Free Jane Bonander by Warrior Heart Page A

she’d responded.
    He swore again. Everything was coming back to him, every detail of his vile behavior. He’d almost told her who he was. Surprisingly, a tiny shred of sense had kept him from blurting out the truth.
    He swallowed, ignoring the putrid taste in his mouth as he returned his thoughts to the kiss. His erection grew, heightening the hungry itch of lust at his groin.
    Suddenly the door opened, slamming against the wall.
    “Laundry day, Mistah Wolfe. We gotta have that quilt.”
    Jackson attempted to grab his bedding, but it was whisked off the bed, leaving him bare and cold.
    “What in hell!” Dumbfounded, he discovered the big black cook standing over him, her eyes dancing with amusement. Before his brandy-soaked brain could react, Liberty O’Malley raced into the room.
    “Mahalia, don’t wake—”
    Both women stood there, gaping at him. Too late, he snatched the extra pillow off the bed and covered himself.
    Mahalia chuckled all the way down the stairs and outside, while Libby brought up the rear, holding the other end of the quilt. Neither spoke as they dunked the quilt into the tub of hot, soapy water, and Libby refused to look at her assistant, for Mahalia continued to laugh the sort of laugh she used when she was highly amused.
    “Stop that,” Libby ordered, attempting to sound firm.
    Mahalia stopped poking at the wet quilt with the paddle and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Can’t help it. Did you ever see such an expression on a man’s face? Did you?”
    Libby hadn’t been looking at his face. What she had looked at had shocked her. She wasn’t entirely innocent, but never had she imagined one that size. It was reprehensible to allow the thought to materialize at all, but she couldn’t ignore it. She gave herself a good strong scolding, then smirked. A lot of good a reprimand would do. There were some things she simply couldn’t banish from her thoughts, and she was afraid this was one of them.
    Earlier, she’d awakened, feeling that odd sense of dread that people have when they’ve said or done something they can’t take back and can’t quite recall. Then she remembered the kiss, and her feelings of shame returned. She’d kissed him with the fervor of a seasoned trollop.
    She gripped her paddle tightly so Mahalia wouldn’t notice that her fingers shook. Truth to tell, she was shaking all over, inside and out. Her heart fluttered against her ribs, and her stomach quivered.
    The kiss had been one thing, but seeing him lying in his bed, naked as a jay, with his…She expelled a whoosh of air. It had been like…like a pole, thick and long, slanting toward his flat, hair-covered belly, the base nestled in a profusion of dark hair. And hair grew over his chest, too, dense and dark. Her first thought had been a shameful one: Could she have touched her thumb to her index finger if she’d tried to span the pole?
    Her cheeks flamed. How had such a brazen thought found its way into her head? She could never look him in the eye again. And heaven help her if she inadvertently glanced lower.
    In spite of everything, the sight of him was emblazoned in her brain. There were scars aplenty, she remembered that. Now, as she thought about it, she wondered just what kind of work Mr. Wolfe had done to incur such a physical battering.
    “If it had been stickin’ straight up, it would’ve been tall and upright as a lamppost.”
    Libby’s face continued to burn. “Mahalia,” she warned.
    “Didn’t I tell you?” Mahalia ignored the warning. “His thumbs said it all, yes, they certainly did.”
    Libby had gone to bed the night before, disappointed to learn that he drank so much. She should have known that no man was as perfect as Wolfe had appeared to be. Any decent man would be embarrassed by what had happened this morning, and she had no doubt he would be. She prayed he had a roaring hangover as well.
    “I asked you to see if he was up. Otherwise, I told you not to bother