Wildstar

"Well, I do. And I don't appreciate your teasing."

"It isn't teasing. I'm totally serious about wanting you in my bed." He patted the mattress beside him. "You're sure you won't reconsider?"

"Yes, I'm sure! I will not go to bed with you! I don't care what pleasure I'm missing. Now will you please get up so I can serve dinner?"

Obediently, Devlin pushed aside the yellow quilt and moved in an easy uncoiling motion, dropping his bare feet to the floor. Expecting him to be naked, Jess felt a gasp catch in her throat, but thankfully, he wore long Johns.

Even so, it was not a sight for a lady. The red flannel hugged all the masculine contours of his lower body—his lean hips . . . his long, muscled legs . . . and one undeni­able bulge evidencing gender. Jess's gaze flew to Devlin's, the gold of dismay colliding with the impassioned glow of gray. He smiled his devil's smile.

As she stood there frozen, his hands went to the waist­band of his underwear and hesitated. "You're welcome to stay and watch me undress if you like."

Alarmed, Jess beat a hasty retreat, while the self­satisfied, totally masculine chuckle Devlin gave made her ears burn.

She filled the tub in the bathroom with the hot water she'd had heating on the stove, and added another bucket of cold from the hand pump at the sink. Devlin came in just as she was straightening up. Jess was glad to see that he was dressed—if one could call hip-hugging denim trou­sers, bare feet, and no shirt or undershirt "dressed." She was also glad to see him carrying a straight razor and shaving brush so he could get rid of the disreputable shadow of whiskers on his jaw that made him look dan­gerous and far too masculine.

"How is Riley?" Devlin asked.

"He's asleep. I had to give him more medicine for the pain."

"You mean I have you all alone?"

Jess didn't dignify his suggestive remark with an an­swer. Instead she left Devlin to his bath, shutting the con­necting door to the kitchen behind her.

She was putting the biscuits in the oven when he called to her through the door. "Miss Jess, I could use someone to scrub my back."

"I'm your employer, Devlin, not your personal servant."

"I'll scrub yours in exchange, if you like."

Jess gave an unladylike snort and refused to reply. She listened to him splashing in the tub for another minute, be­fore he called to her again.

"Jessica, would you mind bringing me some fresh wa­ter? I have soap in my eyes."

She turned to stare at the bathroom door. She absolutely did not want to enter that small room with Devlin in there naked, even if he was telling the truth about the soap in­stead of trying to lure her into a compromising situation.

"Jess, please? I promise I won't ravish you."

Hearing the husky cajolery in his tone, she gave a sigh of disgust. No matter how she liked to pretend, she was no different from Flo or any other woman when it came to withstanding Devlin's charm. She filled another bucket and kept her eyes averted as she entered the bathroom.

"Pour it over me, will you?"

"You can't do it yourself?" she asked warily.

"How can I when I can't see?"

Summoning her courage, Jess made herself look at him, although not allowing her gaze to drop below the level of his head. Devlin had his eyes shut tightly, and there were soap suds all over his face. Yielding, she lifted the bucket and tipped it over, pouring a stream of water on his dark head.

"Ahhh," he said in relief, "thank you, angel." Wiping the water from his eyes, he flashed her another one of his sinful smiles. "I'll return the favor anytime you like."

"You know, Devlin," she said in exasperation, "you re­ally missed your calling. Instead of a gambler you should have been a snake oil salesman."

His grin blossomed into appreciative laughter.

Blushing in spite of her determination not to, Jess re­turned to the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later, Devlin joined her. He was dressed in a three-piece gray suit and string tie, looking elegant and as stunningly attractive as she'd ever seen him.

"Dinner smells great," he said genially as he came to stand at the cast-iron stove and sniff the roast. "I'm starved."

"I'm not surprised. You stayed out late enough last night."