Under the cover of her scolding, Devlin turned to Jess on his right. "I hope the champagne is to your taste, Miss Jess."
His formality irked her. After the intimacies they'd shared, it seemed absurd that he should revert to calling her "Miss Jess," even though she had been the one to start it. But then, he was only doing it to provoke her, she was sure.
"It's very good," she answered politely. "I suppose you drink champagne ail the time?"
"I have it for breakfast occasionally."
He was taunting her about his wealth, Jess decided, her temper rising ten degrees. Only three times in her life had she ever even tasted champagne.
When she didn't reply, Devlin tilted his dark head to one side, giving her the full effect of his lazy smile. "You'll have to become accustomed to champagne, now that you're a wealthy young woman."
"I don't intend to change my habits just because Riley finally made a strike."
"A pity. You could do with some loosening up."
Jess nearly strained the muscles of her jaw, she clenched it so hard. It was all she could do refrain from throwing the rest of the champagne in her glass at Devlin's handsome face.
Dragging her gaze away, she glanced around the dining room. The elegant surroundings brought home more than anything else could the vast difference between her and him. This was Devlin's natural setting. A far, far cry from miners' fare at a communal dining table.
She couldn't keep the bitterness from her tone when she remarked, "If you're used to all this"—she gestured sweepingly at the surrounding elegance—"I guess I should be flattered you condescended to sit at my boarding table."
"It wasn't condescension. Even millionaires have to eat. And you're still the best cook in Colorado."
His compliment didn't mollify her; she knew her simple but hearty meals couldn't possibly compare to the gourmet cuisine they were about to indulge in.
"A shame you can't eat money," Jess muttered.
Devlin's lazy smile never wavered as he sipped his champagne, yet his gaze seemed to sharpen. "What do you have against money, anyway?"
"It's not money I object to. It's what money does to people."
"What does it do?"
"It gives them power that they only misuse."
"And you think everyone who has money misuses power?"
She understood the point he was trying to make, but her chin rose stubbornly. "Everyone I know does."
His eyes gleamed with mocking amusement. "But then, you don't know too many people of wealth."
Jess refused to look away, not forgetting how Devlin had paid her father fifty thousand dollars to ease his conscience. "I know at least one more millionaire than I ever wished to know."
Devlin acknowledged her gibe with a chuckle that was as charming as it was exasperated. "Ah, sweet Jessie, you do know how to cut a man down to size."
It was impossible not to feel the sexual awareness the husky velvet sound of his laughter aroused, but Jess tried to ignore it and returned his gaze, all seriousness. "At least people who work for their living aren't as likely to become corrupted."
"I do work for my living. I make money."
"Somehow I don't see making money as doing much to improve a man's character."
"Neither does poverty, necessarily." Reaching for the champagne bottle that had been left cooling in a bucket of ice, he refilled her glass. "And it's not only men who are corrupted by wealth, either. I was fifteen when I learned that lesson. That's when women began chasing me because of who I was . . . or rather, who my father was."
Jessica heard the hard edge of contempt in his tone and bit back the retort that was on her lips. She was frankly shocked by what he had implied—for two reasons. First, it had never occurred to her that someone could actually see great wealth as a liability rather than as a weapon to be wielded. Second, that Devlin could actually believe that was why women chased him. Anyone who looked into his eyes could see that women were drawn to him for a much more basic reason than money and position, or even his stunning good looks. Beyond the aura of wealth and power, beyond the fallen-angel features and the devil smile, was a simple, primal appeal that was as old as Adam and Eve. Some fascinating, elusive quality that made a woman feel warm and alive, that made her want to catch and tame and hold this man in her arms, that simply made her want. It was raw, potent, twenty-four-karat masculinity that called to everything feminine and vulnerable in a woman. And even though Devlin had accused her of being unfeminine, of not acting the way a normal woman would, in this case she was entirely normal.
Their private conversation was interrupted then by the appearance of the first course—much to Jess's relief mixed with a frustration she tried to ignore. She had forgotten there was anyone else in the room but Devlin. When she caught her father watching her speculatively, she blushed and turned her attention to her food.
They dined on oysters on the half shell, pheasant casserole, venison cutlets, sweetbreads, a julienne of garden vegetables, and several choices of dessert—Peach Charlotte in brandy sauce, petits fours, and apple fritters. Clem refused to eat the oysters and warily eyed everything else but the fritters, which he bolted down like a starved wolf. He did, however, praise the cognac that was served later with coffee. Twice during dinner a violinist came to their table and serenaded the ladies. Jessica flushed, Flo simpered, and Devlin slipped the musician a silver dollar.
They were sipping after-dinner liqueurs when they heard a stir at a nearby table. Ashton Burke had walked in, a lovely lady on his arm—a lady whom Jess recognized as a Georgetown socialite, one Devlin recognized as the type of woman his ex-fiancée had been.
Burke oversaw the seating of his guest and then surprised them all by coming over to their table. Devlin rose politely, and Riley reluctantly followed suit. Clem sat there glowering until Flo kicked him under the table, making him lurch to his feet.
"I wasn't aware you patronized the Hotel de Paris, Mr. Sommers," Burke remarked.
"I wasn't aware you did, either," Riley returned.
The fair-haired Englishman smiled coolly. "I come here frequently after attending the theater. I like to check out the competition. I have similar establishments, you will recall. In fact, perhaps you might join me one evening for dinner. Now that hostilities have ended, we could 'bury the hatchet,' as they say."
Riley looked at him warily, while Jess seethed. Burke was offering no apologies, no admission of guilt for all the trouble he had caused them. It galled her that he should walk away scot-free after nearly committing murder—and looking so unrepentant about it, to boot.
He inclined his head regally, including her in the gesture. "By the way, please accept my congratulations on your strike in the Wildstar."
Clem muttered something profane under his breath, which was cut off by Devlin's dry comment. "I'm gratified you're taking it so well, Mr. Burke."
He gave an elegant shrug. "You know what else they say—win some, lose some. Do enjoy the rest of your evening."
He returned to his own table then, leaving a pall over Devlin's guests.
If the dinner was an ordeal for Jessica, the ride home was worse. Somehow the seating arrangements became switched and Devlin ended up beside her. She could feel the heat and muscular hardness of his thigh, even through their layers of clothing. That, and the casual way he draped his arm across the back of her seat, almost but not quite touching her, unnerved her. Plus the landau's top remained down, leaving the carriage open. The night was quiet and romantic as a crescent moon spilled its pale light over the rocky canyon, transfiguring the hulking mountain peaks around them into immense purple shadows. Jess was grateful for the soft breeze cooling her flushed face, and more grateful still for the way Flo kept up a steady, cheerful stream of conversation.
To Jess's regret, Riley invited them all into the house for a nightcap. Clem refused on the grounds that he had to get out of his "golblamed torture suit," but Devlin stayed nearly an hour—an interminable length.
Her regret was even greater when her father asked her to show Garrett to the door. She caught Devlin's amused expression and bit her lip. Instantly suspicious of anything that pleased him, Jess ushered him into the front hall and handed him his hat, but that was as far as she got. Devlin wouldn't leave.
"Good night, Mr. Devlin," she said pointedly, holding the door open. "I trust you won't come here again."
His dark eyebrows rose in a mock dismay. "Such gratitude, Miss Jess."
"I have no reason to be grateful to you," Jess practically hissed. "Your fifty thousand dollars made everything even between us, as you so correctly made clear to me. Now please leave. I don't want you in our house."
Deliberately ignoring her order, Devlin leaned negligently against the wall, looking for all the world as if he were enjoying himself. "But your father invited me to call again. I'd say he approves of me."
"Only because he doesn't know what you did!"
"Shall I tell him?"
"No!" Jess almost yelped the word. She glanced behind her guiltily, but the voices coming from the parlor assured her Flo and Riley hadn't heard. "Good Lord, no."
"Then I think you'd better make it worth my while," Devlin said silkily.
"What? What do you mean?"
"If you want me to keep quiet about our prior relationship, then I suggest you give me something in return."
Clenching her teeth, Jess violently took Devlin by the elbow and nearly pushed him outside. Pulling the door closed behind them, she left them surrounded by darkness. "You cad!" she exploded then, which made Devlin grin, his teeth flashing white in the moonlight.
"So you've said."
"What do you want?"
I want you, lying in my bed, wrapped around me. "A kiss, Miss Jess. Merely a kiss."
"You want me to kiss you after what you've done?" She sounded incredulous.
"I'd rather have you under me," he replied lazily, which made Jess gasp at his frankness, "but tonight I'll settle for a simple kiss."
Jess stared at him. What he was asking was impossible. Nothing was simple where this man was concerned, certainly not his kisses. "And then you'll leave?"
"If you really want me to."
His husky, silken rasp, low and sexual and totally arousing, tore through her senses. Jess remained rooted where she stood, unable to move. Devlin reached up to touch her cheek with the back of his hand. He had taken off his gloves, and his fingers were warm, erotic, sending arrows of shivering awareness down her spine. He was going to kiss her, and she was going to do absolutely nothing to stop him.
She watched as his lazy lashes lowered to half shade even lazier eyes. The moon silvered his face, etching his beautiful features with light and shadow, filling her vision. Incredibly, she wanted his kiss.
Yet he didn't oblige at once. His hand slipped behind her neck, lightly cupping, but that was all he did. His hesitation confused her.
Devlin, however, felt no hesitation at all. He was merely savoring the moment, drawing it out to heighten the anticipation. He figured he deserved to indulge himself.
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.
Wildstar Page 26
