Anabelle Bryant - The Last Gamble

‘Miss Smith.’ He watched in dejected frustration as the door opened. ‘Georgina, please!’

‘No. I said no.’ She fairly shouted her refusal and pushed the door open, but in a blur of beige Biscuit shot across the threshold, the pug’s pernicious snarls startling Miss Smith as much as he. Who would expect such vigilant protection from the pint-sized pup?

‘Oh.’ She gasped. With less than a heartbeat’s length to react, she missed the opportunity to capture her pet and Biscuit bulleted forward at her valiant defence. Rocketing past her skirts, the dog emitted a ferocious growl and latched onto Reese’s trousers.

The scene might have appeared comical if so much weren’t at stake. Miss Smith struggled to free Biscuit from his offensive attack, her skirts an encumbrance as she crouched to reclaim the dog, but too soon she lost footing, her boot heel caught on the uneven edge of a broken slate. Already in an awkward position, she pitched towards the daisies, losing hold of the dog in the process. Luke shot out a hand to steady her, latching on to her arm to prevent the fall, but it proved no use. Caught in the vertiginous melee, Miss Smith teetered wildly, grasping his extended arm with her ungloved hands to hold tight.

With lightning reactions, Luke shook off Biscuit and twisted his body to absorb the impact as they fell to the ground into the flowerbed like two newly planted bulbs, him on his back and Miss Smith, Georgina, warm, wonderful Georgina , sprawled atop his chest.

Her exclamation of surprise mingled with his groan upon impact. Biscuit merely continued his incessant barking.

Clubs, spades, diamonds and hearts.

Georgina’s luscious curves blanketed his increasing hardness in a landing so pleasurable he might have found heaven. Her enticing breasts, lush and wonderful, pressed against his chest in curvy warmth and delicious invitation. The sensual conclusion, that she eschewed a corset, lit a hot flame of lust he could not deny. He knew firsthand every intimate item in a woman’s wardrobe and never had heat permeated through his shirt like in this moment, the lovely Miss Smith intimately atop him. Perhaps the proper governess was not so proper after all.

Their legs tangled in fabric and daisies, urging him to pay attention to sensation. How long had he gone without a woman? Life had taken a different path but he never denied himself company. His blood stirred. He hadn’t experienced any emotion beyond loss in so long he almost didn’t recognize it, but there it was, desire. With that identification, the sudden suggestion of a kiss rose to the forefront, demanding attention no matter how inappropriate. He eased his head from the flowers, daring a better view.

She still hadn’t raised her eyes and, as he glanced at the top of her head, her lopsided bun escaped its pins and a kaleidoscope of tresses begged for his fingers. He again caught the fragrance of apricots despite flowers surrounded him. The startling realization, that he would happily stay there indefinitely, awakened all sorts of marvellous ambiences and naughty thoughts. She sighed then, her generous bosom cosseted closer as if to nudge his attention and say who cares about hair, don’t forget about me. His hands curled around her shoulders, anxious to skim down her back or, more so, take down her dishevelled bun, unravel the lengths and wrap the silky strands tight in his fists. Need and want tore him down the middle. Hell, what was he thinking?

The blasted dog continued his harangue and, with a little oomph, Miss Smith attempted to rise and correct the embarrassing situation. She lifted her head and matched his gaze directly. Her eyes, brilliant blue, searched his face as a soft breeze caught a wayward strand of hair and raised it in a dance to float between them like so many intimate suggestions. He inhaled sharply and cleared his throat, hoping to vanquish the fast and furious sinful images fighting for attention inside his brain.

Mortification. Mor-ti-fi-ca-tion. Georgina was horrified. Inhaling a deep breath, she angled her head to find Mr Reese, Luke , staring at her with a question in his eyes.

‘Oh dear.’ Her voice sounded breathy. Perhaps she’d knocked the wind from her lungs. She attempted to wriggle free of his hold, for his arm encircled her back, lashing them together in an embrace both protective and warm. She heard him groan with her movement. Was she too heavy? The hard, masculine body beneath her suggested he could support her cottage without effort. Perhaps he’d become injured in the fall. She doubted it. His rugged virility insisted his hurts were inside, unsusceptible to common injury.

She watched as his eyes moved over her face and settled on her mouth where his attention hovered for what seemed like forever. What to say? She poked her tongue out to wet her lips. ‘I should get up.’

He released a low, impatient growl that reminded her of Biscuit. The short-muzzled pug seemingly sensed the same as he continued a harsh diatribe in objection to their position. Botheration, how long had she laid atop Mr Reese? She would need a minute to reason that answer out. Sadly, Biscuit proved not nearly as patient and, before Georgina could gather her wits and regain her footing, the pug barked one last protestation and sank his sharp white teeth into Mr Reese’s forearm.

‘Bloody mongrel.’

‘Oh dear.’ Georgina scooted off Mr Reese as he raised his arm with alarming speed. She stood and, after a hard shake of her skirts to regain mobility, nabbed Biscuit, deposited him in the gated yard and returned to the front of the cottage to find Mr Reese with his palm pressed over his left forearm, his expression thunderous.

‘Come inside at once.’ She pushed the door open and moved to the side, anxious to get to the kitchen where she could collect water and bandages, everything needed to clean and dress his wound. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve never seen Biscuit behave so aggressively. I don’t understand. He’s such a friendly little dog.’

‘His mouth’s not so little.’

After that mutter, Mr Reese followed quietly, though his face screamed a variety of responses. They entered the kitchen and it was he who examined her from top to bottom. She couldn’t make heads or tails of what he might consider at the moment. His wound could only hurt like the devil.

‘Please sit down.’ She indicated a chair at the kitchen table and stepped to the sink to gather clean cloths, a bowl of water and small jar of honey. ‘When Biscuit was a puppy he sank his teeth into me a few times and I quickly learned the best dressing.’ He still hadn’t spoken and she wondered if his silence was due to the pain of the bite or an increase in anger.

She breathed a bit easier when at last he pulled out a chair and rested his left arm on the tablecloth. He set to work rolling his shirtsleeve, the exposed skin below red and angry, though she couldn’t help admire the hard muscle flexed in wait of her attention nor the sheen of raven-black hair dusted over smooth, sun-bronzed skin. As she’d suspected earlier, he wore a silver ring on his thumb, though no other rings adorned his fingers. It was a strange accessory, though she could not deny it intrigued her. Suddenly aware of the silence, she rushed out a few words.

‘Biscuit is a healthy dog. I doubt there will be any adverse complications. I’m truly sorry this happened.’ At a loss to say more she advanced to the table and leaned forward to examine his arm more closely. ‘May I clean and bandage the wound, Mr Reese?’

‘At this point I must insist you call me Luke.’ He exhaled, from frustration or another reason she could not know.

‘Well then, Luke. Let’s begin.’ She dipped the cloth into the bowl of water and washed over the swollen area. It no longer bled and, once cleaned, proved smaller and not as deep as she’d originally suspected. Perhaps because his arm was all carved muscle and virile strength. Biscuit might have chipped a tooth. Good heavens, was he this hard all over his body? The mental question shocked and her eyes flared at the meanderings of her thoughts. Colour heated her cheeks and she dropped her attention, her gaze lingering on his silver thumb ring before she forced herself to focus. ‘This shouldn’t hurt overmuch.’