Wildstar

The quiet crowd, which inched back to allow her a wide berth, gave a collective sigh of relief when she'd gone. It was a long moment, though, before the guests returned to their previous pursuits and the noise level rose again.

In contrast, the silence at Devlin's table was deafening. As he slipped the small gun up his sleeve, he could feel Burke's simmering anger.

"Did no one ever tell you, Mr. Devlin, that it is not wise for a stranger to choose sides in an argument that does not concern him?"

Devlin smiled pleasantly. "Call it a major failing of mine, Mr. Burke. I never have been able to abandon a lady in distress . . . or watch someone get ambushed from be­hind. Just doesn't sit right. Under the circumstances, how­ever, I can understand why you might not see it in the same light."

"You understand correctly. When I extend my hospital­ity to a man, I expect a certain degree of courtesy in re­turn, if not loyalty."

"Well, then, I won't take advantage of your hospitality any longer." Devlin pushed the yellow pile of hundred-dollar chips he'd won to the center of the table. "Keep it," he said dryly, "as a token of my appreciation for an enjoy­able evening and to cover the damage to your ceiling. Ex­cuse me, will you?"

With a polite nod at Lena, who was hovering about in dismay, Devlin slid his chair back and rose. Pausing long enough to kick Purcell's six-shooter under a table, he fol­lowed the path Jessica Sommers had taken, feeling at least three pairs of eyes—Burke's, Purcell's, and Lena's— burning into his back all the while.

Outside in the darkness, Jess was leaning against the wooden hitching rail, trying to control her trembling. She heard the bat-wing doors swing open, then the leisurely tread of footsteps on the planks of the boardwalk. It was him, she knew without even looking. Not wanting to let him see her momentary weakness, she straightened and brushed the telltale dampness from her eyes before daring to glance over her shoulder at him.

He had stopped three, maybe four feet away. His hat brim was pulled low, hiding most of his mahogany-colored hair. Jess couldn't see his features, either, even in the golden glow from a nearby streetlamp. But she'd already seen his face, already been stunned by it. If a man could be called beautiful, this one was. Beautiful as sin. With nothing remotely effeminate about him. He was no Eastern dandy; he was raw, diamond-hard masculinity in a twenty-four-karat setting.

He was the kind of man who made sensible mothers want to keep their daughters locked out of sight, the kind her own mother had warned her about. Just now, in his quietly expensive suit, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his brocade vest, he looked sleek and refined and . . . dangerous.

A dark angel with a devil's smile.

Jess had seen that smile inside the saloon tonight. Even in the tension of the moment when he'd held a gun on Purcell, that sensual smile he'd given her had shot through her like an arrow, making her stomach feel quivery and her knees suddenly weak.

The remembrance of that smile and his sleek good looks put Jess on her guard, made her want to seek the safety of her home and family. Still, she owed him.

"I want to thank you, mister, for what you did," she said quietly.

He responded with a slight bow that would have looked absurd and affected coining from any other man, but from him it seemed right. "Think nothing of it, Miss Sommers. I was glad to oblige."

His manners were those of a gentleman, his low, silk-smooth voice that of a ladies' man. That voice unnerved Jess. She was accustomed to hard men and hard language and knew how to hold her own with that kind. His kind, though, she didn't know how to deal with. This close to him, she felt inadequate, somewhat rustic even, despite her two years' training in a fancy Denver finishing school where she'd been sent to acquire the graces of a lady.

"I'm afraid you have the advantage of me," she said carefully, in her best boarding school manner.

"The name's Devlin. Garrett Devlin."

Moving a step closer, he used his thumb to tilt back the brim of his hat, and smiled gently down at her, a smile that took the wind out of her again. But it was his eyes that held her attention. His shrewd, intelligent eyes. Jess stared up at him, trying to fathom their color. Inside, in the bright light of the chandeliers, they had looked cool, crystal gray. Here in the shadows they were a smoked silver.

Oh, yes, definitely dangerous, she thought a bit help­lessly, even as she mentally chided herself for letting him affect her so.

"And you're

Jessica Sommers," she heard him say softly. " 'Miss Jess' to some. I overheard your conversa­tion with the marshal this morning."

Her tawny brows drawing into a puzzled frown, she thought back over the events of the morning. As she re­membered, she abruptly felt a surge of heat flood her face. The man at the window. The naked man at the window. She'd only seen the upper part of his body, his bare chest and sleek, muscled shoulders, and then only for an instant. But that one glimpse had been more than enough to make her aware of his masculinity, of his physical superiority to other men she knew.

Flustered and trying to hide it, Jess took a step back and came smack up against the hitching rail.

"Was your father badly injured?"

Grateful for the change of subject, Jess shook her head. "No . . . he's going to be all right. The doctor said he was lucky, the wound wasn't as bad as it looked. Riley's been sleeping all day and so far he doesn't even have a fever." She paused, wanting to thank this man for his concern. "It was kind of you to ask."

The slow curve of his beautiful mouth drew her total at­tention. Nearby in the street a horse nickered, reminding Jess where she was. "I'm sorry . . . that you had to get in­volved in my fight. I'm afraid you've made a formidable enemy in Burke."

Devlin shrugged, a lazy movement of those powerful, elegant shoulders. "I've made enemies before."

I can well believe that, Jess thought as she silently stud­ied him. And he didn't seem the least bit concerned. But then, Garrett Devlin didn't look like a man who scared easily. In fact, he looked like the kind of man who would be accorded respect wherever he went, even by wealthy barons like Ashton Burke.

"How is it you're keeping company with sidewinders like Burke?" she asked curiously.