Wildstar

He gave her an amused glance. "Jealous, sweeting?" "Of course not," she replied with too much conviction. "I don't care what you do on your time off." "You should have come with me. I won." "You were gambling?"

The teasing light in his eyes intensified. "What else?" He picked up a spoon, tasted the rich gravy she had made for the roast, and made an approving sound of pleasure deep in his throat.

"Will you please go sit down?" Jess exclaimed, nervous with him so near. "I can't work with you hovering over me."

He settled himself at the kitchen table while Jess fin­ished preparing the meal. Watching her labor at the hot stove with her pots and pans, Devlin decided he'd never seen her looking lovelier than she did just now, with her face flushed and damp tendrils wisping around her face. That was how she would look in the throes of passion, he decided. Except that she had on far too many clothes. The lace collar at her throat, though, gave her a touch of fem­inine fragileness, while the apron she wore did little to hide her curvaceous figure.

Just then, Jessica bit her lower lip as she pulled the pan of biscuits from the oven, making him suddenly remember the taste of her mouth and skin. Devlin shifted uncomfort­ably in the chair. No matter how virtuous or genteel or sexually inexperienced she was, he couldn't help imagin­ing how Jess would feel in his arms, naked beneath his hands.

His voice came out huskier than he intended when he took his flirtation a step further. "You know, swee-heart, it isn't often that I've had to apologize for depriving a lady of her bed. I feel guilty as sin for kicking you out of yours. You'd be doing my conscience a kindness if you would re­turn. It's just large enough for both of us, and I'm per­fectly willing to share."

Jess stiffened at his provoking remark, treating it with the disdainful silence it deserved. She might have to put up with his scandalous teasing because she needed his help at the moment, but she didn't have to respond or encour­age him.

"Aren't you going to answer, Jessica?"

The laughter in his voice grated on her nerves. "Do you ever have anything else on your mind besides bed?" she retorted with her usual forthright manner.

Devlin countered with his most disarming manner. "Can you fault me? Taking you to bed is what any red-blooded male would want to do with a beautiful girl. Actually, you should be flattered."

"Well, I'm not."

"I think you are. I think you wonder what it would feel like to let your hair down with a man . . . with me."

She gave him a quelling look, only to find him watching her with a lazy lift to his brows. "You have a mighty high opinion of yourself if you think that."

"Do you honestly expect me to believe you didn't enjoy kissing me the other night?"

That she couldn't say, since it wouldn't be true. She had enjoyed kissing Devlin—far more than was proper. But she wasn't about to admit it. As it was, his swollen ego was probably twice the size of any normal man's.

Refusing to answer, Jess busied herself with setting serving dishes on the table and tried to ignore him. It was like trying to ignore a lazing wolf. She could feel Devlin watching her every move, and as she took off her apron and hung it on a wall hook, she felt as if she had un­dressed for him.

His eyes continued their indolent scrutiny, coming to rest on her lawn blouse and her high, generous bosom. "You have a gorgeous figure," he remarked in a voice as soft as a purring cat padding across satin. "It's a shame you cover it up with those high-necked outfits."

"If you're trying to seduce me, Devlin, it won't work," Jess replied irritably as she carried the platter of meat to the table.

"No?"

"No. I realize you're used to women falling obligingly at your feet, but I'm not ab

out to add myself to their numbers."

"But then, we've already established you're not a nor­mal woman."

Jess put her hands on her hips. "We've established noth­ing of the kind. I am so a normal woman!"

"No, you aren't, love. Just about the only feminine thing I've seen you do is cry." He followed up his silver-tongued attack with a deliberately provoking observation. "I think I was right. You're afraid of being a woman."

"I am not!"

"So prove it."

She gave him a questioning look, her amber eyes wide and uncertain.

"Come here and put your arms around me and kiss me."

"You must be joking."

His slow, beautiful smile told her very clearly that he was not. "You're afraid you won't be able to resist me."