Wildstar

But he could do the next best thing. With one hand he slowly reached up and drew the hat pin from the small, se­vere felt construction on her head. Tossing it on the table, he proceeded to take down her hair, removing the pins, one by leisurely one, from the mass of twists and knots.

The woman beneath his hands didn't even seem aware of his unusual ministrations. In fact, she seemed half asleep. Gratified to be meeting no resistance, Devlin in­dulged his pleasure, combing his fingers in the thick mane till it streamed down her back in a flowing river of honey.

"You have beautiful hair," Devlin couldn't help but murmur, his voice rusty and low.

His observation brought no response from Jess.

"I should put you to bed."

The mention of the bed was an unwelcome intrusion into Jess's drowsy senses. She opened her eyes and looked up at him in confusion. "You make it sound . . . like I'm a child. I'm not. I'm a full-grown woman."

He smiled one of those beautiful smiles as his gaze drifted lower to her breasts. "Full-grown, perhaps . . . but not entirely a woman."

The implied insult stung. "What is that supposed to mean?

Have you ever bedded a man, angel? "Just that you're inexperienced."

She wanted to deny it, but when she frowned up at him, she found herself trapped by his gaze. They were danger­ous eyes, the gray deep and subtle like smoke from a wild­fire. But then he was a dangerous man. Dangerous as sin.

Sin__

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, but it was a moment be­fore she became aware just where his face was in relation to hers. Devlin had moved subtly, positioning himself be­side her chair, angling his body as he leaned over her. His fingers were still twined in her hair, and when he bent even closer, she could feel his warm breath against her lips.

He was going to kiss her, Jess thought dazedly an in­stant before their lips met.

A dozen physical sensations shuddered through her. His mouth was cool and yet burned her. His touch was feather-light and yet more powerful than a blow. His masculine scent, his heat, made her senses swim. She felt excited and breathless, as if she'd run a great distance, and yet she hadn't moved. How could she when he had wrapped his hands in her hair, anchoring her head and holding her face still for his kiss?

Jess trembled. It was erotic, being this helpless while a hard, beautiful man made love to her mouth. She had never experienced anything like it. His tongue, warm and wet, traced the outline of her lips, sending a starburst of fiery pleasure spreading through her. She couldn't believe she was actually letting him do this to her. In a minute she would make him stop. In a minute . . .

His touch was so intoxicating, so tantalizing, that she ached to touch him in return. Hesitantly she reached up to place her hand along the side of his warm neck. His black hair felt thick and silky where the ends caressed her fin­gers.

At her tentative gesture, Devlin deepened his kiss. Ev­ery nerve in Jess's body flared and tightened when his tongue slid inside her mouth, coaxing, arousing.

Did he know what he was doing to her? she wondered dizzily. He had to be aware of the slow thudding of her heart, the sudden throbbing of her body.

Devlin felt a surge of triumph at the soft whimper he coaxed from her. Arousal, hot and heavy, flooded through him. Deliberately he loosened his hold on her hair, untan­gling one hand from the tawny silken tresses so he could touch her more intimately. His fingers stroked her collar­bone, then slowly descended, to find and cup her breast.

He felt her stiffen, heard her soft startled gasp, yet he took advantage of her parted lips to drive his tongue deeper inside her mouth.

It was with a sense of surprise and pleasure that he felt her hand clutching at his left thigh. Her fingers climbed upward uncertainly. Her movement was awkward and fumbling, showing her innocence and inexperience, but no practiced woman's touch had ever excited

him more.

With a guttural sound of satisfaction, Devlin slanted his head to attain a better angle, his tongue gently forcing her mouth to open farther so he could assuage his hunger. It took a minute for him to recognize the feel of cold steel jammed into his midriff.

The barrel of his Colt revolver.

She had drawn his own gun on him.

The realization was like ice water splashing over his heated senses. His muffled curse was loud in the sudden silence as he pulled back to stare down at her. Her golden hazel eyes were on him, soft, self-conscious, wary, full of distrust, but her grip on the revolver was entirely steady.

Devlin swore again under his breath. He couldn't be­lieve he had gotten so carried away by a simple kiss that he'd never guessed what Jessica was doing. He hadn't even heard the gun clear leather. Hell, he hadn't been that careless since his first visit to a Chicago parlor house, when he was fourteen.

Or that aroused. He hadn't expected that kind of weak­ness from himself. He hadn't expected to lose all aware­ness of who she was and who he was. He hadn't expected to be left this hungry for more of her.

"I'm paying you," she said a bit breathlessly, "to guard our mine, Devlin. Not to kiss me."

He inhaled, striving for control. "A good thing, angel. It wouldn't be worth the price. You kiss like a child." He had tried to deliver the insult in a cool, languid drawl but it came out in a husky rasp that proclaimed his still-acute state of arousal.