Most of the buttons had been ripped away during his struggle with herattacker, leaving his shirt gaping, exposing the width and breadth of amuscular chest unlike any Sheridan had ever seen.
Taut planes, clearly delineated, made her want to reach out and trace theircontours. She caught a glimpse of darkly alluring brown nipples and a hint ofa rippling stomach.
Just looking at him did strange things to her insides. Perhaps thatexplained her extreme reaction to him when she'd spotted him poised across thelength of the dock. She had been transfixed.
And when he had kissed her, her heart had clanged like the bells of SaintMary's.
In all her living life, she had never been kissed like that! Truth be told,she had never been kissed at all. She had dreamed of it often enough, though,but always the face of the man who touched her so intimately remainedshadowed, a mystery.
"See anything you like?"
Startled, Sheridan's gaze collided with the forest green eyes of her darkangel, and she realized she had conjured the man of her dreams to life.
Notching her chin upward, she replied, "I was merely checkin' to see if yehad any more scrapes I didn't notice before."
He graced her with a devastatingly handsome half grin. "Perhaps I should dothe same and look for scrapes on you."
"Still the rascal, I see."
"The very one."
The proprietor, having obviously spotted a patron who could pay his tab,waddled over to them, his belly reaching them before the rest of him did, hisbody odor quickly following. "Welcome to Puddlebys, sir. Care for a table? Acozy spot by the fireplace just opened up."
Sheridan spotted a plump woman, probably the proprietor's wife, tugging atthe arm of a man slumped over the top of a table, a plateful of something darkand congealed lying next to his head.
Unceremoniously, the man fell to the floor and didn't even twitch aneyebrow as he was dragged to a corner where he curled up like a babe in hismother's lap. He promptly resumed snoring at a pitch that shook the rotting timbers.
"A room is all we'll be needin', thank ye," Sheridan told the proprietor.
Muddy brown eyes, small in the man's corpulent face, snapped in herdirection. "You're ... Irish." The words reverberated through the noisy room,drawing the men's gazes back to her, but for an entirely different reason thistime.
"Aye, that I am. And what of it?"
A snarl curled the man's lip. "We don't serve Irish here."
Though she was used to such remarks, Sheridan wondered if ever a time wouldcome when they didn't sting.
"What did you say?" her dark angel growled.
Sheridan glanced at him and found his gaze focused on the pudgy proprietor,anger emanating from him in waves.
With foolish bravado, the man returned, "I said I don't serve Irish here."
Her dark angel stalked forward, towering over the man, a tic working in hisjaw. "Be forewarned, I have a healthy dislike for dimwits. Now do as the ladyrequested and get us a room. Quickly."
The man visibly swallowed. "Yessir." Fear made him wheeze like a squeezebox in the hands of a monkey. "Right away, sir." He turned to go.
"Apologize to the lady first."
The innkeeper flashed an annoyed glance Sheridan's way, clearly not wantingto apologize to a lowly Irish girl. "I'm sorry," he muttered, through clenchedteeth.
Beautiful blue-black hair tumbled forward as her savior shook his head,unimpressed. "Not good enough, pudgy."
The proprietor's jowls jiggled with indignation, which promptly changed toimmediate concern for his welfare at the menacing look sent his way, one thatsaid an apple would be stuffed in his mouth and he would be roasted over aspit until his carcass was sufficiently tenderized.
"Say, 'I'm sorry I spoke to you like that, miss. I'm a fat lout and amental pygmy. I've led a miserable existence. My mother beat me as a child andit's made me an intolerant little cur.' "
The proprietor's face turned beet red. "I won't!"
Her dark angel leaned forward, causing the man's head to tilt back. Onlythe innkeeper's immense frontal bulk kept him from tipping over. "You will ifyou want to see the sun rise over this rat heap tomorrow. Now say it."
Elongating his neck until it appeared he had only two chins instead offour, the proprietor bit out, "I'm sorry I spoke to ya like that, miss. I'm a..."
"Fat lout," her savior supplied.
The proprietor's lips all but disappeared. "I'm a fat lout and a"--hisvoice dropped to a barely audible level-- "mental pygmy." Chuckles rippledaround the dimly lit room.
"Good, pudgy. Go on."
It took all Sheridan's strength to keep from doubling over with laughter.
Purple blotches speckled the man's cheeks. "I've led a miserableexistence." He wheezed angrily. "My mother beat me as a lad, and it's made mean intolerant little cur." Glaring at the man beside her, he spat,"Satisfied?"
"For the moment. Now show me the room."
Disgruntled, the proprietor shifted his weight from foot to foot as heturned around and toddled toward stairs. The treads groaned like the tormentedsouls of the damned as he climbed. He showed them to a door at the end of a short hallway. Opening the portal, he ushered them into a tiny room.
"This here's the best we got."
Threadbare curtains hung from the windows and a bedcover that might haveonce had a flower pattern on it but now looked like a garden of indescribableweeds graced a bed that sloped toward the wall as if its legs were shorter onone side.
Sheridan had seen worse. "We'll take it."
"That'll be two pounds." He held out a grimy hand shaped like an oven mitt.
Sheridan's innate disgust with shysters boiled up inside her. "Two pounds!Why, this room isn't worth two pence, ye puffed up--"
Her green-eyed guardian slapped the money down in the man's hands. Theproprietor smirked, showing two blackened teeth in the side of his mouth. Heturned to depart, and her savior helped him along with a boot to his behind,promptly slamming the door after him.
"Jackass," he muttered. Then he turned to survey her, ever the rogue.
Casually, he leaned a shoulder against the portal, and Sheridan wondered ifhis intentions were dishonorable now that he had her alone. But worse, why wasshe not sufficiently concerned they might be?
Perhaps because he called to her in some way. It was more than hisunearthly beauty, although there was no denying the allure of those emeraldeyes, the same pure green that covered the hills and dales of her homeland.And it was more than the rugged jaw begging for feathered kisses, orshoulder-length hair like a skein of ebony silk longing for fingers to rufflethrough its thick texture.
No, it was that those green eyes held the same challenging light so oftenreflected in her own eyes, and that rugged jaw had the same fiercedetermination as hers, and that shoulder-length hair clearly proclaimed hedefied convention, as she did time and again.
They were opposite sides of the same coin.
He watched her with hawk-like intensity, waiting for her to speak.
"Seems ye've come to me rescue twice now," she said instead of demanding heremove his body from in front of the door.
"Hmm. It seems I have. Makes me wonder if another reward shall be forthcoming."
Sheridan's ever present temper rode to the fore. "If ye're thinkin' in thatschemin' bonny head of yers that I've brought ye here for a tumble, ye'd bestthink again. Now step aside."
He didn't budge. "Bossy boots. Just as I thought."
Sheridan's fingers curled into tight fists at her side. She was not afraidof this good-looking piece of work. She'd box his ears, and then some! "I saidstand aside! Or ye'll get the sole of me shoe to yer backside. I've kept mepart of the bargain. I owe ye no more."
"If I remember correctly, you said you would see to my comfort. Well"--hesmiled the devil's own smile-- "I'm not comfortable yet."
Violet eyes sparked with fire, and Nicholas thought the girl was even morebeautiful when riled. He wondered how much time he had left before her tinyfist took a swing that would clip him in his aching side since she was tooelfin to reach his chin.
Certainly he could oblige her and bend down, but why make it easy? Althoughsomething told him she was the type who dealt a blow with one hand andadministered aid with the other. He just might test that theory.
" "Tis not yer nanny I am."
"Would you like to be?"
Her eyes narrowed and she swung. Her left hook missed him. Her well-aimedright undercut, however, walloped him in the one body part that had achedsince he had clapped eyes on the spitfire.
Nicholas doubled over, his eyes crossing. "No children ... in my ...future," he groaned.
" 'Tis just what ye deserve for such talk."
He expected her to storm out, yet she didn't. A long moment passed withonly the sound of his pitiful moaning and the muted jocularity of the unwashedmasses coming from the saloon. The pitiful moaning seemed to be working. Hecould feel her regret.
"Are ye hurt very much?"
Weakly, he nodded.
"Me mum always told me to keep me temper about m'self. 'Tis not right for afemale to be beatin' on the men, she says."
From Nicholas's current position, which gave him a lovely view of her hem,he said haltingly, "Wise woman, your mother."
She sighed rather forlornly. "Aye. Tis just that me temper is fierce."
She sounded so disgusted it was all he could do to keep from chuckling."Probably that red hair you have. Ah, do you mind helping me"--to the chair orto the bed?-- "to the bed?" Hurt he might be. Dead he wasn't.
She hesitated, then gently wrapped an arm about his waist and helped himstraighten. Feigning weakness, he propped an arm around her shoulder and lether lead him to the lopsided bed. As if he were a newborn kitten, she laid himdown. Images of being licked clean tumbled through his head.
She stood back and studied him. " 'Tis not much of a fightin' man ye are."
That should have pricked his masculine pride, especially since he was notat his best at that moment. Nevertheless, he liked to consider himself alover, not a fighter.
"I've been told I excel at other things."
She raised one perfectly shaped brow, disbelief written on her gamine face."Oh? And what might these things be, ye preenin' rooster?"
The girl was an article. "Don't hold back your true feelings on myaccount."
" 'Tis not something I've ever been accused of."
He shook his head and muttered, "Preening rooster indeed."
"Aye, ye are. 'Tis so very sure ye are of ye're pretty face and bulgin'muscles that ye tote yerself about like the Queen's cock at dawn."
He pushed aside the cock at dawn remark and went straight to the heart ofthe matter. "To which bulging muscles are you referring?"
He longed to roll to his side and flex something, but his bloody achingribs would certainly ruin that plan. He contemplated another pose that mightseduce the darling girl, for Nicholas realized quite clearly that was what heintended. His groin was heavy and painfully aroused. His rooster wasn'tparticularly interested in waiting until the sunrise to cock-a-doodle-do.
She frowned. It seemed his pretty face and bulging muscles were not winningthe day. Had he imagined the sweet lips pressed to his as he lay supine on thedock? Or the burgeoning desire reflected in her eyes? Did he look that bad? Hetook a quick, assessing glance. A little dirty, but otherwise very virile.Sweat and grime were a badge of honor for a man anyway.
"I've got to get back to me family before they notice I'm missin'."
So much for sweat and grime. "What about me?"
"What about ye?" she asked over her shoulder.
"What if I succumb to my injuries?" If only he could spit up blood on cue."Won't you please stay? Just a little while longer?"
Sheridan paused, warning herself it was a mistake to look at the man again.If she were smart, she'd leave on winged feet.
So much for common sense.
Turning, she almost laughed. His kicked puppy expression was more than shecould take. Lord help her, the man was far too dangerous for her peace of mindwith his shirt flung wide exposing a V of sun-darkened skin, his hair tousled,his green eyes beckoning, and his big body encompassing much of the bed.
"All right. Just a few moments, mind ye." She already had to go toconfession in the morning.
A hint of victory curled the corner of his sensuous lips. He patted thespot beside him on the bed. She pulled up the chair. The disappointment in hiseyes made the corner of her lip curl with victory. That would teach thewretch!
He groaned as he attempted to roll to his side. "Damn, I could use a drinkto ease my soreness. If I didn't think old pudgy would poison me, I'd get ussomething, perhaps a vintage bottle of yesterday's mashed grapes."
His comment reminded Sheridan of the flask she had tucked in her skirt pocket. She had slipped it out of her uncle's death grip when he had passedout reciting his stratagems for the United Irish uprising of 1798.
He must have had another flask or bottle hidden away somewhere to have gotten so inebriated, because that afternoon, while the ship waited in theharbor to be given quay space, she had surreptitiously exchanged his potentwhiskey with watered-down wine.
Even though Jules would think nothing of it, Sheridan wanted to make a goodimpression, and that didn't include her uncle bowling her friend over with awhiff of his one-hundred-proof cologne.
Sheridan looked forward to surprising Jules. Their ship had arrived twodays ahead of schedule. The captain, she had overheard a few crewmen saying,had discovered his mistress was having a tryst behind his back, so he had maderecord time in the return crossing.
Sheridan slipped her hand into her skirt pocket and removed the silverflask. Perhaps a wee slug would help ease his pain. Certainly it couldn'thurt. It was only wine anyway.
"Is that what I think it is?" he asked, pointing to the flask.
" 'Tis indeed. Would ye like some?"