Wildstar

It was a good thing he had hold of both her wrists by then, or she would have scratched his eyes out.

"I wouldn't marry you if you had a million trillion dol­lars!" Jess shrieked. "You couldn't pay me enough to take a man like you for a husband! Oh, I despise you! One of these days you and your ilk are going to learn you can't buy people! Especially me!"

Jerking free of his hold, she fumbled in her reticule for an instant and pulled out a wad of bills, which she threw in Devlin's face with all her might. "That's your salary! I don't care if you burn it or eat it or give it to that . . . that woman who was here. Just keep away from me!"

This time Jessica was the one who stormed out and slammed the door.

Sinking back on the bed, Devlin stared after her, his jaw muscles clenched, his left cheek still stinging from her slap.

He couldn't believe what had just happened. He couldn't believe she had actually waltzed in here and ac­cused him of trying

to bilk her father out of his newfound wealth. He couldn't believe how much her accusations hurt. The only thing he was certain of was that Jess was crazy. Loco. Stark, raving unhinged. At least when it came to anyone who bore the slightest resemblance to Ashton Burke.

She had this obsessive hatred for wealth and the men who owned that wealth. It was an issue she saw in stark black and white, with absolutely no shades of gray; if you were wealthy, you were—what was it she'd called him the other day—manipulative and heartless? She considered rich men totally beneath contempt.

But then, Devlin reflected reluctantly, didn't he have a similar prejudice? Hadn't he always viewed women in a similarly bad light, lumping them together with his one­time fiancée and his mother? The women in his life had been takers, only out for themselves. In his cynical view, women were apt to do far more for money than for blood or love.

He couldn't say that about Jessica Sommers. She truly did care for her father. Everything she'd done for the past three weeks, every desperate and dangerous action she'd taken, had been for Riley's sake. She'd tried her best to protect him from Burke's spitefulness and greed. In fact, her fierce loyalty was something Devlin had actually en­vied. He wanted Jess to be that loyal to him. He wanted her to trust him—

Realizing how laughable that wish was, Devlin ran a hand raggedly down his face. Her belief in him was so shallow that it had crumbled at the first test. Just as his fiancée's had ten years ago.

He was willing to admit that Riley's hellcat daughter wasn't the kind of mercenary woman his fiancée had been. But that Jessica could think him cold and mercenary—Devlin swore with a viciousness that did nothing to satisfy the blow she'd dealt to his pride or his heart, and tossed off the rest of the whiskey in his glass with complete dis­regard for its quality. The very notion that she wanted nothing to do with him because he was rich frankly stunned him. He'd never been spurned because he had money.

He remembered her latest accusation and cursed again. Goddammit, but she could set him off faster than any woman he knew. And that was a good deal of the problem. Every time he got close to Jessica lately, he wound up wanting to throttle her or make love to her or both.

Perhaps he should have taken Lena up on her offer, after all, when she'd wanted to spend the afternoon soothing him in bed. She could have satisfied his body and left him too wrung out to lust after a tawny-haired spitfire who made his blood boil with fury and desire. The trouble was that after making love to Jessica, the thought of sex with any other woman, even someone as sensual and as skilled as Lena, not only held no appeal, it was actually distaste­ful. Absurd, when one considered that Jess was a virtual novice at pleasing a man. Even more absurd after all the infuriating accusations she'd thrown at his head.

It bewildered him, the strength of his desire for her. He'd had dozens of women as beautiful as Jessica. He'd had women far more sophisticated and certainly more fem­inine. Women who, for all their calculation and greed, had known how to satisfy a man, not rip his character and in­tegrity to shreds with unjustified accusations. Yet he didn't want any of those other women. He wanted Jessica Sommers.

Devlin raked a hand through his dark hair in frustration. Maybe he was the one who was loco. Maybe he ought to have Doc Wheeler examine his head—or other more crit­ical parts of his anatomy. He wanted Jessica Sommers.

He wanted her in his bed, in his arms, but it went much further than mere lust. On some deep, primitive, emotional level, he wanted to be wanted by that woman. He wanted her to need him. Not for his wealth, not for whatever help or material possessions he could provide her, not for the physical pleasure he could give her body, but solely for himself. Him. Man to woman.

He wanted her to need him. He wanted her to believe in him. He wanted her to trust him enough to know, despite whatever appearances to the contrary, that he would never have betrayed her the way she'd accused him of doing.

And he intended to succeed. If there was one thing he had in common with Ashton Burke, it was that he knew how to get what he wanted.

Keep away from you, angel? Not on your life. You're going to eat your words, sweet Jessie.

Devlin's gray eyes glinted in anticipation.

He always won when he put his mind to it. And he wanted Jessica Sommers.

Chapter 15

"You don't want to go?" Riley asked his daughter in surprise as they sat at the kitchen table finish­ing dinner. It was Sunday afternoon, several days after she'd stormed out of Devlin's hotel room. "Why not? I thought you'd like a chance to drive down to Georgetown and eat at a fancy restaurant and have somebody else cook for a change."

"I just would rather not, that's all."

"But it's supposed to be a celebration. Even Clem's go­ing."

They were discussing Devlin's invitation for Wednesday night; he'd offered to take them out to celebrate their good fortune. The fabulously rich strike in the Wildstar had proved to be real. The survey team had ruled that the apex of the vein was located on the Wildstar claim, and their findings were as reliable as any could be, given the uncer­tainties of underground mining. Ashton Burke hadn't chal­lenged the claim. In fact, they hadn't heard a peep out of Burke since Devlin had threatened him. Riley was more convinced than ever that Burke's Lady J miners had actu­ally been mining Wildstar silver.

"I accepted Garrett's invitation to dinner for all of us, Jess. What am I supposed to tell him if you don't come?"

Jess ground her teeth at the familiar use of Devlin's first name; her father had become far too cozy with that low-down womanizing snake for her peace of mind. "You can tell him I took sick."

"You haven't been sick in years."