Wildstar

Refusing to be discomfited or sidetracked from her pur­pose, though, Jess glared up at him. "No, Mr. Burke, I am not lost—and I hardly think I must account for my pres­ence here to you. This is a public hotel, is it not?"

With that, she turned and made her way through the wide doors at the rear of the lobby and down the corridor, smarting from the humiliation of being discovered in such a position by her arch enemy, Ashton Burke, but not enough to forget her reason for coming here or her conten­tion with Devlin.

Her fury had returned in full measure by the time she'd marched up the stairs and along the hall to his room. Rather than knock, she pounded on the door with her fist. She hadn't even planned what she would say to Devlin if he was in, other than to ask if he had known about the sil­ver vein before he'd made that lavish contribution to Ril­ey's future. She had raised her arm to hammer a second time when the door swung open on a masculine curse. "What the hell . . .?"

Jessica's fist arrested in mid flight, six inches from Dev­lin's shoulder.

He had discarded his coat and vest, and his finely ruf­fled linen shirt was partially open, revealing the dark hair covering his muscular chest. Her heart did a flip-flop—she couldn't help it. He still had more masculine appeal than any man she'd ever known—and she was still half in love with him. no matter what he'd done, or how degenerate his character, or how hard she'd tried to forget him.

There was the barest tinge of surprise in his smoke-hued eyes at finding her at his door. She. supposed he must be growing accustomed to her showing up in places no lady would ever willingly go.

"What is it?" he asked sharply, whether from annoyance or concern she couldn't tell.

"I should like to speak to you," Jess replied through gritted teeth.

Devlin raised a dark eyebrow, regarding her narrowly. He hesitated a long moment before stepping back with a sweeping gesture of his arm, inviting her to enter. Jess took three steps inside and stopped cold. The room was occupied. By a woman. A beautiful, sultry, lushly shaped woman.

She had raven-black hair and wore a blue silk afternoon gown that must have cost more than most miners made in a week. Her face was skillfully painted to show her fea­tures to best advantage, although she was sitting in the shadows, well back from the revealing sunlight streaming in the window.

The owner of the feather boa, was Jess's first intuitive thought. She couldn't believe the fierceness of the ache that twisted in her chest at the idea of Devlin with this . . . this . . , woman. At least the bed was made this time, though, even if the velvet counterpane was rumpled with the imprint of a human body . . . or two. Jess tore her stricken gaze away from that objectionable piece of furni­ture as Devlin spoke.

"This is Lena Thorpe," he said, his tone cool, unapolo-getic. "Lena works at the saloon next door and deals a wicked game of faro. Lena, Miss Jessica Sommers."

After a moment's pause, the woman issued a polite "How d' you do?"

Jessica managed a stiff reply, all the while feeling a dev­astating hurt at Devlin for introducing her to one of his soiled doves. He was flaunting his relationship, Jess was sure.

"I should like to speak to you," she repeated unsteadily, turning to Devil. "Alone, if I may."

"Lena, love, will you give us a minute?"

"Sure, sugar." The beautiful dealer rose gracefully from her chair and glided across the room, passing Jess in a fra­grant cloud of expensive perfume. She paused beside Dev­lin, giving him a sultry smile. "You know where to find me if you want me."

Quite deliberately, he reached up to brush back a raven tendril that had fallen over Lena's ear. The caress lingered far longer than necessary, Jess thought wretchedly. Devlin had once touched her like that.

Keeping her eyes averted to hide her hurt, she waited until the door shut behind the woman. She was twisting the strings of her reticule together uncontrollably as Devlin turned to her.

He leaned back against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. Jess couldn't help but follow the arrogant move­ment, her gaze riveted on the bare flesh exposed by his open shirt. Her lips had once tasted that naked skin cov­ered with dark spirals of hair, had once explored the sleek contours and powerful male musculature.

"Like what you see?" he drawled softly.

Jessica flushed a delicate crimson. "No . . . I mean . . ." She stumbled over the lie and fell silent.

"I could take off my clothes this time . . . and yours."

She drew a sharp breath. He was deliberately trying to disconcert her. and he was succeeding. She'd totally lost whatever composure she'd come here with, while the memories of her and Devlin doing shocking, intimate things together wouldn't leave her mind.

"The bed here is a lot larger than the one we used the other day."

"I didn't come here in order to go to bed with you!" Jess declared, her voice unnaturally high.

"Then to what do I owe the honor of this visit?" Un­crossing his arms, he pushed himself away from the door and moved toward her, his gray eyes locking with hers.

She shouldn't have come here like this. Jess thought wildly. Not when she had to face him alone. She couldn't trust herself alone with this man. Ten minutes ago she had been livid with him, and now she couldn't even think straight, not with him looking at her like that, as if he'd relish undressing her and taking his time making slow, hot love to her.

He stopped when he was almost touching her—far too close for her comfort—but Jess was determined not to give ground.

"Why'd you come here, sweetheart? Because you couldn't keep away?"