Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

She was imagining it now. Silly girl. Cat took her pencil from her pocket and scribbled some rather useless ideas in her notebook. Really, she ought to pay better attention to the work around her. She wanted this cluster of cottages to be perfect for the families who would soon inhabit them. She wanted the children, a few of whom had spent years in the workhouses, to know sunlight and fresh air. The gardens would help their bodies to be healthful, while the open fields and trees to climb would repair their spirits.

These were not families who knew comfort, as she did. They knew work, and sickness, and hunger. And some of them, gaol.

In three years’ time, this end of the village would be full of life. The families would be healed and the flower boxes would be overflowing.

And Jamie, would he still be home?

Pushing the thought from her mind, she entered what would be the Warners’ cottage. The north-facing windows were particularly large and exposed to the street. Redford’s Mercantile had some new fabrics in stock that would make lovely drapes.

The deep blue velvet she had seen last week would be too formal for the cottage, but perfect for Jamie’s bedroom. The cool color suited him well. Especially his eyes, and the way they were set off by his darkened skin…

Work. Work was a good distraction.

Cat crossed to the windows and considered the spindly ladder lying against the bare wall. She’d never actually measured for drapes herself, but she’d watched the footmen do it. Surely it couldn’t be too hard. The laborers were busy repairing the chimney across the street, and she hated to bother them.

She dragged the tall ladder toward the windows and climbed the first rung. Nothing hard to it. Any independent-minded woman could do this work. She climbed near to the top and removed her measuring tape from her pocket. She held the end of the tape above the window and let the rest of it drop to the ground.

Dash it. This wouldn’t work, she could not read the numbers at the bottom of the window. Perhaps she should stand in the middle of the ladder.

She took a step down and froze as her dress pulled sharply against her throat and shoulders. Her skirts were caught beneath her boots. Just wonderful. She stepped up the ladder and freed the fabric. This time, as she descended, she kicked her skirts out wide. Still, her left foot managed to catch the hem of her riding habit.

This was silly.

She threw the measuring tape to the ground and grabbed as much fabric into her right hand as possible. Cool air rushed against her calves as she hoisted her skirts.

She took a precarious step down, but could go no further. Alas, it was not possible to descend a ladder without the use of two hands.

Footsteps sounded on the front porch.

“Oh good,” Cat called to the workman. “Can you please help…?”

Her voice trailed off as she felt a familiar shiver run up her spine. That was no workman watching her. It was her husband.

“My, my,” he drawled from the doorway.

Oh, buzzing and warmth and languid sunshine. It caught up to her regardless. Cat closed her eyes and felt the heat of his gaze on her back.

She could only imagine what he saw. Her lower legs were bare above her riding boots. And her drawers, should they be exposed, were frilled with lace at the bottom. Jamie had enjoyed extravagances like that, had bought her the most glorious undergarments the week after their wedding.

The sound of his footsteps drew nearer at a leisurely pace. She did not drop her skirts. She could not help it, she enjoyed his looking.

“I don’t know if I should admire you or call you to task.” His rough voice rubbed against her, sent gooseflesh skittering across her skin.

Strong hands wrapped around her waist and she opened her eyes. He was touching her. Framing her body with his long fingers. She was honey, shaped by a vessel. Fire, blazing within a ring of rocks. She was safe. Pouring out. Held together.

Jamie. Her Jamie.

“You can release the ladder now, Cat.”

But she didn’t let go. It was too long since she’d last been touched. Not the purposeful touch of her lady’s maid, or the quick buss on the cheek from a friend. But touched by a man. Touched so that the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as they were now.

He shifted his hands and spread his fingers wide, almost brushed the underside of her breasts. Her sharp inhale was loud in the silent room.

She opened her hand and let go, let herself fall back into him. Jamie slowly lowered her to the floor.

When he did not immediately release her, she stepped to the side. She did not want to give him this power over her. Not again. She dropped her skirts and squared her shoulders before she turned.

Attraction hummed between them, infinitely louder and hungrier than the honeybees. Jamie made no attempt to hide his arousal. His blue eyes were molten, his lids heavy. She struggled to hold his gaze before he let it slip down to her lips.

He was going to kiss her.

Cat stepped back and banged into the ladder. “Whatever are you doing in the village?”

His lips lifted into that dratted half smile. “Whatever are you doing, climbing a ladder?”

She slid to the side, needing more space from him. “Measuring for drapes. You?”