Wildstar

by Nicole Jordan

  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?"

  The suggestion that she found him irresistible grated on her nerves, and she tried to muster a scathing tone. "Do you honestly expect every woman to come panting after you?"

  "Honestly?" His beautiful smile was charm itself. "I'd have to say that has been my experience, yes."

  Jess drew in a ragged breath, feeling a sharp ache in her chest. She had little doubt he was telling the truth about his effect on woman.

  He reached up to touch a forefinger to her lower lip, sensually, provocatively. "Do I disturb you, angel?"

  "N-no . . ." she managed to stammer, trying not to flinch.

  "No? Then why are you so hot and bothered?"

  He was doing the same thing he'd done three days be­fore, twisting her words and thoughts and feelings around till she didn't know up from down, right from wrong, truth from fiction. In a minute he'd have her quivering with longing.

  His finger erotically stroked her lower lip, dipping just inside.

  "No, don't . . ."

  "That's what you said the last time, but you didn't mean it then, either."

  "Devlin, stop it!" She heard the panic in her voice and hated herself for it. She couldn't let him do this to her.

  Taking a step back, she drew herself up to her fullest height and said in her most formidable finishing school manner, "I did not come here to be assaulted, Mr. Devlin. I only want to talk to you."

  "A pity," he murmured. To her vast relief, though, he turned away. "I'm all for accommodating a lady." He ges­tured toward a chair. "Please sit down."

  Jess would rather not have taken the same seat his fancy woman had vacated, but she masked her hurt and sat down, perching on the edge and clutching her reticule in her lap. She wished it were a shotgun; she would have felt safer. Warily she watched Devlin.

  He walked over to the bureau, where the liquor decant­ers sat. The golden sunlight streamed in the window and glinted off his sable hair. "Would you care for a drink?"

  "No, thank you. I told you I don't drink spirits."

  "Ah, yes. Saint Jessica."

  "That isn't fair."

  He glanced at her, a quick flash of gray, intensely cool in the warm light.

  "I don't make my boarders or anyone else follow my rules outside my boardinghouse," Jess said in her own de­fense.

  Not trusting himself to reply, Devlin poured himself three fingers of whiskey and drank one of them in a single swallow, feeling the mellow fire burn all the way down to his stomach. .

  It didn't rid him of the sour taste in his mouth over his own boorish behavior. His fondling of Lena a few mo­ments ago had been entirely deliberate. He'd purposefully flaunted his association with the faro dealer in a crude at­tempt to make Jessica jealous, to demonstrate what she was giving up by spuming him. It had been a petty ges­ture, unworthy of her, or of him. Primitive, base, and crude.

  But more and more these days, his urges toward Jessica were degenerating into the primitive and base. The desire slamming through his body just now proved it. His condi­tion, Devlin knew, had a good deal to do with certain memories that wouldn't go away. Jess clinging to him dur­ing a long dark night. Jess panting beneath him, meeting his every thrust with a fierceness all her own. Jess eager and giving, as passionate in her loving as she was in her anger. Too vividly he remembered the silkiness of her lus­trous tawny hair, the velvet smoothness of her skin, the supple responsiveness of her body. The simple joy of hold­ing her afterward.

  Yet he also remembered the accusations she'd thrown at him the other day, and how she'd ordered him from her house. Her rejection had shot his male pride all to hell, but the hurt went far deeper than wounded pride. He'd felt be­trayed. Jess had trusted him so little that she'd convicted him of treachery on the flimsiest of evidence.

  Sure, he hadn't been entirely honest about his wealth, but he'd had good reason, wanting to protect himself from the kind of mercenary females he'd known all his life. Could he be faulted for trying to keep his heart from being savaged again? Ever since his fiancée had sliced up his heart, he'd sworn never again to let himself be used by a woman. Jess had used him, every bit as much as he'd used her, and then she'd accused him of being in league with that bastard Burke.

  Devlin clenched his teeth. He hadn't felt pain that sharp

  in ten years. He wanted Jess to acknowledge how wrong she'd been about him, but he wasn't sure even an apology would make up for her lack of faith.

  Trying unsuccessfully to repress both memories
and urges, Devlin ambled over to the bed and sat down with his back to the headboard, where he'd been when Jessica had interrupted. If she'd come here to apologize, he was willing to listen . . . but he wouldn't make it easy for her.

  Drawing one leg up, he-rested his arm on his knee, the crystal glass dangling from his fingers. "I suppose you'll eventually get around to telling me why you're here?"

  Jess regarded Devlin as if she'd never seen him before. How could she ever have believed he was a mere gam­bler? He had always looked like the kind of man who knew about power and wealth, how to get it and how to keep it. She had little doubt that he could be every bit as ruthless as Burke in getting what he wanted. Just now Devlin was lounging on the bed like a lazing wolf, alert yet perfectly at ease. But beneath the relaxed, almost lazy demeanor was a frame of coiled steel, the kind of hardness that could only be earned by physical exertion, by labor and sweat and strife. Who was this beautiful man who had crept into her heart and left it wounded and aching?

  Realizing that she was staring again, Jessica shook her­self and tried to marshal her scattered thoughts. "I only have one question," she began finally. "Did you find the lode in the Wildstar before you talked Riley into selling to you?" .

  Devlin stared at her for a long moment, before his eye­lids drooped in insolent reply. "Let me see if I have this straight. You hunted me down here to accuse me of find­ing the silver lode in the mine and defrauding your father?"

  His tone had turned chill, his eyes cold and diamond-hard, but Jess wouldn't let herself look away. The truth was too important to her. "The night we were trapped, you took a long time checking out the lower tunnel."

  "You're giving me more credit than I deserve," Devlin said in a voice that was dangerous for its very calmness. "That night I was concerned about a few more important things, if I recall—like staying alive. If there was a vein of silver showing down there, I sure as hell didn't recognize it."

  "You found something in that tunnel, I'm sure of it."

  "I found a crack in the wall. It was letting in a stream of air that I hoped would save our lives. I didn't tell you about it because I didn't want to raise your hopes."

  Jessica's expression turned to anguished pleading. "Then why did you give Riley so much money for the mine? What were you trying to buy? The whole claim wasn't worth half that much, and Riley said he only sold you a minority interest."

  Devlin found himself gripping the glass in his hand until the delicate crystal threatened to shatter. He'd told himself he wouldn't lose control with Jessica ever again. He could have hurt her a few days ago when he'd taken her so forcefully, when he'd been lost in the mindless pleasure her body could give him, the fierce joy of making love to her. But her latest accusation savaged his hard-won disci­pline and filled him with a cold rage.

  "It would be just the kind of mercenary thing Burke would do," Jess added uncertainly, as if to justify her sus­picions.

  Devlin's wintry eyes impaled her. "Will you," he said in a deadly voice, "get it through your beautiful head that I am not Ashton Burke?"

  Jessica nearly recoiled at the fierceness of the expres­sion on his face.

  "My motivation at the time." Devlin added icily, "was purely unselfish. Your father needed money to repair the mine and was too proud to take it. And being a partner in the Wildstar gave me the necessary leverage against Burke to threaten him with a lawsuit. I had absolutely no expec­tation of ever seeing the kind of return I usually get on my investments. And I certainly didn't expect to make a strike of this magnitude. Before you showed up just now, I'd al­ready decided to let Riley buy back my interest at the same price as soon as he can afford it. I would have told him this afternoon, but I wanted to wait until the strike was verified and we could be sure Burke wasn't going to try anything else to sabotage the mine."

  Jess stared incredulously. Devlin was willing to sell back his share without taking a profit? Surely he couldn't be serious about making such a generous offer. "You don't . . . really mean it? About letting Riley have the Wildstar back?"

  His mouth tightened in a thin line. "Yes, dammit, I re­ally mean it. I told you before I don't need the money."

  Jessica bit her lip hard. Was it possible that maybe she might have been mistaken about Devlin's intentions? Her heart, so bitter and mistrustful, began to lighten. "I thought . . . I mean . . . you see . . ."

  "I know, you told me. You thought I was trying to steal from your father. I'm a thief now, as well as a liar and a traitor. Saint Jess has tried and convicted me."

  She didn't know how to answer him, since that was pre­cisely what she had thought. Even clear across the room, she could feel his simmering fury, yet she couldn't really blame him for being angry at her. She had convicted him, even if deep in her heart she had prayed she was mistaken. She rose to her feet, her fingers making shreds of the strings to her reticule. "Devlin . . . I . . ."

  She was about to tell him she was sorry for jumping to conclusions when his drawling comment stopped her.

  "On second thought, maybe you were right. I suppose I did lie to you after all. My motives for offering to help your father weren't entirely unselfish. I also did it to ap­pease my conscience." Devlin's mouth twisted. "Buying into the Wildstar was the best way I knew to make amends for what happened between us the other night in the mine. I felt guilty as hell about taking your virginity, and I thought I owed you something."

  His stinging admission had the devastating effect he wanted: Jessica went white.

  She moved toward him slowly, as if drawn to him against her will. "You gave us that money to alleviate your guilt?" She reached his side and stood staring down at him. "You were paying me for my services like any whore?" .

  Put that bluntly, it sounded cold and cruel, Devlin real­ized, yet it was partly true, and he was a trifle too enraged at the moment to be his usual charming self, or to couch the truth in softer terms. Besides, he was fed up with Jess always seeing his actions in the worst possible light.

  "If that was what I was doing, darlin', then you have to be the most expensive whore I've ever had the pleasure of bedding."

  Her white face grew even paler, if that were possible. "You bastard. . . ." Her voice was low and raw.

  "What's wrong, sweetheart? Don't you think your vir­ginity is worth fifty thousand?"

  She slapped him then, hard, as tears sprang to her eyes, blurring her vision. In reaction, he caught her wrist in a tight grip.

  "You . . . you . . ." Jess sputtered, furious. "I can't think of a word bad enough to describe you!" Nearly shaking with fury and pain, she struggled to free her arm.

  Wisely, for his own well-being, Devlin wouldn't let go. He thought about pulling her down on the bed with him, like he had the last time they'd fought, but decided it would only end with him feeling more guilt than he did now.

  "I'm surprised at your tactics, angel," he retorted in­stead. "You should have played on my sense of honor and tried to wrangle a marriage proposal out of me—but then you never have behaved the way a normal woman would."

  It was a good thing he had hold of both her wrists by then, or she would have scratched his eyes out.

  "I wouldn't marry you if you had a million trillion dol­lars!" Jess shrieked. "You couldn't pay me enough to take a man like you for a husband! Oh, I despise you! One of these days you and your ilk are going to learn you can't buy people! Especially me!"

  Jerking free of his hold, she fumbled in her reticule for an instant and pulled out a wad of bills, which she threw in Devlin's face with all her might. "That's your salary! I don't care if you burn it or eat it or give it to that . . . that woman who was here. Just keep away from me!"

  This time Jessica was the one who stormed out and slammed the door.

  Sinking back on the bed, Devlin stared after her, his jaw muscles clenched, his left cheek still stinging from her slap.

  He couldn't believe what had just happened. He couldn't believe she had actually waltzed in here and ac­cused him of trying
to bilk her father out of his newfound wealth. He couldn't believe how much her accusations hurt. The only thing he was certain of was that Jess was crazy. Loco. Stark, raving unhinged. At least when it came to anyone who bore the slightest resemblance to Ashton Burke.

  She had this obsessive hatred for wealth and the men who owned that wealth. It was an issue she saw in stark black and white, with absolutely no shades of gray; if you were wealthy, you were—what was it she'd called him the other day—manipulative and heartless? She considered rich men totally beneath contempt.

  But then, Devlin reflected reluctantly, didn't he have a similar prejudice? Hadn't he always viewed women in a similarly bad light, lumping them together with his one­time fiancée and his mother? The women in his life had been takers, only out for themselves. In his cynical view, women were apt to do far more for money than for blood or love.

  He couldn't say that about Jessica Sommers. She truly did care for her father. Everything she'd done for the past three weeks, every desperate and dangerous action she'd taken, had been for Riley's sake. She'd tried her best to protect him from Burke's spitefulness and greed. In fact, her fierce loyalty was something Devlin had actually en­vied. He wanted Jess to be that loyal to him. He wanted her to trust him—

  Realizing how laughable that wish was, Devlin ran a hand raggedly down his face. Her belief in him was so shallow that it had crumbled at the first test. Just as his fiancée's had ten years ago.

  He was willing to admit that Riley's hellcat daughter wasn't the kind of mercenary woman his fiancée had been. But that Jessica could think him cold and mercenary—Devlin swore with a viciousness that did nothing to satisfy the blow she'd dealt to his pride or his heart, and tossed off the rest of the whiskey in his glass with complete dis­regard for its quality. The very notion that she wanted nothing to do with him because he was rich frankly stunned him. He'd never been spurned because he had money.

  He remembered her latest accusation and cursed again. Goddammit, but she could set him off faster than any woman he knew. And that was a good deal of the problem. Every time he got close to Jessica lately, he wound up wanting to throttle her or make love to her or both.