force out any thoughts of wanting her in that way again. It was obvious she didn’t want more of it. Not from him, anyway.
She glanced up and turned toward him. “Are you goin’ to stand there and let the world know I’m home? Shut the door.”
He cleared his throat and stepped into the small room, shutting the door with a thud. He paused, noting three metal bolts. He gestured toward them. “Do you want me to bolt all three?”
“That’s what they’re there for, Brit. To keep the world out. Unless your boxing skills are better than mine.”
She had a reply for everything. He affixed all of the metal latches into place and turned back toward her. Sensing she was still annoyed with him, he held up both hands in truce. Meeting her gaze, he set them behind his back, locking a hand over a wrist against his spine. “I won’t grab for you.”
She smiled, pulled out one of the two chairs from beside the small table and gestured toward it. “Sit. I’m over it.”
If only he was.
He strode toward the chair, pressing his hands tightly against his back, and sat, causing the chair to creak in protest. It wobbled beneath him. Carefully sliding back into it out of fear he’d break it, he slipped his hands out from behind his back and set them on his knees. He shifted, eyeing the small kitchen, and leaned forward to scan the two other adjoining rooms that light didn’t spread into.
She gestured toward one of the small rooms he was looking at. “That there is the closet.”
“The closet?”
“Where I sleep.”
“Don’t you mean the bedchamber?”
She dropped a hand to her side. “Is that what you Brits call it?” She tsked. “You boyos certainly like to make everythin’ sound so much fancier than it really is. It’s a closet with a straw bed and a trunk. Nothin’ more.”
He lowered his gaze down to his boots, sensing she didn’t particularly like the British. “Where do you want me to sleep?”
She sighed. “You can sleep with me on the bed. There’s room and I don’t mind.”
He glanced up. She was really looking to make him suffer. “I hardly think it wise we share a bed.”
“There was no bed on that omni, Robinson, and yet neither of us could keep our hands to ourselves. Between these three small rooms, our bodies are goin’ to be rubbin’ up against each other quite a bit, so you’d best get used to it.”
He feigned a laugh. “I might not physically survive you or this. I’m still a bit astounded by that kiss you gave me. It was remarkable enough for me to want more.”
“I’ll agree that it was, but you really need to try to keep everythin’ buttoned up in those trousers from here on out. If the urge is particularly strong, just ask for some privacy and make use of your hand. All right?”
He shifted his jaw, feeling his body temperature rising. It was like she was a man, not a woman. “I ask that you not talk like that to me, Georgia. I find it unsettling and vulgar coming from your mouth.”
She clicked her tongue at him. “I’m a nun compared to all the other women around me, but I’ll do my best not to offend.” She drifted past him toward the cupboard and pointed toward a corked bottle. “I’ve got whiskey, if you want it. Came straight from the barrel down the street. ’Tis the best in the ward at a dime a gallon and has enough smoke and bite to make it worth your while.”
He let out a low whistle. “In England we call that death.”
A giggle escaped her. She turned toward him, tilting her head to one side to better observe him. “Do you remember anythin’ about England?”
He paused. “No. Not really.”
“Ah, you’re better off, I say. You’re cursed enough. Now. How about you drink up a good tin of whiskey? It’ll help you sleep.”
He shook his head. “No. I would rather not. My mind is muddled enough without—”
A resounding thud hit the adjoining wall, sending a tremor throughout the room.
He rose to his feet. “What was that?”
She winced and waved toward the main wall opposite them. “Never you mind John Andrew Malloy over there. He feels the need to entertain the masses every now and then. Just ignore it.”
“You mean he’s hosting a formal gathering? At this hour?”
She pursed her lips as if he were a complete dolt. “Not quite.”
Steady, rhythmic thuds grew more and more pronounced as muffled moans filtered through the wall. “That’s it, Georgia. Come on. Let me hear it.”
A woman cried out, mingling with those thrusting grunts.
His brows rose as his face and skin prickled with astounded heat. He glanced over at Georgia and gestured toward the wall. “By God. Did he just…say your name? Or did I imagine that?”
She turned and quickly headed over to the cupboard and commenced arranging and rearranging all of her plates, even though they were already arranged.
Apparently, he hadn’t imagined it at all.
Rapid, feverish thumps rattled the plates Georgia tried to reorganize. “Take it, Georgia. Take every last—”
A woman gasped against a massive thud that vibrated the floor beneath Robinson’s boots. “Now, now, not so hard, John! I’m not running a charity here.”
Georgia cringed and swung away, slapping a hand over her mouth.
Robinson’s throat tightened as the need to protect her honor descended upon him like a massive wave crashing to the shore. She didn’t like it. And neither did he.
Stalking over to the wall, he banged his fist against the plaster, causing it to tremor beneath each hit. “John Andrew Malloy!” he boomed, leaning toward the wall and pounding it again. “Unless you want a fist to find its way through this wall and into your skull, I demand you desist using the name of a woman you aren’t even with!”
She choked on a laugh, dropping her hand to her side, and swung toward him. “Shush! He’ll hear you.”
He stepped away from the wall and adjusted his coat in riled agitation. “I hope to God he does. That is vile. You shouldn’t have to listen to that. And neither should I.”
She groaned and yanked her apron up over her face and head, burying herself in it. “If John comes over here, I’ll up and die.”
“If John comes over here, he is going to up and die.”
An anguished moan and one last “Georgia” ripped through the air. Everything soon lulled itself back into silence.
Georgia quietly lingered before the doorless cupboard, her head still buried in her apron. “I’m never comin’ out
