The Complete Mackenzie Collection Read Free Page A

least until he could get her warm. The clumsy way she had been walking when he’d first seen her had told him that she was in the first stages of hypothermia. He shrugged out of his heavy coat and tossed it a side, then put on a pot of coffee.
    Mary sat silently as he made coffee; he wasn’t a very talkative person, though that wasn’t going to make her give up. She was truly cold; she would wait until she had a cup of that coffee, then begin again. She looked up at him as he turned back to her, but his expression was unreadable. Without a word he took the scarf from her head and began unbuttoning her coat. Startled, she said, “I can do that,” but her fingers were so cold that any movement was agony. He stepped back and let her try for a moment, then brushed her hands aside and finished the job himself.
    “Why are you taking my coat off when I’m so cold?” she asked in bewilderment as he peeled the coat down her arms.
    “So I can rub your arms and legs.” Then he proceeded to remove her shoes.
    The idea was as alien to her as snow. She wasn’t accustomed to anyone touching her, and didn’t intend to become accustomed. She started to tell him so, but the words vanished unsaid when he abruptly thrust his hands under her skirt, all the way to her waist. Mary gave a startled shriek and jerked back, almost oversetting the chair. He glared at her, his eyes like black ice.
    “You don’t have to worry,” he snapped. “This is Saturday. I only rape on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” He thought about throwing her back out into the snow, but he couldn’t let a woman freeze to death, not even a white woman who obviously thought his touch would contaminate her.
    Mary’s eyes grew so wide they eclipsed the rest of her face. “What’s wrong with Saturdays?” she blurted, then realized that she had almost issued him an invitation, for pity’s sake! She clapped her gloved hands to her face as a tide of red surged to her cheeks. Her brain must have frozen; it was the only possible explanation.
    Wolf jerked his head up, not believing she had actually said that. Wide, horrified blue eyes stared at him from over black leather gloves, which covered the rest of her face but couldn’t quite hide the hot color. It had been so long since he’d seen anyone blush that it took him a minute to realize she was acutely embarrassed. Why, she was a prude! It was the final cliché to add to the dowdy, old maid schoolteacher image she presented. Amusement softened his irritation. This was probably the highlight of her life. “I’m going to pull your panty hose off so you can put your feet in the water,” he explained in a gruff voice.
    “Oh.” The word was muffled because her hands were still over her mouth.
    His arms were still under her skirt, his hands clasped on her hips. Almost unconsciously he felt the narrowness of her, and the softness. Dowdy or not, she still had the softness of a woman, the sweet scent of a woman, and his heartbeat increased as his body began to respond to her nearness. Damn, he needed a woman worse than he’d thought if this frumpy little schoolteacher could turn him on.
    Mary sat very still as one powerful arm closed around her and lifted her so he could strip the panty hose down her hips and legs; the position put his head close to her breasts and stomach, and she stared down at his thick, shiny black hair. He had only to turn his head and his mouth would brush against her breasts. She had read in books that a man took a woman’s nipples into his mouth and sucked them as a nursing infant would, and she had always wondered why. Now the thought made her feel breathless, and her nipples tingled. His roughly callused hands brushed against her bare legs; how would they feel on her breasts? She began to feel oddly warm, and a little dizzy.
    Wolf didn’t glance at her as he tossed the insubstantial panty hose to the floor. He lifted her feet onto his thigh and slid the dishpan into place, then slowly lowered