Lucy And The Loner. Elizabeth Bevarly

were truly things of beauty. His forearms, too, were lean and hard with muscle, and an involuntary tremble shook her when she realized those arms were what had carried her to safety the night before.

      Figures she’d only be semiconscious during something like that, Lucy thought wryly. That was the way her luck always seemed to run. Then again she wondered if any woman would remain at all coherent when arms like those pinned her to a body like that.

      Had she remembered how attractive he was, she might have reconsidered the proposition she was about to make. But she was resigned now to what she was going to do. Because she simply could think of no other way to repay him for all that he had given her.

      “You don’t have to pay me back,” he insisted in response to the promise she scarcely recalled making.

      That was another thing about him that made her nervous. That voice. So low and husky, so slow and sexy. He rolled over every word leisurely, thoroughly, as if each one were an erotic vow of the most carnal variety. It was the voice of a man who would be quick to seduce and slow to satisfy. Every time Boone said something, it sent a ripple of hot delight buzzing right through Lucy’s libido.

      She ignored his assurance to the contrary and told him, “Here’s what I’m going to do.”

      “Lady... Lucy—” he immediately corrected himself when she opened her mouth to do it for him “—like I keep telling you, it’s not necessary to pay me back for anything. Okay?”

      Instead of succumbing to his tone of command, Lucy hurried on before she had a chance to change her mind. In a rush of words so quick they almost sounded like one, she told him, “Here’s the deal. I’m giving you myself for one month.”

      When the only response she received was a silent stare of complete incomprehension, Lucy tried again. “I’m yours to do your bidding, at your beck and call, for four weeks.”

      But still he seemed not to understand.

      Finally, in an effort to make it as clear as possible, Lucy took a deep breath, met his gaze as levelly as she could and told him, “For the next thirty days, Boone Cagney, I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. Because for the next thirty days, I’m going to be your slave.”

      Three

      Not even the slightest flicker of acknowledgment lit his features when she outlined her intentions. Instead, he lifted his cup to his mouth for another idle sip of coffee and continued to gaze at her in that drop-lidded, maddeningly level way that made her want to reach over, take his hand lightly in hers and whisper, “Hey, big boy, why don’t you take me to the Casbah?”

      “Did you hear me?” she asked instead, her voice sounding hollow and hesitant, even to her own ears. “I said I’m going to be your slave.” When he still remained silent, she elaborated further, “For one full month, starting today, I’ll do whatever you tell me to do.”

      He bit his lower lip thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes never leaving hers, and gradually her offer seemed to register. “My slave,” he finally repeated blandly.

      She nodded, but said nothing more.

      “For one month.”

      She nodded again.

      “Starting today.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “I see.”

      Then he sipped his coffee negligently, his expression thoroughly bored, as if hers was the kind of offer he received every day. Then again, who was Lucy to say that he didn’t receive offers of enslavement from women everyday? She wouldn’t be in the least bit surprised to discover that there were scores of wemen just begging him to tie them up in his basement. Or wherever. And why did that realization bother her?

      “That’s all you’re going to say?” she asked, surprised she could keep her voice steady. “‘I see?’ ”

      He sipped his coffee carelessly again. “What am I supposed to say?”

      She scrunched up her shoulders for a moment, then let them drop. “You’re supposed to take me up on my offer.”

      “Well, since you couldn’t possibly be serious about your offer, why should I give you a serious response?”

      “Who says I’m not serious?”

      He rose out of his chair and leaned forward, bringing the naked upper half of his body over the table until his face was within inches of hers. His hooded eyes no longer seemed sleepy and disinterested, Lucy noted. On the contrary, they suddenly came alive with something indecent and incandescent.

      “You’re offering to be a slave for a month to a man you don’t even know,” he said in that soft, slow voice, “and you consider it a serious offer?”

      Well, when he put it like that, she thought, it did kind of sound a little...well...different from what she had originally intended.

      “I mean, slave,” he repeated, pushing himself even closer to her, his voice growing quieter, more sinister, as he spoke. “That word just conjures up all kinds of...interesting images, doesn’t it?”

      Lucy leaned back in her chair, but the action did nothing to distance her from his interrogation. “Um, now that you mention it, I guess it could, if—”

      “Just what kind of woman,” he interrupted her, “would allow herself to be enslaved by a man she barely knows?”

      Instead of seating himself in the chair that he’d occupied directly across the table, he plummeted into the one immediately next to Lucy and scooted forward. Then he propped one elbow on the table and settled his chin in his hand, and he leaned in close—very close—to her again.

      He smelled of pine soap and wood smoke and something else she couldn’t identify, the combination intoxicating and irresistible. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply of his scent, holding her breath in her lungs for a long moment before releasing it in a ragged whisper of air.

      “Hmm, Lucy?” he murmured softly. “What kind of woman makes an offer like the one you’ve just made?”

      When she opened her eyes again, she found that he had moved closer to her still. If she’d wanted, she could have tilted her head just the tiniest bit and kissed him without the slightest effort. But of course, she reminded herself absently, he was actually little more than a stranger, and she didn’t want to kiss him. Not really.

      Not yet.

      The odd realization ruffled her, and she stammered out her reply. “One who...uh...who has a big debt to pay,” she finally managed to get out. “A really, really big debt. Huge, in fact,” she added emphatically, still shaken by her wayward thoughts. “Really...very...um...huge.”

      Boone nodded, his gaze still boring into hers with a heat unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. “A huge debt, huh? Wow. I can only imagine what it’s going to take to repay a debt that big.” He paused a deliberate beat before adding, “Boy, can I imagine.”

      He seemed to be pondering something that she was pretty sure he had no business pondering. Lucy observed him through narrowed eyes, wondering about the look he threw her as the wheels turned in his brain. Curiosity warred with speculation on his face, both traits inflamed by a kind of murky desire. For one heated, beady moment, she felt herself responding to it. For one heated, heady moment, a curious, speculative, not-so-murky desire wound through her.

      Until she stamped it out and extinguished it thoroughly. There was absolutely nothing sexual about her offer, she reminded herself. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Just because a man had the most come-hitherest bedroom eyes she’d ever seen, and just because the thick swirls of hair strewn rampantly across his chest and torso absolutely commanded a woman’s touch, and just because she couldn’t quite dispel the hazy, half-remembered vision of being carried to safety in those incredible arms, and just because it had been a long, long time since any man had made her this jumpy and aroused, and just because