A Knight in Central Park(40)

“He was fine.”

“So, what did he say exactly?”

Sir Joe seemed to ponder her question. Verily he was trying to annoy her, and doing a fine job of it when he merely shrugged and said, “Not much.”

“He said not one word about me?”

Sir Joe scratched his chin, recalling the conversation as if it were a fortnight ago instead of only moments before. “No,” he said with a shake of his head, “he didn’t have anything to say about you.”

Although a part of her was relieved, another part felt insulted. “Not one word?”

“Not one word. Now about these clothes,” he said before she could question him further. “They’re too small. They won’t do.”

Alexandra turned back to tightening the saddle that needed no adjusting. “’Tis only a matter of getting used to.”

“Look at me,” he said, plunking his hands on his hips. “I can hardly walk.”

Alexandra shifted about once more, her gaze lowering before quickly shooting upward, away from the swell of his manhood straining against the taut fabric. Hastily she turned back to face the horse and adjust a stirrup. Her cheeks heated. “I fail to see the source of your distress.”

He leaned low to her ear. “I don’t believe you. I think you see exactly the source of my distress.”

Chills crawled up her back.

“I want my clothes back,” he whispered. “Where are they?”

Alexandra shivered at the feel of his warm breath against her neck. “I told Ari he could have them.”

“You what?”

She turned about so quickly she forgot he was so close and so very tall. Her nose brushed against his chest. He smelled of fresh pine and—and flowers? She smiled. “Did you use my soap when you bathed?”

“Yes, I did,” he said. “I didn’t think you would mind.”

“Oh no, I do not. ’Tis only that I have never smelled lavender and rosewater on a man before.”

He put his bare forearm to his nose and breathed in. “Ahh, great. Now I smell like a woman.”

“But you still look like a man.” She smiled, struggling to keep her gaze from dipping too low again.

“Which brings us back to the matter at hand.” His voice deepened, his nearness making it all the more difficult for her to breathe. She felt his chin hovering above her head. “Is that lavender, too, that I smell in your hair?”

“Aye,” she said, her voice low. Her cheek so close to his chest she could almost hear the soft beat of his heart.

How she ached to reach her arms up around his strong neck and feel his lips upon hers once more.

“And who might this Ari be,” he asked, “who has my clothes?”

For a moment, she forgot who Ari was. She closed her eyes, didn’t dare meet his gaze, afraid to let him see that she had lost all ability to concentrate. “Ari Tibbs aspires to be a garment maker,” she finally managed. “He was intrigued by your breeches, so I gave them to him. I owe Ari and Lydia much for agreeing to care for Grandfather and the children while we are gone. It is the least I could do.”

“Hmmm,” was all he said, his eyes dark and smoldering.

Something about the way he was looking at her told her Sir Joe felt something, too. There was something thick and palpable happening between them. If she failed to walk away, she might do something she would regret. Like kiss him. And to do so would be a mistake. If he wanted to kiss her, he would have done so already. Abruptly, she turned away from their near-embrace and yanked the reins from the post.

She was not cross with Sir Joe. She was angry with herself for desiring a man she could never have. For years she held no interest in marriage or men, then suddenly Sir Joe comes into her life and it is as if she is transformed over night, acting like a foolish simpleton every time he is around. God’s teeth, she could hardly find her tongue when he was about, her heart racing after nary a glance.

She climbed onto her horse and with a click of her tongue to get the horse moving, she set off, leaving Sir Joe to follow.





The horse’s tail swished, slapping Joe across the face and bringing him out of what he considered to be a strange medieval trance. To think he’d almost kissed the irritating woman before she’d jerked about, leaving him standing there looking like one of his foolish lovesick college students.

Just because her hair smelled like flowers and her lips beckoned him like honey beckons a bee, he’d nearly fallen into her trap. According to her grandfather, she wanted a husband and she meant to get one.