He was already warm. He was burning up. He pulled off his gloves and tossed them on the kitchen table. "Don't you know everybody in that town will be talking about you now? Lady, I'm Indian, and I'm an ex-con—"
"Mary," she interrupted briskly.
"What?"
"My name is Mary, not 'lady.' Mary Elizabeth." She added the second name out of habit because Aunt Ardith had always called her by both names. "Are you certain you don't want coffee? I need something to warm up my insides."
His hat joined the gloves, and he raked an impatient hand through his hair. "All right. Coffee."
Mary turned to run the water and measure the coffee, using the activity to hide the sudden colour in her face. His hair. She felt stupid, but she'd hardly noticed his hair before. Maybe she'd been too upset, then too bemused, or maybe it was just that his midnight-black eyes had taken her attention, but she hadn't noticed before how long his hair was. It was thick and black and shiny, and touched his broad shoulders. He looked magnificently pagan; she had immediately pictured him with his powerful chest and legs bare, his body covered only by a breechclout or loincloth, and her pulse rate had gone wild.
He didn't sit down, but propped his long body against the cabinet beside her. Mary kept her head down, hoping her blush would subside. What was it about the man that the mere sight of him triggered erotic fantasies? She had certainly never had any fantasies before, erotic or otherwise. She had never before looked at a man and wondered what he looked like nude, but the thought of Wolf nude made her ache inside, made her hands itch to touch him.
"What the hell are you doing letting me even come in your house, let alone inviting me to have coffee?" he asked in a low, rough voice.
She blinked at him, her expression startled. "Why shouldn't I?"
He thought he might explode with frustration. "Lady—"
"Mary."
His big fists clenched. "Mary. Don't you have any better sense than to let an ex-con into your house?"
"Oh, that." She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "It would be wise to follow your advice if you were truly a criminal, but since you didn't do it, I don't think that applies in this instance. Besides, if you were a criminal, you wouldn't give me that advice."
He couldn't believe the casual way she disregarded any possibility of his guilt. "How do you know I didn't do it?"
"You just didn't."
"Do you have any reason for your deduction, Sherlock, or are you going on good old feminine intuition?"
She jerked around and glared at him. "I don't believe a rapist would have handled a woman as tenderly as you—as you handled me," she said, her voice tapering off into a whisper, and the colour surged back into her face. Mortified by the stupid way she continued to blush, she slapped her palms to her face in an effort to hide the betraying colour.
Wolf clenched his teeth, partly because she was white and therefore not for him, partly because she was so damned innocent, and partly because he wanted so fiercely to touch her that his entire body ached. "Don't build any dreams because I kissed you Saturday," he said harshly. "I've been too long without a woman, and I'm—"
"Horny?" she supplied.
He was staggered by the incongruity of that word coming from her prim mouth. "What?"
"Horny," she said again. "I've heard some of my students say it. It means—"
"I know what it means!"
"Oh. Well, is that what you were? Still are, for all I know."
He wanted to laugh. The urge almost overpowered him, but he changed the sound into a cough. "Yeah, I still am."
She looked sympathetic. "I understand that can be quite a problem."
"It's hard on a guy."
It took a moment, but then her eyes widened, and before she could stop herself, her gaze had slid down his body. Instantly she jerked her head back up. "Oh. I see. I mean—I understand."
The need to touch her was suddenly so strong that he had to give in to it, had to touch her in even the smallest way. He put his hands on her shoulders, savouring her softness, the delicacy of her joints under his palms. "I don't think you do understand. You can't associate with me and still work in this town. At best, you'd be treated like a leper, or a slut. You would probably lose your job."
At that, she pressed her lips together, and a militant light came into her eyes. "I'd like to see someone try to fire me for associating with a law-abiding, tax-paying citizen. I refuse to pretend I don't know you."
"There's knowing, and there's knowing. It would be bad enough for you to be friends with me. Sleeping with me would make your life here impossible."
He felt her stiffen under his hands. "I don't believe I've asked to sleep with you," she said, but the colour rose in her face again. She hadn't actually said the words, but he knew she certainly had thought about what it would be like.
"You asked, all right, but you're so damned innocent you didn't realize what you were doing," he muttered. "I could crawl on top of you right now, sweetheart, and I'd do it if you had any real idea of what you're asking for. But the last thing I want is to have some prissy little Anglo screaming 'rape' at me. Believe me, an Indian doesn't get the benefit of the doubt."
"I wouldn't do anything like that!"
He smiled grimly. "Yeah, I've heard that before. I'm probably the only man who has ever kissed you, and you think you'd like more, don't you? But sex isn't pretty and romantic, it's hot and sweaty, and you probably wouldn't like the first time at all. So do me a favour and find some other guinea pig. I have enough troubles without adding you to the list."