The Complete Mackenzie Collection Read Free Page B

her feet into the water. He had made certain the water was only warm, but he knew her feet were so cold even that would be painful. She sucked in her breath but didn’t protest, though he saw the gleam of tears in her eyes when he looked up at her.
    “It won’t hurt for long,” he murmured reassuringly, moving so that his legs were on each side of hers, clasping them warmly. Then he carefully removed her gloves, struck by the delicacy of her white, cold hands. He held them between his warm palms for a moment, then made a decision and unbuttoned his shirt as he crowded closer to her.
    “This will get them warm,” he said, and tucked her hands into the hollows of his armpits.
    Mary was dumbstruck. She couldn’t believe that her hands were nestled in his armpits like birds. His warmth seared her cold fingers. She wasn’t actually touching skin; he wore a T-shirt, but it was still the most intimate she had ever been with another person. Armpits…well, everyone had them, but she certainly wasn’t accustomed to touching them. She had never before been this surrounded by anyone, least of all a man. His hard legs were on each side of hers, clasping them; she was bent forward a little, her hands neatly tucked beneath his arms, while he briskly rubbed his hands over her arms and shoulders, then down to her thighs. She made a little sound of surprise; she simply couldn’t believe this was happening, not to Mary Elizabeth Potter, old maid schoolteacher ordinaire .
    Wolf had been concentrating on his task but he looked up at the sound she made, into her wide blue eyes. They were an odd blue, he thought, not cornflower or that pure dark blue. There was just a hint of gray in the shade. Slate blue, that was it. Distantly he noticed that her hair was straggling down from the ungodly knot she’d twisted it into, framing her face in silky, pale brown wisps. She was very close, her face just inches from his. She had the most delicate skin he’d ever seen, as fine-grained as an infant’s, so pale and translucent he could see the fragile tracery of blue veins at her temples. Only the very young should have skin like that. As he watched, another blush began to stain her cheeks, and unwillingly he felt himself become entranced by the sight. He wondered if her skin was that silky and delicate all over—her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, between her legs. The thought was like an electrical jolt to his system, overloading his nerves. Damn, she smelled sweet! And she would probably jump straight out of that chair if he lifted her skirt the way he wanted to and buried his face against her silky thighs.
    Mary licked her lips, oblivious to the way his eyes followed the movement. She had to say something, but she didn’t know what. His physical nearness seemed to have paralyzed her thought processes. My goodness, he was warm! And close. She should remember why she had come here in the first place, instead of acting like a ninny because a very good-looking, in a rough sort of way, very masculine person was too close to her. She licked her lips again, cleared her throat, and said, “Ah…I came to speak to Joe, if I may.”
    His expression changed very little, yet she had the impression that he was instantly aloof. “Joe isn’t here. He’s doing chores.”
    “I see. When will he be back?”
    “In an hour, maybe two.”
    She looked at him a little disbelievingly. “Are you Joe’s father?”
    “Yes.”
    “His mother is…?”
    “Dead.”
    The flat, solitary word jarred her, yet at the same time she was aware of a faint, shocking sense of relief. She looked away from him again. “How did you feel about Joe quitting school?”
    “It was his decision.”
    “But he’s only sixteen! He’s just a boy—”
    “He’s Indian,” Wolf interrupted. “He’s a man.”
    Indignation mingled with exasperation to act as a spur. She jerked her hands from his armpits and planted them on her hips. “What does that have to do with anything?