Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

Maggie sighed, and eased onto the plush leather sofa in Brent’s office. “Bloody hell, I’m so tired.”

“Tired of what? Counting all your money?”

She cocked open an eye at him, until she saw the wicked grin on his face. “You’re a bastard, Brent. Talk about counting money. Ah, business is good. We’re both lucky as hell.”

“That we are. Would you like a drink, Maggie?”

“I suppose a shot of good whiskey wouldn’t be amiss,” she said. She watched him cross to the small bar behind his mahogany desk. Behind the office were a small sitting room and a large bedroom. “Everything is so homey here. You’ve done well with the furnishings, Brent.”

“Thank you,” he said, handing her the whiskey.

“Here’s to everything we want,” Maggie said by way of a toast. She didn’t notice the strange, almost blank look that darkened his eyes. The liquid burned down to her stomach, and she brightened almost immediately.

“Why didn’t you want to live with Celeste? Lord knows you’ve set her up like a queen.”

Brent shrugged. “I like having my office and my rooms above the saloon. There’s also the possibility,” he added, “that one of the girls might lose her way and walk into my bedroom one dark night.”

“If that ever happens, you can count on me sending you a hefty bill.” She thrust her empty glass toward him. “Give me another, Brent, it makes me expansive.”

“Save me from expansive women,” he said.

She eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. “What you mean to say is save you from all the women who chase you. You know, Brent, most men would trade about anything to have your luck with women. Have you always had to beat them off with a stick?”

“You exaggerate, Maggie,” he said mildly, flinging himself down in his favorite chair, a huge overstuffed affair. “A bit.”

“Ha. You haven’t had the nauseating pleasure of hearing Celeste go on to the girls about your magnificent self and your prowess as a lover.”

“How very boring for you, duchess. Obviously you don’t believe her. After all, I haven’t ever observed you chasing me. Why, I even forget I own a stick when you come.”

There was color in her cheeks, and for a moment she didn’t meet his eyes.

He cocked a brow at her. “You’re being ridiculous, you know that?”

“Yes,” she sighed, “I guess I am. You know something, Brent, you and I are two very aloof people. Loners, I suppose you’d call us. At least that’s true of you. You don’t need anyone, do you?”

Brent carefully stretched his long legs in front of him and crossed them at his ankles. “I need people,” he said.

“But you always keep that distance, as if you consciously refuse to let anyone close. If there’s one thing I do know, Brent,” she continued when he remained silent, “it’s men.”

“Come, Maggie, what’s there to know? We’re all simple creatures.”

“Sex, food, and money.”

“In that order? Don’t be so shortsighted, my dear. You are forgetting good whiskey and a comfortable bed.”

“Oh, Brent, are you never serious? Are you afraid that I’ll get closer than you want, so you make silly jests and bait me?”

“Maggie,” he said in a very quiet voice, “let it be, all right? What you are, what I am, is no one’s business. I know for a fact that you sleep alone. Does that give me the right to demand the reasons from you? I really don’t see it as comforting for two people to weep and wail to each other about a past that can’t be changed.”

“You didn’t grow up poor, Brent, so your past couldn’t have been so bad. You did tell me a bit about Wakehurst, you know. I suppose I should be ecstatic that you trust me, a woman. Now you’ve got fire in your eyes. I knew it was a woman who turned you into a loner.”

She sounded so pleased with her deduction that Brent curbed his anger. “Aren’t women the root of all men’s problems?” he asked, drawling his words.

“Well, in my case it was a man—my father, to be exact,” she said. “Horny, righteous prig. God, I hated him.” She drew herself up, paled a bit at her outburst, and said, “You are a cool one, aren’t you, Brent Hammond? Forgive me. Since the last thing you want is for me to weep

on your shoulder, I’ll stop.”

“Don’t be an ass, Maggie.” He rose and stretched, walking to the window. He said over his shoulder, his voice very cool and calm, “If you wish, I’ll beat the shit out of him. Would you like that?”