves. I’m feeling a bit on edge
myself.”
    His smile was crooked and heartrending.
“Don’t be too generous with me. I can’t promise not to do this
again.”
    “Why, Samuel?”
    He swept his hands through her hair and let
it sift back through his fingers.
    “You seem to bring out the beast in me.”
    She struggled against the magic of his touch,
fought against the connection that wound them more and more tightly
together.
    “Funny, I thought it was only the
tyrant.”
    “That, too.”
    The urge to bury his face in her hair was so
strong, he moved closer. She parted her lips, and for an insane
moment, all he could think about was kissing them.
    Mentally he shook himself like an old wet
dog. He couldn’t afford to be bewitched by Molly. Especially not
tonight, of all nights.
    He released her quickly and picked up Bea’s
dress. “Don’t make this difficult, Molly. Please just wear the
damned dress.”
    She took the garment from him. It was a
sedate black dinner dress, expensive and elegant and about as
exciting as last Sunday’s casserole. Trust Bea to go for the
understated look.
    “Bea always did have good taste.”
    “Thank you.”
    She tossed the dress onto the bed. “But it’s
not
my
taste, Samuel.” She pulled her shoulder straps up
and smoothed down the hem of her bright coral party dress. “You’ll
just have to hold your head up somehow, and pretend that I’m
perfectly suitable for polite Florence society.”
    He looked pained. “I didn’t mean to sound so
pompous, Molly. I just want this party to go smoothly.”
    “I can promise you that I won’t swing from
the chandelier or dance on the tabletops or even flirt with the
local heart-throbs. I think I can survive one evening without those
activities. But I
am
wearing this dress.”
    The only time he’d ever seen such a stubborn
look on a face was when he and Bea had been kids. He’d had a new
baseball and glove and had gone off to play backlot baseball with
the boys in his neighborhood. Bea had tagged along. Not only that,
but she’d insisted on playing the game. When he had told her girls
didn’t play baseball, she’d stuck out her lip and said she’d prove
that girls could play better than boys. And she had. She’d hit two
home runs that afternoon.
    “I’ll concede the victory to you.” He gave
her a mock bow. “But don’t expect to win every time.”
    “Does this mean we’re going to fight a
lot?”
    “Probably. But I’ve come to find our little
skirmishes stimulating.”
    She propped her arms on the ornate brass
footboard of the bed and grinned at him like a naughty child. “You
might even find a few of them