Jack mumbled something which might’ve been a “right,” irritated at how quickly Diamon managed to take the wind out of his sails, just by proving he wasn’t an adversary.
What would Tavie say to that, hearing I’m irritated not to have an adversary?
She’d probably rail at him for losing control again.
But he hadn’t, and he needed her to know that. He also needed her to know he loved her.
That seemed fairly important.
Maybe the marshal could read his expression. Or maybe he’d heard some of the earlier conversation between him and Tavie. Either way, the other man jerked his chin toward Bluff Street.
“Go on home then. Make sure she’s alright,” he commanded quietly.
Jack hadn’t needed his permission, but it was nice to hear he wasn’t being detained for killing Stevens. He nodded once, then loped off toward his mother’s house.
Toward Tavie.
Toward home.
11
It had been a long time since Tavie had actually laid in bed and had a good cry, so she figured, by the time she’d stomped back to the house, she’d have her emotions better under control.
She was wrong.
The house was empty, of course, and far enough away from town she knew no one had seen it when she’d burst into tears climbing the slight hill it sat on. She didn’t know why she‘d cried, only that it seemed right at the time. And the time after that too.
So she was still sniffling when she locked her bedroom door behind her—it was the smallest in the house, because when she came to work for Ruth, she’d just taken the room of the last companion—and began to unbutton her dress.
Everything ached—her head, her back, her heart. Had it really only been a few hours ago she and Ruth had sat downstairs, worrying about Jack? And he’d been in Denver, drinking.
Because you didn’t kiss him.
She’d wanted to kiss him. Desperately. But she knew they both deserved better.
The gown was tossed over the small chair in front of the dressing table, because Tavie didn’t have the energy to hang it properly. Besides, she’d be putting it back on later. She just needed a few minutes of peace.
But when she pulled back the quilt and climbed under it, wearing nothing but her chemise and stockings, she didn’t feel peaceful. There was a pounding in her head, which had begun when she’d felt Stevens’s arm go around her and hadn’t stopped yet.
With a scowl, she propped herself up on her elbow and began to yank the pins out of her bun. It was a severe style, which fit her life as a lady’s maid, but it sure gave her a headache. She placed the pins on the bedside table, shook out her brown hair, and curled up on her side, hugging a pillow.
Inhale. Hold it. Exhale. Hold it.
She concentrated on breathing, because if she didn’t, she’d think about the terror she’d felt when Stevens’s gun had dug into her side. She’d been brave and could tell Jack appreciated it, but dear God she’d come close to dying today.
When he’d asked her to trust him, she’d remembered what he’d said that night in the hotel room. When he’d been bragging about his abilities. If anyone could save her, could make the shot he was planning without hurting her, it’d be Jack Hoyle.
And he had. He’d been right, but trusting him didn’t mean she’d been less terrified.
Stevens had died right beside her. And Jack had killed him calmly and efficiently.
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes again as she stared out the far window at the late winter landscape. She’d never actually seen him kill a man, but today she’d been forced to stand there, staring straight at him, when he did. It was why she’d closed her eyes when she’d leaned away.
Last week, outside the restaurant, she’d watched Jack disappear, to be replaced by some sort of…of demon. When he’d confronted Stevens the first time, she’d been shocked to realize she couldn’t see anything of him in his eyes. And despite being in clear view of everyone, she hadn’t hesitated to touch him, to talk to him, to try to bring him back.
He’d done it so often over the years, she was afraid he’d never learn how to stop.
Her tears puddled on the pillow beneath her cheeks, but she didn’t bother wiping them up.
Of course, it wasn’t as if she wanted him to kill others. But he’d lived a rough life, and she’d been a Pinkerton for long enough to know that sometimes defending others, or defending what was right, required sacrifice. And he’d sacrificed so much of himself to this mania of his.
If he was going to take down King, she wished—hoped, prayed—he’d learn to do it as himself. Calmly and efficiently.
Wait.
That’s exactly how he was while facing Stevens earlier.
She frowned, her tears slowly drying. Is that what he’d done today? He’d kept control?
God in heaven, but her head hurt.
The knock on her door had her stiffening, then relaxing once more. She’d locked it. If it was Ruth or—God forbid—Jack, they’d leave her alone.
The knock came again, so she pulled a pillow over her head. “Go away,” she called, knowing her voice was muffled. She was being rude, but didn’t care.
Whoever it was must’ve listened, because there wasn’t a third knock.
After a long moment, she realized the air was stale under the stupid pillow, so she peeked out and inhaled gratefully. She threw the thing behind her and stretched her legs out with a groan.
Was it time to get out of bed and stop feeling sorry for herself? She’d told Jack she was heading home for a good cry, and had had one. Was she feeling better now?
Closing her eyes on a sigh, she rolled over onto her back, taking stock.
Yes, she did feel a little better.
Maybe it was the cry. Maybe it was taking her hair down. Maybe it was the hope Jack might’ve listened to her. Maybe it was the fact that, damn it all, in spite of everything, she still loved him.
Either way, she was ready to think about what they’d learned today and face the future.
She sighed, then pushed herself upright with a light groan, and opened her eyes.
And promptly squealed and fell backwards once more, yanking the quilt up to her chin.
“What are you doing here?”
Jack was leaning against her dressing table, his long legs crossed at the ankles, and his weight on one long leg, looking completely at ease.
In her room.
Practically touching her discarded gown.
Why did that make her go all warm and gooey inside?
When he shrugged, she did her best not to stare at the way his lithe shoulders moved under his tailored jacket. He’d been wearing those clothes for days, but still looked as fresh as spring flowers, while she was...she was...
She was lying in her bed in her unmentionables.
How exciting.
No, no, she should be offended. She was mad at him, wasn’t she? She shouldn’t be aroused at the thought of him in her room, of him in her bed. Of him wearing less than unmentionables.
But she was.
Closing her eyes on another groan, she asked again, “Jack. What are you doing here?”
She heard the smile in his voice when he said, “Enjoying the view.”
It would be an easy matter to pull the quilt up higher and hide under it indefinitely, but that’d be the coward’s way out. Instead, she opened her eyes and lifted her head just enough to glare at him.
“A gentleman wouldn’t be in here, you know.”
He waggled his light brows and lifted a small plate. “A gentleman would most definitely be in a lady’s bedroom, Miss Smothers, but he would bring gifts of chocolate.”
Chocolate.
Damn him, how’d he know one of her weaknesses? Had he remembered her speaking of it, at that ball in Aegiria?
“Where’d you get it?” she asked suspiciously, still ensconced in her modesty-protecting quilts.
“These bonbons?” His tone was entirely too nonchalant. “I brought
them back from Denver as an apology. Are they working?”
Bonbons? Curse her traitorous taste buds!
Oh, come off it. You were ready to forgive him and move on a minute ago.
So she sighed. “Leave them on the table and get out. I’ll get dressed and come downstairs.”
She should’ve known he wouldn’t follow her directions. His easy grin was appealing too, and when he pushed away from the table and straightened, she had to swallow past a dry throat.
“Nope,” he said cheerfully.
And then...? Why was he...?
He was walking toward her.
He was sitting on her bed.
Beside her. On her bed.
Beside her on her bed.
And then he waved the plate of bonbons at her, and Tavie’s brain completely shut down.
With a scowl, she gave up the fight for modesty and sat up, allowing the quilt to fall away from her bare arms as she reached for the plate, and not even caring when she noticed his eyes dropping to her cotton-covered breasts.
Truthfully, the knowledge he still wanted to kiss her was almost as delicious as these bonbons.
Wait, maybe not.
She closed her eyes with a moan as she bit into the first one.
Marvelous.
The treat was special enough to focus on for a bit. When she was done, she unconsciously popped her finger into her mouth, sucking all the bits of chocolate off, as she opened her eyes.
And found his completely riveted on her mouth.
The knowledge caused her lips to twitch upward, and Jack’s gaze jumped to hers.
“Dear God, woman,” he choked out in a harsh voice, “do you have any idea how erotic that is?”
She hadn’t thought about it, but…”Yes?” Her grin turned downright naughty as she licked her thumb clean.
With a groan, Jack shifted his weight, pulling one knee up onto the bed, and locking his attention on the far wall.
His compliment—could she take it as a compliment?—as well as the chocolate, as well as her tears and her short rest, had left her feeling much better. She pulled her legs up to cross them under the quilt, plopped her forearms into her lap, and eyed another bonbon.
He made no move to get off her bed.
“Caplan’s dead,” he finally said. “Mother is still with Doc Vickers, which I gather suits both of them fine.”
She cut her eyes in his direction, wondering how much he knew—or wanted to know—of his mother’s romantic interests.
“I think that’s probably a good guess,” she offered neutrally. “And I’m sorry Caplan’s dead. But I’m also glad he was able to tell Ruth what he needed to say.”
Still staring out the window—although his gaze had turned a little less awkward now—he cleared his throat. “And Marshal Diamon knows who I am. He heard you say my name, and with Stevens lying there dead, I told him what I could. He guessed the rest.”
“He knows you’re Ruth’s son?”
His eyes darted to hers, then away, as one of his thumbs began to make small circles on his raised knee.
“He knows I’m Jack Hoyle, and I think he suspects I’m the Black Ace. He told me if anything illegal happens to King, he’ll lock me up.”
She hummed, then gave into temptation and picked up another piece of chocolate. Staring down at it was easier than looking at him.
“Illegal?”
He blew out a breath just as her lips closed over the bonbon. “He says King is legally protected, so any action against him would be illegal.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked quietly.
His ice-blue eyes were serious. “I guess I have to do things legally.”
Today, he’d killed a man who was threatening her life. And in the street last week, he’d attacked a man who’d knocked over his aging mother. And before that, out at King’s ranch, he’d killed three men in a fair fight, after giving them the chance to run. Even back in December, he’d killed some of King’s men to protect Mr. Gomez’s life.
Jack was a good man.
In all of those instances, he’d done the right thing, although he hadn’t held himself back. And although no one had argued legality, out here in the west, things were different. No one—except maybe King—would fault his actions.
But now, he had to do things correctly.
The realization crept up on her, and she nibbled at the bonbon while she considered today’s events.
“You…” She reached out to rest her free hand atop his, where it lay on his knee. “You really didn’t lose control today, did you?”
It hadn’t been what he’d expected to hear, that much was clear from his reaction. But it didn’t stop him from twisting his hand under hers, until their fingers were intertwined.
“I didn’t, Tavie. I swear.” His voice was hoarse, intense. “When I saw him touching you like that, I thought I might go a little mad. But the madness never came. I waited for it to take over, but I remembered what you’d said about not giving up control and I—I didn’t.”
He sounded so proud, but also a bit lost and confused. She squeezed his fingers, offering him a tentative smile.
“You didn’t, Jack,” she whispered. “And you know what that means?”
He raised a brow, as a silent bid for her to continue.
“It means you can do this legally, like Diamon wants. You can take down King without being the Black Ace.”
“You think so?”
She tightened her hold on him, realizing today was the first time they’d held hands. They’d kissed, they’d held one another. But this—and earlier, watching Caplan talk to Ruth—was the first time her palm had pressed against his…and the warmth they shared was familiar.
“Jack, I know so.”
Quick as a flash, he lunged across the bed and grabbed her other hand, the one that still held the bonbon. She instinctively reared back, as if she could escape him, but he’d spent too many years training for her to have a chance.
She shook her head, not sure of his intentions, and he nodded, a wicked smile on his face as he pulled her hand toward his mouth.
Would she ever be able to understand or anticipate these changes of his moods?
She smiled.
Do I want to?
But when he drew her fingers—and the remaining bonbon—into his own mouth, his tongue scraping against her skin, her smile faded into a sort of delirious slack-jawed shock.
As he sucked chocolate off the pad of her index finger, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she sighed in pleasure.
He withdrew her finger, but pressed it against his lips, so she felt them move when he spoke. “Want to hear my theory?” he murmured.
Maybe she grunted, or hummed, or something. Her mind was too jumbled to make any sense of anything she might’ve said anyhow.
His lips twitched under her touch. “Back in Aegiria, you kissed me because I was one of your suspects. Kissing me was alright then. But now you know me. You like me a bit. And you can’t…” He trailed off.
Can’t what?
She opened her eyes and met his, begging him to continue.
“You can’t kiss me again, because this isn’t just a job for you anymore, is it?” he whispered.
Like him? Hell, she loved him.
Wide-eyed, she shook her head.
And bam! Just like that, he switched thoughts—emotions—intentions again. He snapped upright and sat back, dropped her hand to rest on their linked hands on his knee.
“Tavie, that’s the best-tasting chocolate I’ve ever had,” he said with a grin, which told her he didn’t actually mean the chocolate.
Dear God, her head was spinning.
Exasperated, she burst out with, “Why are you here, Jack?”
And his grin grew. “To make a plan, of course!”
With an eye-roll and a groan, she pulled her hands out from his and flopped back onto the bed, one forearm thrown across her eyes. “Get out of here.”
“Nope!” he decla
red cheerfully. “I need your help.”
“With a plan to bring down King?” She peeked out from under her arm. “Or are you going to talk about kissing some more?”
“Why?” His grin turned wicked. “Would it work? Does talking about kissing make you more likely—”
“King!” she interrupted him. “A plan to take down King, you say?”
He blinked innocently. “Yes, indeed. A plan to take down King. Those were going to be the next words out of my mouth.”
She groaned again, but couldn’t help the way her lips were tugging upward at his silly humor.
“At least move off my bed please.”
He bounced a little. “But it’s so comfy!”
“And inappropriate.” She threw out her hand, pointing with the finger he’d so recently tasted. “There’s a perfectly good chair over there.”
Heaving a great, put-upon sigh, Jack took his time moving over to the other chair, but when he rested one ankle on the opposite knee and looked at her expectantly, she knew he was calling her bluff.
So she made herself throw back the quilt and climb out of the bed, pretending not to feel the way his eyes raked over her chemise.
Pretending not to like it.
When she clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace, she knew the ties in the front of the garment were gaping, and all it would take was one little tug to spill her breasts out.
When she darted a glance his way, she could tell by his hungry gaze—and the way he shifted slightly to give himself more room in the front region of his trousers—that he was thinking the same thoughts.
It was empowering and exasperating and arousing all at once.
She cleared her throat and focused on the task at hand. “King. We need to get the deed back from him, right?”
“Uh…” He blinked, then shook his head. “Right. Yes. Whoever owns the deed, owns the mine. I could steal it, but that wouldn’t fall under Diamon’s legal demand. And King always has the deed with him.”
“Right. And we know he won’t sell it. So we need him to willingly give it to you.”
“Listen, could you…”
When Jack trailed off and waved his hand toward her dress draped over the other chair, she raised a brow.
“Yes, Jack?”
Wild Card: Black Aces, Book Three Page 12
