Page 13 of Just Imagine
“Just because I—” She broke off and swallowed as she finally got a good look at him.
He was nearly naked, wearing only a pair of dun-colored trousers slung low on his hips, with the top two buttons left unfastened in his haste to get to the door. She’d been around her share of scantily clad men working in the fields or at the sawmill, but now it was as if she’d never seen a one of them.
His chest was broad and muscular, lightly furred. A raised scar slashed one shoulder, and another jutted over his bare abdomen from the open waistband of his trousers. His hips were narrow and his stomach flat, bisected by a thin line of tawny hair. Her eyes inched lower to the point at which the legs of his trousers met. What she saw there fascinated her.
“Dry yourself off.”
She lifted her head and saw him staring at her, a towel extended in his hand, his expression puzzled. She grabbed the towel and reached under the collapsed brim of her hat to dab at her cheeks.
“It might be easier if you’d take your hat off.”
“I don’t want to take it off,” she snapped, unsettled by her reaction. “I like my hat.”
With a growl of exasperation, he headed into the hallway, only to reappear with a blanket. “Get rid of those wet clothes. You can wrap up in this.”
She stared at the blanket and then at him. “I’m not takin’ off my clothes!”
Cain frowned. “You’re cold.”
“I’m not cold!”
“Your teeth are chattering.”
“Are not!”
“Damn it, boy, it’s three o’clock in the morning, I lost two hundred dollars at poker tonight, and I’m tired as hell. Now get out of those damned clothes so we can both get some sleep. You can use Magnus’s room tonight, and I’d better not hear another sound from you till noon.”
“Are you deaf, Yankee? I said I wasn’t takin’ off any clothes!”
Cain wasn’t used to anybody standing up to him, and the grim set of his jaw told her she should have killed him right away. As he took a step forward, she shot toward the basket of apples where she’d hidden her gun, only to jerk to a stop when he caught her arm.
“Oh, no, you don’t!”
“Let me go, you son of a bitch!”
She started swinging, but Cain was holding her at arm’s length. “I told you to take off those wet clothes, and you’re going to do what I say so I can get some damn sleep!”
“You can rot in hell, Yankee!” She swung again, but her blow bounced off as harmlessly as thistledown.
“Stop it before you get hurt.” He shook her once as a warning.
“Go fuck yourself!”
Her hat flew off as she felt herself being lifted off the floor. There was a clap of thunder, Cain sank down onto a kitchen chair, and she found herself upended over his outstretched knee.
“I’m going to do you a favor.” His open palm slammed down on her bottom.
“Hey!”
“I’m going to teach you a lesson your father should have taught you.”
Once again his hand came down, and she cried out, more from indignation than from pain. “Stop it, you rotten Yankee bastard!”
“Never cuss at people who are bigger than you are . . .”
He gave her another hard, stinging smack.
“Or stronger than you are . . .”
