Hope felt again hercheeks blaze. “That will not be necessary,” she saidstiffly.
The small smile Mr Wadewore expanded into a grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.“And who might this be?”
“This is—”Hope’s mind went blank. Did she know this woman’s name? “Mysecretary,” she finished lamely.
“Margaret,sir,” her secretary said, smiling slowly.
“Margaret. Adelight to meet you. Am I right in thinking you are also employedat the Oriental Rose?”
Margaret gave a saucygrin. “You would.”
“Ah.” Heturned to Hope and raised a brow.
She lifted her chin. Shewasn’t a fool. She knew her secretary most likely was also employedas a prostitute. In the time they’d been in this town, she’ddiscovered quickly it was populated more with those her Sacramentoacquaintances would term disreputable than with those they wouldnot. She didn’t much care either way.
“What next,Mr Wade?” she asked instead.
His eyes gleamed,acknowledging her sidestep. “I reckon I’ll do some more scouting,maybe talk to people in the next camp over. There’s people whotravel between this camp and the next, and those that residesomewhere between. I’ll be gone a few days, unless you have aneed?”
She shook herhead.
“I’ll be onmy way, then. Miz McElroy.” He tipped up his chin.“Ma’am.”
The secretary noddedback, a small smile playing about her full lips.
Mr Wade glanced at Hopeagain and then, with that same small smile, he left.
Biting her lip, shestared at the closed door. She would not see him for a few days. Itwasn’t that she would miss him, it was...she had become accustomedto his presence. It would be odd not to have him near.
Picking up her fountainpen, she forced her regard to the work before her but she could notconcentrate. What was it about Mr Wade that so completely destroyedher focus? He offered her that slight smile, the one she’d observedhe gave to no one but her, and she felt breathless, her heartpounding against her ribs.
Staring hard at her work,she could feel the other woman’s gaze upon her. Thewoman—Margaret—considered her, her head cocked. Bending her own,she forced concentration on the report before her.
“He in youremploy, too?”
Rereading a sentencediscussing shipping statistics, she gave a sharp nod.
“How’s heservicing you?”
Her head jerkedup.
Margaret gave her a grin,one that made her cheeks burn. She couldn’t answer. “You like him,don’t you?”
“Mr Wade?”she said, attempting nonchalance. “As much as I should, Isuppose.”
“No, I mean,you like him as a woman likes a man, one she wants between herthighs.”
Hope opened and closedher mouth, her neck hot and her heart racing. “This is notappropriate,” she finally managed.
“It neveris.” Margaret paused. “He likes you.”
“He does?”The question came out soft, vulnerable. How did he do this to her?How did he make her question herself, make her stammer and blushand act foolish? He wasn’t even here, and he still had such swayover her.
“Somethingfierce. When he came in, it were like all you two noticed was theother and the rest of the world were gone. Had me wondering ifmaybe it was I should excuse myself.”
Suddenly, she wanted tounburden herself. She wanted to tell this woman she’d just met howhe confused her, how she would look at him and she wanted to touchhim. To run her hand over his chest and feel the strength of him,the hard muscle beneath his shirt, that small vee of skin at histhroat she thought of way too often. To trace the length of hisarms, curl her hand over his biceps, feel his hand flex in thesmall of her back as he held her to him.
To know hiskiss.
