Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel by Julie Lessman Page A

grazed her wrist, she was sure the leap of her pulse would bruise both her skin and his. He’d seemed little-boy awkward when Miss Penny scolded, but the moment he’d touched Allison’s arm, pinned her with those hypnotic eyes, she sensed a confidence and control that bordered on cocky, as if he were used to the approval of women. Her lips squirmed. Cave women, no doubt.
    “Does ‘Sin City’ amuse you, Miss McClare?” he asked, sliding her one of those veiled looks that made her think he could read every thought in her head, despite the fluff between her ears, of course. “Or does that shadow of a smile mean you’re laughing at me?”
    Heat scorched her face at his perception, and she quickly looked across the street, not a smart thing to do. The fire in her cheeks raged out of control over near-naked women in the doorway of a bordello, issuing lewd remarks to Nick as they passed by. Swallowing hard, she forced her gaze straight ahead, her good humor suddenly as depleted as the smile on her face.
    His husky laugh blended perfectly with the ragtime and ribald revelry that filled the night air along with the stench of whiskey and smoke. “What exactly did you expect to see on the Barbary Coast, Miss McClare—gentlemen with manners and ladies dressed for tea?”
    She glanced up to deliver a sharp retort and stopped at the sobriety in his eyes, sensing a compassion that seemed to fly in the face of all she knew him to be. Her ire drifted out on a weary sigh lost in a rash of profanity and slurs from men who whistled and raked her with salacious stares. “No, but I . . .” A knot of pride shifted in her throat and she gulped it down whole, suddenly ashamed of her naïveté. “Wasn’t expecting this,” she said faintly, embarrassed over the wealth and privilege that had blinded her to the plight of the lost and forgotten.
    For the first time, he took her arm and gently steered her to the corner of Montgomery where a motley group of people waited for the cable car. “It’s another world here, Miss McClare.” His voice was quiet as he laid a protective hand over hers. “One I’m glad you’re not privy to.”
    “But there are so many lost souls,” she whispered, unable to stop the tears in her eyes.
    “Yes, but lost by choice.” His voice held a bitter edge.
    “Not all,” she said softly, remembering several little girls who’d attended their first day at Hand of Hope School, daughters of women who worked in the brothels, according to Miss Penny.
    He glanced at her then, the hard line of his jaw softening just a hair. “No, not all.”
    Clang, clang, clang!
    Allison looked up, the sight of a cable car chugging down the rails of Montgomery dissolving her melancholy mood. A thrill surged and her heart began to pound while a tiny giggle slipped from her lips. She fought the inclination to squeal, barely aware of the fingers she dug into his coat sleeve. “Oh, my very first cable car ride,” she breathed. “Can you tell?”
    His mouth crooked. “Only by the bruise on my arm.”
    Her giggle was almost decadent. “Oh, don’t be such a baby, Mr. Barone. This thrilling adventure may be ho-hum to you, but it’s a dream come true for me.” She sighed. “Mother never let us ride the cable car—too many germs.”
    He surveyed the disreputable crowd waiting to board, nose wrinkling, no doubt, from the rank smell of unwashed bodies, stale alcohol, and burning wood from the cable car brakes. His smile took a wry twist. “Wise woman, your mother.”
    The rumble of wheels and the click of rails stole her attention as the bright-red California Street cable car ground to a stop, its shiny wood benches facing out like an invitation to adventure. The small crowd moved forward while Mr. Barone held her back, allowing the others to funnel in first. When it was her turn to mount the single step, he assisted her up, then pressed a nickel into her hand. Adrenaline coursing, she promptly handed the fare to the driver