Wildstar

She sounded bewildered, despairing. Devlin hesitated. He knew how obsessively important honesty was to her.

"No, Jess. He didn't lie to you. What he did was spare your mother the scandal and shame she would have faced had the truth come out. He spared you the hurt."

She gazed up at him, her tawny eyes shimmering with tears. "M-my mother . . . she lied to me, too."

"Sometimes there are good reasons for withholding the truth, Jessica."

She sniffed, trying valiantly to swallow the ache in her throat, but losing the battle. Fresh tears spilled over.

Devlin's own gray gaze was gentle, sympathetic, his eyes soft as he brushed her tears away. "Nothing's changed, Jess. Riley still loves you more than life."

"How can he? He's not my father."

"Yes, he is. And you're still his daughter. He thinks of you as his own flesh and blood, no matter what the biolog­ical facts are." His thumbs stroked the dampness beneath her eyes. "Riley's given you the kind of love most chil­dren never see from their parents." Devlin smiled, a bit sadly. "When I was a boy, I would have done just about anything to have my father cherish me the way Riley does you."

Jess closed her eyes, pressing her face in the curve of his shoulder. His heart beat sure and strong, anchoring her in reality. "I don't . . . think I can bear it."

"Yes, you can." And Devlin knew he spoke the truth. This woman was strong enough to bear any difficulty, even this. She was strong enough to meet any challenge life threw at her. He would lay odds on it—and his gam­bling instincts had always been uncannily accurate.

"You need to talk to Riley," Devlin said gently.

"He lied to me," Jess repeated, though with less convic­tion this time. "You don't think that was wrong?"

"Life isn't always black and white, Jess. Goodness and evil aren't always distinct entities. We're all human, Jess. Even Burke."

She shuddered. "He can't be my father. I've always hated him. How can I accept him now?"

"You don't have to accept or even acknowledge him, angel. You don't owe Burke a thing. He forfeited any right to your love long ago. But you may find that blood ties are stronger than you think."

He held her away. "Maybe Burke isn't all bad. Maybe he just needs someone to teach him the kind of values Riley taught you." Devlin paused to let that sink in. "If it's any consolation, Burke swears he would have married your mother if he had known."

The muscles in her jaw clenched defiantly. Devlin, re­membering his love/hate relationship with his own father, knew better than to press further. She needed time to ad­just, to assimilate this shattering revelation. He understood her pain, and wished he could spare her, but she would have to deal with it in her own way, in her own time.

"Well," he said briskly. "That's enough preaching for one morning." Tenderly he tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "You can tell Burke to go to hell, if it will make you feel better."

"You keep forgetting that I don't cuss." Her watery smile, so soft and tremulous, made his heart contract.

He knew then that he loved her. It shouldn't have taken him by surprise. For weeks now he'd been fighting his feelings for her. But this was a quiet conviction that had sneaked up on him. And it rattled him profoundly.

Devlin shook his head silently. How was it possible? Jess had the ability to anger him more than anyone he'd ever met. She could rouse his fury like no one else ever had with her stubbornness and her blind prejudices. But she could also arouse his fiercest protective instincts. The past twelve hours had been sheer hell, thinking of her in Purcell's clutches. He'd never in his life been so shaken.

But love?

There was only one answer to that question: Jessica had stolen a large chunk of his heart. He had no doubts on that score.

The question was, what was he going to do about it? He had always prized softness and femininity in a woman, qualities that Jess would never exhibit in a thousand years. But perhaps he didn't want a soft, feminine woman like he'd always thought. He wanted Jessica to need him, yes, but that didn't mean she had to be molded out of the same cloth as his previous lovers. Most definitely he didn't want her to be like ail those other shallow-hearted, greedy socialites in his past.

But did he really want a stubborn, honey-haired fire­brand who challenged him at every turn? Did he want Jessica for his wife?

Certainly he wanted her in his bed; he had no doubts about that. Jessica could arouse and excite and satisfy him sexually the way no woman ever had. He knew they would be physically compatible.

That wasn't what he feared.

What concerned him was the strength of her regard. He knew instinctively that Jessica would give her whole heart to the man she loved. But did she love him that much? Enough to forsake all others? Would she, unlike his fiancée, have given up a comfortable life to go west with him all those years before? Would she have lived with him in a hovel if that was all he could have provided for her?

She had yet to admit even the smallest affection for him. He had only her father's suspicions to go on.

Was he prepared to risk his heart again on such flimsy evidence?