Wildstar

The evening had been sheer hell.

The need to touch her, the need to lower his mouth to Jess's, had driven him half mad the entire time. And now the tightness of his body, the ache in his groin, was a per­sistent clamor. He wanted her naked beneath him, naked and straining and giving, like she had once been. He wanted her open and trusting, the way she'd been before learning of his vast wealth. At the very least, he wanted her friendship.

It was wishful thinking, he knew. Just now, Jessica looked as proper and tightlaced and unfriendly as any sour-tempered matron, nothing like the wild, sensual crea­ture he had unleashed in bed an interminable week ago, nor the frightened woman who'd shared the darkest night of his life with him, not even the courageous partner who'd helped him face down two gunmen.

He had hoped she would cool off some by now. He'd endured the past week with impatience and remarkable fortitude, allowing Jess to keep him at arm's length—more than arm's length—while he attempted to understand and come to terms with her deep prejudices. Jessica hated all wealthy men. Unreasonably. Blindly. Period.

Her passionate dislike of Burke, however, at least was based on fact, Devlin realized. And she did have some jus­tification for considering his own actions mercenary. He should never have told her about the fifty thousand being payment for his guilt, even if it was partly true. His pri­mary reason for giving Riley the money was not so mercenary—his desire to make her life easier. Yet she would no more have accepted his generosity on that basis than she would have accepted charity from Burke.

Devlin's own fury at her had abated somewhat in the past week, but his temper had shot up again this evening when Jess had shunned him. She'd made it very clear how much she despised him. He didn't want her to hate him, to look at him as if he were beneath contempt. He wanted Jess to want him as much as he did her.

At least she was speaking to him again. He had her fa­ther to thank for that—which Devlin had trouble under­standing. If she were his daughter he wouldn't allow her anywhere near a man like him. Riley couldn't know what had happened between them—that a near stranger had taught his daughter about passion and desire and sexual need. If he had known, instead of pursuing a friendship, he would be hauling out the shotgun Jess was so fond of brandishing.

She wasn't threatening to shoot him now, Devlin re­flected with pleasure. She was waiting uncertainly for his kiss, her breathing shallow, her lips parted. He could feel her trembling.

Devlin couldn't help the feeling of triumph that surged through him. She was afraid of what he could do to her, how he could make her feel—which meant she wasn't as indifferent to him as she wanted him to believe. Perhaps she was feeling some of the powerful, conflicting urges that tormented him.

Determined to make her experience every hot, violent sensation of need and desire that was slamming through him, he lowered his head.

His claiming of her mouth was slow and hot and tender, a savoring possession that stroked and caressed. His tongue penetrated her warm interior deeply, with an inti­mate demand that made very clear his sexual intent. There was absolutely nothing innocent about his embrace, either. He thrust his muscular thigh between hers deliberately, making her feel the hard pressure of his arousal in the front of his trousers. He reached up to cover her breast in­tentionally, shaping his hand to the lush, corseted curve. When Jess whimpered softly, Devlin felt a flood of in­tensely male satisfaction. She ached for him, as he did for her.

And there he ended it.

As deliberately as he had begun, he pulled away, leav­ing her throbbing and unfulfilled, as he was throbbing and unfulfilled.

Lost in a drugged sensuality, Jess opened her eyes and looked up at him in an unfocused daze. His expression was hard and sensual, his silver-smoke eyes dilated with arousal. Raw desire darkened his voice when he spoke.

"Whether you want it or not, angel, you're going to be­come a woman . . . my woman."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Jess to stare after him, her fingers raised to her burning lips.

His declaration didn't make the least bit of sense to Jess. Why Devlin should claim that she was going to be­come his woman was totally unfathomable to her. Unless her rebuffs had raised his ire to the point of vengeance. Unless she had challenged his inflated self-consequence once too often and he had thrown down the gauntlet. Maybe he was determined to prove his mastery over her. Maybe he wanted to be the one to walk away, to leave her pining after him, spurned and brokenhearted. That would explain his cryptic remark as he had handed her into the carriage. / never leave unfinished business.

Whatever his motives, Devlin's threat left Jess confused and worried and, if she were honest with herself, the least bit excited. No matter how he had hurt her before, no mat­ter how mercenary and manipulative he had proven to be, she was woman enough to feel flattered by the pursuit of such a man—even if that pursuit was driven purely by

spite. Worse, she was enough in love with Devlin to be grateful for even that crumb of attention.

One thing was clear, in any case. He wasn't going to let her be easily rid of him. The kiss Devlin had given her in the moonlight had told her, emphatically and demonstra­bly, that he wasn't through with her by any means.

One other thing was clear as well. Her father was bent on matchmaking.

From then on, every chance he got, Riley brought up Devlin's name—first name—in passing conversation, and twice during the latter part of the week he invited Devlin to call. Those evening sessions in the parlor were sheer torment for Jess. Her traitorous father kept making excuses to leave the room, while that scoundrel Devlin sat there and smirked, a triumphant gleam of amusement dancing in his eyes.

She didn't dare order him out, though, or refuse to be present for his visits. Devlin had threatened to tell Riley precisely what had happened when they'd been trapped in the mine together. It was blackmail, pure and simple . . . ungentlemanly and altogether unprincipled. But she wasn't going to take a chance on her father's learning the truth. She didn't want Riley knowing she'd had such terrible judgment as to lose her innocence to this . . . this black­hearted devil.

Saturday night came as a relief. Riley announced that he and Clem were going to spend the evening playing poker at the Diamond Dust Saloon. Riley hadn't indulged in a game in ages, certainly not for such high stakes as the Di­amond Dust offered. In fact, he had rarely even been in any of Burke's saloons, calling them too rich for his pock­ets. But he wasn't above thumbing his nose at Burke now that the battle had been won, Riley told his daughter. That he would be spending Devlin's money until the mine started to show a profit apparently didn't bother him, Jess observed in frustration.

She spent the first part of the quiet evening reading and trying not to dwell on Devlin's perfidy. Having no success, she decided to turn in early.

She was undressing for bed when she heard a noise that seemed to come from out back of the house. Instantly sus­picious, Jess bristled. If her father had sent Devlin over in his absence, she would throttle both of them.

Dragging on a robe over her chemise and drawers and shoving her feet into slippers, Jess made her way to the kitchen pantry, where she got down the shotgun. Then she threw open the back door. It was dark outside, with noth­ing unusual in the night sounds.

"Devlin?" she called uncertainly. She descended the back steps slowly, her eyes scanning the small moonlit yard.

It was nothing she heard that alerted her to the danger; it was more like a sixth sense. Jess whirled just in time to see the dark figure of a man moving toward her, his arm raised, his hand clutching a long object that might have been a piece of firewood. His face was blackened by shadow, but she recognized the man. Hank Purcell, the su­perintendent of Burke's Lady J mine.

She had no time to wonder what he was doing there in her yard. She didn't even have time to protect herself. His arm descended and pain flashed in her temple. Then ev­erything went black.