Wildstar

by Nicole Jordan

  Perhaps he should have taken Lena up on her offer, after all, when she'd wanted to spend the afternoon soothing him in bed. She could have satisfied his body and left him too wrung out to lust after a tawny-haired spitfire who made his blood boil with fury and desire. The trouble was that after making love to Jessica, the thought of sex with any other woman, even someone as sensual and as skilled as Lena, not only held no appeal, it was actually distaste­ful. Absurd, when one considered that Jess was a virtual novice at pleasing a man. Even more absurd after all the infuriating accusations she'd thrown at his head.

  It bewildered him, the strength of his desire for her. He'd had dozens of women as beautiful as Jessica. He'd had women far more sophisticated and certainly more fem­inine. Women who, for all their calculation and greed, had known how to satisfy a man, not rip his character and in­tegrity to shreds with unjustified accusations. Yet he didn't want any of those other women. He wanted Jessica Sommers.

  Devlin raked a hand through his dark hair in frustration. Maybe he was the one who was loco. Maybe he ought to have Doc Wheeler examine his head—or other more crit­ical parts of his anatomy. He wanted Jessica Sommers.

  He wanted her in his bed, in his arms, but it went much further than mere lust. On some deep, primitive, emotional level, he wanted to be wanted by that woman. He wanted her to need him. Not for his wealth, not for whatever help or material possessions he could provide her, not for the physical pleasure he could give her body, but solely for himself. Him. Man to woman.

  He wanted her to need him. He wanted her to believe in him. He wanted her to trust him enough to know, despite whatever appearances to the contrary, that he would never have betrayed her the way she'd accused him of doing.

  And he intended to succeed. If there was one thing he had in common with Ashton Burke, it was that he knew how to get what he wanted.

  Keep away from you, angel? Not on your life. You're going to eat your words, sweet Jessie.

  Devlin's gray eyes glinted in anticipation.

  He always won when he put his mind to it. And he wanted Jessica Sommers.

  Chapter 15

  "You don't want to go?" Riley asked his daughter in surprise as they sat at the kitchen table finish­ing dinner. It was Sunday afternoon, several days after she'd stormed out of Devlin's hotel room. "Why not? I thought you'd like a chance to drive down to Georgetown and eat at a fancy restaurant and have somebody else cook for a change."

  "I just would rather not, that's all."

  "But it's supposed to be a celebration. Even Clem's go­ing."

  They were discussing Devlin's invitation for Wednesday night; he'd offered to take them out to celebrate their good fortune. The fabulously rich strike in the Wildstar had proved to be real. The survey team had ruled that the apex of the vein was located on the Wildstar claim, and their findings were as reliable as any could be, given the uncer­tainties of underground mining. Ashton Burke hadn't chal­lenged the claim. In fact, they hadn't heard a peep out of Burke since Devlin had threatened him. Riley was more convinced than ever that Burke's Lady J miners had actu­ally been mining Wildstar silver.

  "I accepted Garrett's invitation to dinner for all of us, Jess. What am I supposed to tell him if you don't come?"

  Jess ground her teeth at the familiar use of Devlin's first name; her father had become far too cozy with that low-down womanizing snake for her peace of mind. "You can tell him I took sick."

  "You haven't been sick in years."

  "I will be Wednesday night." Riley stared.

  Uncomfortable with her father's scrutiny, Jess jumped up from the table and began clearing the dinner dishes.

  "What's come over you lately, Jess? Ever since the mine cave you've been as jumpy as a cat."

  "Nothing. I'm fine." She lifted the pot of scalding water she'd left heating on the stove and poured it into the sink.

  "Then how come you're so steamed at Devlin all of a sudden? You used to like the fellow."

  "That was before I knew what kind of man he is."

  "What kind of man is he? What'd he do that's got you so all-fired upset?"

  She couldn't possibly tell her father all the reasons she wanted nothing to do with Devlin. Glancing over her shoulder as she tied on her apron, she hedged. "For one thing, he's so damnably arrogant I could spit."

  Riley's eyebrows shot up, and Jess knew it was because she'd sworn in his presence. She never swore. She felt it incumbent on her to follow her own rules that she'd set up for her boarders.

  "That's no reason not to go celebrate," Riley said slowly. "I'd like you to go with us, Jess." He gave her a coaxing smile. "You can buy you a pretty new dress and get all fancied up—"

  "My own dresses aren't good enough to be worn in his company, is that it? He's too rich to be seen with us the way we are?" She shoved a skillet under the water, heed­less of the good china plates and her usual order of wash­ing.

  "I didn't say that. You know I don't give a hoot about things like that. But we owe him a lot, after everything he's done for us."

  I thought I owed you. The memory of Devlin's biting words brought an ache to her throat. She'd lost her heart to him, but he'd tried to buy her off with fifty thousand dollars. What's wrong? Don't you think your virginity is worth fifty thousand? He'd paid a huge sum for something she'd given freely, willingly—and only proved without a doubt that he and Burke were cut from the same cloth.

  "I thought you liked Devlin," her father pressed.

  "Well, I don't. I want nothing more to do with that pompous male popinjay."

  "Why not? You've got to give me a better reason than just because he's rich."

  "It isn't only that." She searched her mind for an excuse her father would accept. "He has a fancy woman."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I saw her in Devlin's hotel room."

  "You— What? When?"

  She felt a blush rise to her cheeks. "When I went there the other day."

  "You went to Devlin's hotel room? Bold as brass? Con­found it, Jess, your ma would have had a fit!"

  At her father's shock, Jess felt like squirming, especially when she thought of what Riley's reaction would be if he knew the entire truth about her and Devlin, that she done more than merely visit his hotel room. "I only wanted to ask him what he knew about the lode in the Wildstar. . . . And that woman was there."

  Riley took a sip of coffee, mulling over her answer. "Sounds like you're a mite jealous."

  "I am not!" Jess denied hotly. "I couldn't care less what tarts he keeps!"

  "Then why are you shouting?"

  When Jess didn't answer, Riley shook his head. "A man like that always has a fancy piece or two."

  "Or two!" She went rigid as she thought of Devlin fool­ing around with two fallen angels like Lena Thorpe. "You mean to tell me you approve of such despicable behav­ior?"

  "I don't know that it's so despicable. There's no law that says a man can't enjoy himself before he settles down."

  "Well, there should be! And Devlin ought to be run out of town!"

  "Seems to me you've got some pretty powerful feelings for that fella."

  Jess went to work on the pots and pans with a ven­geance. Her father watched for a while, before he said fi­nally, gently, "Seems to me you're in love with him, Jess."

  The skillet made a big splash in the sink as it slipped from her fingers. Jess spun around, looking frantic. "I am not! I hardly know the man. He only came to town a few weeks ago!"

  Riley eyed his daughter sympathetically. "I didn't have to know your ma long before I was sure I was in love."

  "Yes, but . . . everybody was in love with Mama."

  "Seems like all the females around here are in love with Devlin. Just look at Flo, acting all starry-eyed."

  "Flo doesn't have a lick of sense sometimes. And I'm not in love with him." She was determined not to be in love with Devlin. She was one woman who wouldn't fall for his manipulative charm—even if it killed her.

  "
Did he make you an improper proposal?" she heard her father ask.

  How should she answer that? She didn't want to lie. And yet to be perfectly truthful, Devlin actually had done little more than steal some kisses from her. She 'd been the one to offer the improper proposal. "No," she mumbled.

  "Funny. A man like that, I would have expected him to. Fact is, I'd be downright surprised if he didn't."

  Her eyes widened; her father grinned ruefully. "I was a young man myself once. I just hope you know better than to listen to those sweet-talking bucks."

  She knew better. She just hadn't acted on her knowl­edge, to her infinite regret now. Her mother had often warned her about certain kinds of men. They talked smooth and soft, but in the end, they only wanted one thing from a woman—and it wasn't love and a family and a future. Devlin was like that. He didn't want those perma­nent things. He didn't want her either—

  "I'd like you to go Wednesday night, Jess. Will you do it for me?"

  She swallowed the tightness in her throat. Put that way, how could she refuse?

  Nodding mutely, Jess turned back around and tried to salvage the dishes from the mess she'd made in the sink, but her tormented thoughts wouldn't leave her alone. She was in love with Devlin, even her father had noticed it. She'd only been lying to herself by denying it.

  She was in love with Devlin.

  And the hopelessness of that love left her so terribly vulnerable.

  At exactly six o'clock on Wednesday evening, the ele­gant hired carriage drew up before the Sommerses' small house and a gentleman stepped down.

  Flo was watching impatiently through the parlor win­dow, where they'd all gathered to await Devlin's arrival. "He's here! Oh, my . . . doesn't he look fine!"

  Hating herself for her uncontrollable interest, Jess joined Flo at the window and peered out. The sight nearly took her breath away; Devlin was simply striking in black and white—black cutaway evening coat, white waistcoat, white bow tie, white gloves, and tall black opera hat. Even at a distance, his air of elegance and superiority was evi­dent, while the stark hues only intensified his male mag­netism.

  "Lordy, isn't this gonna be fun?" Flo chirped.

  Neither Clem, tugging on his restrictive tie, nor Jess, feeling acutely self-conscious in her three-year-old gown, were inclined to agree. Her high-collared black bombazine with the blond lace trim had always been adequate for church socials and an occasional concert, but it couldn't compare with Devlin's attire for sophistication. Yet her gown was the least of her concerns. Her cheeks burned as she recalled what had occurred the last time Devlin had been in this house. She also remembered demanding that he never darken her door again, yet here he was, merely a week later, strolling up the walk as arrogant as you please.

  Riley met him at the front door and ushered him into the crowded little parlor. Jess felt her heartbeat quicken at his entrance. He had no right to look so handsome and de­sirable. His presence seemed larger than life, overwhelm­ing. And then his eyes locked with hers. Time seemed to stand still as amber clashed with gray. For a breathless moment, Jess felt as if she were the only one in the room . . . the only woman in the world.

  But then Devlin had that ability, she remembered bit­terly. To make every woman, no matter what her age or appearance or social standing, feel special, feel wanted. She knew exactly how special she was to him. She was worth fifty thousand dollars—which was only pocket change to him. I spend more each year on my horses. How much did he spend on his women?

  The ache in her heart intensified at the thought, and only grew worse when Devlin smiled his devastating smile that took in the entire company.

  "Ladies." He bowed formally with an ease that made the gesture seem perfectly natural in the little parlor. "How lovely you both look."

  Just as naturally, he took Flo's hand and carried it to his lips. The widow went pink and looked as flustered as Jess had ever seen her. Jess, on the other hand, clutched her own hands together and backed up a step, afraid that Dev­lin would try to work his suave charm on her.

  He noticed her gesture, and the sudden mocking amuse­ment that entered his eyes told her very clearly that he knew what she was afraid of.

  Jess swore silently at herself. He was so damnedly con­fident of his practiced power over women—and with good cause. She had meant to be cool and aloof toward him, but already Devlin had her on the defensive.

  When he turned to speak to Clem, Flo leaned over to whisper in Jess's ear, "Gracious, doesn't that gorgeous fella have fine manners?"

  "Fine manners don't make a fine man," Jess snapped back in a waspish tone.

  Her defensiveness only increased, for a minute later Devlin offered her his arm to escort her out to the carriage. A glance of appeal at her father only received a stern frown, and Jess knew she was trapped. She couldn't refuse Devlin's offer without appearing incredibly rude. Gritting her teeth, she took his arm. She had promised her father she would get through this evening, and she would do it, even if she ground her teeth down to mere nubs.

  Devlin tucked her fingers in the crook of his elbow and covered them with a gloved hand—far too possessively for Jess's peace of mind. She endured his touch, though, not about to give him cause to question her ability to conduct herself as a woman should.

  As he walked her to the street, she even forced herself to say politely, if falsely, "I trust you have been well, Mr. Devlin?"

  "Indeed, Miss Sommers. I enjoy the best of health."

  "How unfortunate," Jess muttered under her breath.

  The corner of his mouth kicked up in amusement, indi­cating he had heard her nasty remark. "I trust you have been well," he retorted in a low silken voice. "You didn't suffer any ill effects from our little tussle in bed the other day?"

  At the reminder of her shameful behavior, Jess colored fiercely and glanced wildly over her shoulder to see if her father had overheard. She was vastly relieved to see that Flo was holding both Riley's and Clem's attention.

  Determined not to be provoked, she took a deep breath and tried again. "I thought you would have left town by now."

  "I'm devastated to disappoint you, angel, but I intend to stick around for a while longer. I never leave unfinished business."

  They had reached the street by then, and he paused to look down at her, his gaze so unwavering that it startled her. His look seemed to imply that she was his unfinished business. There was something in his eyes that was both a promise and a threat. A dangerous threat. Dangerous and intimate. Jessica felt her heart lurch in confusion and alarm. Was he planning some kind of revenge in return for the accusations she'd made against him? His slow half smile gave her no clue. With a bland expression of benev­olence and generosity, he handed her into the carriage.

  The vehicle was an expensive landau, with gold-etched door panels and maroon leather seat coverings. Devlin gave the ladies the forward-facing seats, intending for the gentlemen to take the opposite ones. Clem, however, stub­bornly climbed up beside the young driver Devlin had hired for the evening and took over the reins, declaring no wet-behind-the-ears kid was going to handle a team while he was around.

  The two-mile drive to Georgetown was generally pleas­ant. The landau's top had been dropped in deference to the unusual warmth of the September evening, letting the pas­sengers enjoy the blue sky and golden mountain air. Under normal circumstances Jess would have relished such an outing. This part of Clear Creek Canyon was unspoiled by mining works and provided some of the grandest scenery in the district.

  The narrow road followed the twists and turns of the canyon, running alongside the rushing, boulder-strewn stream, whose banks were lined with willows and alders. Great walls of rock flanked the road, rising almost straight up. The surrounding mountains were clad with green pon-derosa pines, as well as aspens and mountain maples that were just starting to turn brilliant gold and red in a prelude to fall.

  Jess was relieved she wasn't sharing her seat with Dev­lin, yet having him directly across from her was almost
worse. She suffered his scrutiny in annoyance and bewil­derment. She couldn't dismiss the intensity and awareness in his eyes, the speculation. His shrewd gray eyes were measuring her, as if he were mentally undressing her and then regowning her in something far more feminine and revealing.

  Twilight was begining to fall as they reached George­town. They drove along quiet, prosperous streets, beneath golden aspens and leafy cottonwoods, passing pretty clap­board houses with picket fences, and attractive Victorian mansions built in the Queen Anne and Gothic Revival styles, where the recognized pillars of society lived.

  Georgetown boasted several fine hotels and restaurants, but Devlin was taking them to the finest—the Hotel de Paris, which was renowned for its elegant decor, superb food, and excellent wines. When they arrived at the hotel and were shown to their table in the dining room, she could almost understand Devlin's earlier scrutiny of her at­tire. All the other ladies there wore evening gowns that left the shoulders bare and set off the tasteful jewelry at their throats and ears. Jessica suddenly felt dowdy in compari­son. She should have done as her father had suggested, she decided, and bought a new outfit, even if it sent her into bankruptcy.

  To her dismay she found herself seated next to Devlin, who, as host, claimed the head of the table. The owner and chef himself, Louis Dupuy, came out to greet Devlin per­sonally. Jess listened in surprise as Devlin spoke in French. When he had introduced his guests and Monsieur Dupuy had gone off to prepare what he promised would be a fabulous meal, Clem gave Devlin a narrow-eyed stare.

  "How'd you learn to talk that la-dee-da Frenchy jawin'?"

  Devlin smiled easily. "My esteemed father insisted on a gentleman's education for his only son. It's come in handy a time or two in my business dealings."

  He might have said more, but Flo interrupted in order to threaten Clem. "You behave yourself, Clem Haverty, or you'll be eatin' nothing but greens for the next month."

  Clem scowled, but subsided into silence—for about two minutes, until the waiter brought the champagne. Flo thought that a big treat, but Clem grumbled about wanting some good whiskey instead of this pap that passed for li­quor. Flo lit into him then, giving him a blistering lecture on manners and gratitude.