Page 30 of Frankly, My Dear

“Pray you never do. Never, never will I make that fatal mistake again.”

Furious, she stood and kicked him in the shin.

“Ouch! You crazy witch,” he yelled and lurched for her. His iron fingers grasped her waist and she tripped, causing them both to fall to the stone patio.

“Geez! You’re nuts. Do you know that?” she shrieked, turning her face and body under him.

“Nuts? I’m not sure what that means, but you are insane. Why did you kick me?”

“You’re changing the subject. We were talking about slavery, James. Explain to me how you can condone such a barbaric practice.”

His jaw tightened with suppressed tension. “I owe you no explanations whatsoever.”

Selene felt tears welling in her eyes. For some reason, James’s being a slave owner was a betrayal of sorts to her. It wasn’t that she harbored romantic notions about him. She really didn’t. But he represented her safe haven in this roller-coaster ride through time, and she couldn’t bear to think that her security hinged even indirectly on the misery of slaves.

“Save your blubbering for something you can change,” he said tautly. “Slavery and the South go hand in hand.”

“That won’t always be so,” she said softly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “After the Civil War, all the slaves will be emancipated.”

“The what war? No, forget I asked. Spare me your predictions of the future.”

His hard body still lay half on, half off her, pinning her to the ground. “Get off me, you big hulk. I can’t breathe, and I’ll probably be covered with bruises.”

“I’m the one who’ll have injuries. Your hipbone almost emasculated me.”

“Well, wouldn’t that be the South’s great loss!”

“Your sarcasm is highly unflattering.”

“Big deal!”

With a snarl of disgust, James moved lithely to his feet and motioned her to follow.

She stood petulantly, wanting to argue further with him over the issue of slavery, but his stubborn chin rose defiantly. And besides, what choice did she have? She would have to go with him for now, but later…later she would try to convince him to release his slaves.

She made a big production of dusting off her gown and asked, “Where are we going now?”

“We are not going anywhere. I’m going back to my hotel room where I hope to consume a bottle of bourbon. It’s been a hell of a day.”

“You really do drink too much.”

“You really do talk too much.”

Selene stuck out her tongue at him and immediately felt silly for doing such a childish thing. But she refused to apologize to the maddening dolt. “Don’t think I’m going to swelter in that little closet while you drink yourself into oblivion.”

“You have a nasty habit of making demands when you are in no position whatsoever to do so. And I would suggest you keep that tongue in your mouth, or I’ll find a better use for it.”

It took Selene a moment to realize what he meant. Her hormones jump-started into a low hum with just those simple words. And he knew it, Selene could tell, by the way his blasted dimple kept trying to emerge.

“Actually, I hate to disappoint you, but I was able to find a room for you at the hotel. A planter’s wife became ill suddenly and had to leave the city.” He gazed at her speculatively as he held out an arm to escort her from the patio. “Unless, of course, you’d like to share a bottle…and a bed.”

Her heartbeat quickened at his offhand offer. Was he serious? Or just goading her again? His closely guarded expression hid his true feelings. She hadn’t thought she interested him in that way, except for that glorious kiss this morning. But when he tucked her arm through his, his large, callused hand enfolded hers, and Selene could feel the rapid pulse of his wrist against hers. Yes, he was definitely…interested.

Selene decided to steer the conversation away from this dangerous territory. “If I thought booze would help my situation by sending me back home, I’d drink a barrel. As it is, I’d probably fall asleep after one glass.”

“Glass? Who said anything about glasses? This is drinking-from-the-bottle time, chérie.”

Selene wondered what had prompted this sudden need for the forgetfulness of alcohol. And she couldn’t stop thinking about the other part of his offer—the enticing part—where he’d mentioned sharing a bed. “I thought I was too tall, and skinny, and mouthy, and, well, unattractive for your tastes.”