She didn't think he could protect her. Or himself, for that matter. Bitterness coated his tongue.
She must've seen his reaction because she quickly tried to placate him. "Adam—"
"I am not one of the boys you lead around on apron strings."
She gasped softly. If he had offended her, so be it.
"I'm a man grown,” he said. “In the course of chasing stories, I've found myself in some pretty tight places. The most titillating stories never happen in safety during the daytime." He'd had his share of close calls and had even been in a few scuffles.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand to stop her. "It's late and we're both weary. It might be best if you save you arguments for tomorrow."
She pursed her lips, but nodded. Then, she surprised him when she bent and set her plate on the ground. "I'll see to your hands before we say good-night."
"I can—"
"Humor me."
He allowed her to take him by the wrist and pull him closer to one of the lanterns. She turned up his palm, and he caught her wince at the broken blisters where his gloves had rubbed him raw throughout the day. It'd made it doubly hard to hold that stub of a pencil.
She took a small tin from her hip pocket and surprised him when she began to massage a salve gently into his broken skin. Her tender ministrations surprised him.
She looked up at him briefly, then back down at his hand. "I wasn't going to argue."
He let his silence speak for him.
She stuck out her tongue, though she remained focused on his hand, then released it and took his other hand to give it the same treatment.
"You may be right that I've treated you like some of the other ... boys ... I've known."
He wasn't like those young pups he'd seen briefly in her hometown. He knew what he wanted.
"How shall I treat you, then?" she asked softly, looking up at him.
He held her gaze. "As myself. Learn who I am." He said the words quickly when he saw her protest in her expression. "And judge me for myself."
She pressed her lips into a line as she released his hand, but he couldn't read her enigmatic expression.
She tucked her tin back into her pocket and then folded her hands in front of her. "I suppose you'll want to collect on your boon now," she whispered, looking at the ground, at the barn behind him, at anything but at him.
He used one hand to tip her face up to his.
"Not tonight."
He'd seen the range of emotions cross her expression this morning when he'd mentioned it on horseback. The remembrance of what they'd shared and a hint of wanting that again. But also, unmistakable fear.
He didn't want her to kiss him in fear. Or because he'd won a bet.
He wanted her to kiss him because she couldn't live without his kiss for a moment longer.
And if that meant earning her trust, completing this entire race, then so be it.
"Double or nothing for finishing the day tomorrow," he said.
And then he let his fingers fall away from her face.
There was only so much temptation a man could take.
7
