When she reached the dining room, she was startled to discover that he was behind her. He had followed her, as silent as a wraith. It was disconcerting.
"Stop it!" she demanded.
Shannon came out of the kitchen. Delilah was behind her. Both women stopped, startled.
Cole ignored them both. "Stop what?" he demanded irritably.
"Sneaking up on me!"
"I wasn't sneaking up on you. You told me it was time for supper, so I followed you."
"Whoa!" Shannon murmured, looking at her sister. "Kristin, you've been drinking!"
"Yes!" she snapped, glaring at Cole. "And I'll probably do a whole lot more drinking before… before…"
"Oh, hell, will you just sit the hell down!" Cole growled. He caught her hand, pulled out a chair and directed her into it with little grace. Her wide skirts flew. He pressed them down and shoved her chair in.
Kristin wanted to be dignified. She wanted to be sophisticated and elegant, and most of all she wanted to be in control. "You arrogant scallywag!" she said quietly, her voice husky with emotion.
"Kristin, shut up."
That was it. She started to push herself away from the table, but his hand slammed down on hers, holding her fast. "Kristin, shut up."
"Bas—"
"Now, Kristin." He came closer to her, much closer, and spoke in a whisper. This was between the two of them. "Or else we can get up and settle this outside."
The whiskey seemed to hit her anew right then, hit her hard. She thought she was going to scream. She burst into laughter instead. "Outside? With pistols?"
"Hardly, but you can call it what you want, darlin'."
The buzz of the liquor was nice. If he stayed around too long, Kristin thought, she'd find herself turning into a regular old drunk.
"Shall we eat?" Cole asked politely.
There was silence in the room. Shannon was staring at him. "Sit!" he told her.
Shannon sat hastily, then lowered her head before looking surreptitiously over at Kristin, who hiccuped loudly.
Cole groaned, then he looked up at Delilah. "Don't you and Samson usually eat?"
"Oh, no, sir!" Delilah protested. "Why, you know it just wouldn't be right for black folks —"
"Delilah, cut the… er —" He broke off, looking from Samson to Kristin. Shannon was about to laugh.
"Manure," Kristin supplied.
Shannon did burst into laughter. Even Delilah grinned. Cole said, "Get your husband, woman, and sit down and eat. I once had the opportunity to discover that a black man could save my hide as good as a white one. Let's just have supper and get it over with, shall we?"
"Yessir, yessir," Delilah said, chuckling. "My, my, my," she muttered, moving off toward the kitchen.
Kristin sat primly, her hands folded in her lap. Her dress felt ridiculously heavy, now that she was sitting. She felt as if she was about to fall over. She realized that Cole was looking at her, but it didn't matter very much, and that was a nice feeling.
Delilah walked back in from the kitchen.
Cole gazed at her expectantly. "You've never washed her mouth out with soap, huh?" He indicated Kristin.
Kristin decided that she could sit straight. She told Cole that he reminded her of the stuff that people needed to wipe off their boots before they came in from the barn.
Shannon gasped, and then she began to giggle. Delilah stood stock-still. Samson, coming in behind his wife, turned an ashen color.
Cole was dead still. Explosively still. And then explosively in motion.
He was up, and Kristin sobered enough to know a moment's panic as he came around behind her and purposely pulled her chair away from the table. He lifted her, and her petticoats and hoops and skirt went flying. Kristin swore at him and pounded on his back.
"Cole!" Kristin gasped.
What manner of man had she let loose in her home, she wondered.
He started for the stairs.
"What are you doing?" she shrieked.
"Putting you to bed."
"I don't want to go!"
"My rules, Miss McCahy."
They were all watching her, Shannon and Delilah and Samson, and they weren't doing a thing to save her. They were just staring. She raised her head and saw that Delilah was openly grinning and Samson was hiding a smile.
"You son of a bitch!" she yelled.
"We are going to have to do something about that mouth of yours," Cole vowed grimly.
"This is my house!"
"My rules!"
She told him what he could do with his rules, but it was too late. They were already up the stairs. He booted open the door to the room he had decreed they would share, and before she knew it she had landed on the bed. She wanted to get back up, but she groaned instead and clutched her temples.
His leering face was above her.
"Why, what's the matter, Miss McCahy? Why, I would have thought you could drink any man west of the Mississippi under the table."
"Madeira," she whispered. "Not whiskey."
He showed her no mercy. Suddenly his hand was on her leg and he was pulling off her shoe. She managed to pull herself up to a sitting position and pummel his back. "What are you doing?"
"Taking your shoes off." But her shoes were off, and his hands were still on her, slipping along her calf, then her thigh. When his fingers touched her thigh, she gasped and tried to stop him. "Damn you Cole Slater —"
Her words ended in a gasp, for he turned quickly, pulling hard on her ankle so that she was lying flat on her back again. Her silk stockings came free in his hands, and he tossed them carelessly on the floor. She tried to rise, and he came down beside her on the bed, his weight on her.
"Where the hell are the damn ties to these things?" he muttered, working on her hoop.
Kristin struggled to stop him, but he found the ties. She reached for his hands, but they had already moved, freeing her from her hoop and petticoats, and he pulled her up, working on the hooks of her gown. In seconds he had it free and she was down to her pantalets, chemise and corset.
"Come here!" he demanded roughly. Kristin cried out, trying to elude him, but he pulled her back by the corset ties. He loosened the ties, and she gasped, amazed by the air that rushed into her lungs. But then she was naked except for her sheer chemise and pantalets, and his presence was overwhelming.
She began to protest. He caught her shoulders and slammed her down on the bed.
"Calm down and sleep it off!" he commanded.
He was straddling her, and his eyes were like steel. She wanted to slap his superior face. She tried. She missed by a mile, and he caught her hand.
"My rules."
She told him again what he could do with his rules.
"Stay here alone, or I'll stay here with you."
She went still, trying to grasp the meaning of his words. The room was spinning madly.
Then she understood. He stared at her. Then he lowered his head toward her and kissed her, and somewhere, within her hazy mind and her bruised heart she knew that he did desire her.
And she knew, too, that he didn't love her, not at all.
His kiss was hard and demanding and, in its way, punishing. But then it deepened, and it was rich, and it betrayed a growing passion and hunger. She felt her body respond. She felt his hands move over her, felt him grow warm and hard. She began to tremble and suddenly she wanted him, but she wanted him loving her, loving her tenderly, not just wanting her with the raw desire that had finally brought him to her.
His mouth opened and closed hungrily upon her flesh. His teeth grazed her throat, and the tip of his tongue teased the valley between her breasts. He was a flame setting on her, seeping into her, and she was stunned that he could so easily elicit this willingness…
This eagerness…
Within her. She stiffened, fighting the whiskey haze in her heart and in her mind. She had to stop him. He hadn't meant to do this, not now. He had stayed away from her on purpose, she was certain of it. He wanted no involvements.