His Heart's Revenge (The Marshall Brothers Series, Book 2) by Jo Goodman Page A

tense," he said, massaging lightly. His fingers itched to thread themselves in her soft honey hair. He would make that imperious, regal expression of hers vanish once he removed the pins. The taut line of her mouth would not look so inviolate after his kisses. "Do you really think you'd find anyone to throw me out? Have a care, Katy, you might be the one puffed up with your own consequence. The city's at your feet today, but that can change quickly."
    "Are you threatening me?" she asked coldly.
    Michael smiled. "Mmm. I suppose I am." His hands slipped to her upper arms, and without much resistance on Katy's part, he pulled her to her feet. There was a touch of cold cream on her cheek and he wiped it away with his fingertip. "Such soft skin," he said huskily, watching her closely. "You are very beautiful, Miss Dakota, but then you're probably used to hearing that. I'd wager you've heard it from my own father. He fancies himself something of a connoisseur where women are concerned. Tell me, aren't you the least bit curious about being in my bed after you've been in his?" He waited for her response. When she met his statement with silence, he probed. "What? No desire for relative comparison?"
    "I don't find your attempts at humor amusing and your conclusions—"
    "Shut up, Katy," he said, not unkindly. "Your mouth has better uses." Pressing one hand to the small of her back, Michael forced Katy flush to his body. His other hand cupped her head, holding it immobile as his mouth closed over hers.
    Katy's lips were set in a mutinous line. She tried to twist out of Michael's grasp, and when she couldn't, settled for giving him no pleasure. His mouth was hot and hard and his mustache abraded her skin.
    He raised his head slightly but did not release his hold. "Come, Katy," he cajoled. "Why so reticent? Open your mouth, darling. Let me taste some of what you give others so freely."
    When Katy opened her mouth it was not in offering. "Take your hands off me." Then, with particular venom, she added, "Yankee bastard."
    From the doorway there was the sound of rhythmic, cynical applause. Katy and Michael broke apart.
    "Nicely said, Miss Dakota," Logan said, pushing away from the door. "That epithet hardly seems tired when spoken in your particularly passionate accents." He looked over his shoulder at the balding little gentleman behind him. "It's all right. You can stop wringing your hands. The situation is under control." He pushed the door shut with a flick of his wrist. "Wouldn't you say that's true, Donovan?"
    Michael's hands dropped to his side as Katy took another step backward and put herself out of his easy reach. "Marshall," he said brusquely. "What are you doing here?"
    Katy nervously smoothed her dressing gown. "How do you know each other?" she asked. For all the attention either man paid her, she may as well have not spoken.
    "I came back to see Miss Dakota, of course," answered Logan. "I'm a great admirer of her acting." He did not spare Katy a glance, but he felt her discomfort as if it were a tangible thing. It was a heady, powerful feeling. He thought he could get used to having her under his thumb. He thought he could come to like it very, very much. "If you do not want your privacy invaded, Michael, you should make certain your lady friend is willing. I could hear her from out in the hallway telling you to leave. That poor little man was beside himself for having let you in. I could not bear to see him suffer any longer."
    So Logan had not come to her rescue, Katy thought. He had only wanted to assist Mr. Grant. His motives shouldn't have surprised her; he had every reason in the world to despise her, and yet she found herself looking over him, remembering, and wishing it could be different.
    Michael's weight shifted from one foot to the other. His eyes darted over Logan, judging the man's fitness and strength. If it came to a fight, Michael knew they would be evenly matched. It would be the talk of the clubs for years to