printed skirt was scandalously high. It fell to just above her shoes, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of her ankles as she worked her way to the table.
This was definitely no lady, he thought again. And even though she'd never pretended to be entirely proper, this couldn't be Jewel.
Brent continued to watch her as she slid into the Windsor chair and turned to face the passengers. Then his breath froze in his throat. When he finally managed to speak, Brent's voice was hoarse. "No. It can't be Jewel—not again."
But it sure as hell was.
Uncertain exactly what propelled him—anger, shock, fascination, or a combination of all three—he caught his breath and pushed his way through the crowd.
* * *
Unaware that Brent Connors was bearing down on her, Jewel unwrapped the deck of cards she'd just gotten from Tex. After tossing the paper under the table, she split the deck and had begun to shuffle the cards when an indignant male voice startled her.
"Jewel?" Cards shot up in the air. A few hearts and spades bounced off Brent's brocade vest as he added in a deceptively gentle voice, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Taken aback at first, Jewel stared up at him with huge round eyes, her mouth dropping open.
"Well? I know you can do better than that. Now, what the hell do you think you're doing, and how did you get aboard this ship?"
When she was able to react like a detective again, Jewel stood up and stepped out from behind the table. "Don't think you can push me around, mister. I have every right to be on this ship. What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, jabbing her index finger into his shoulder. "Running into you once or twice may be a coincidence, but this is ridiculous. I'm beginning to think you're following me. What are you up to?"
"Me?'' Brent circled her wrist with his hand and jerked her toward him. The sudden movement set the rows of cheap gold coins attached to her long necklace jingling. Through the clatter he warned, "You ought to be more careful who you mess with. I may be a southern gentleman, but if you think you can stand there poking me and get away with it, you got another think coming. I might just snap an irritating finger like that in half."
"Or blow it off, Mr. Sharpshooter?" she blurted out recklessly.
Brent's honey-brown eyes narrowed and darkened like cold hard molasses. "You've got one more chance to explain yourself before I pick you up and toss you overboard. I suggest you don't test my patience any further."
Jewel's stubborn jaw tensed. Her expression slowly became thoughtful and calculating. She wrenched her hand free and began to wave it toward the bar, threatening Brent as she tried to get Tex's attention. "This is one gamble you never should have taken. You've just bought yourself a passel of trouble. I wouldn't wager your entire stake on what's going to happen to you when the saloon manager gets over here and I tell him how badly you've been treating me."
More amused than angry, he turned toward the bar and caught Tex's eye. With a short nod, he beckoned the man, then looked back at Jewel. His eyes soft and warm again, Brent spread his legs and drew a toothpick from his vest pocket. Using his tongue in a deliberately sensual fashion, he slowly moved the bit of wood from one corner of his mouth to the other.
"What's so damn funny?" she demanded. "You're the one who's about to get tossed off this boat, not me."
Brent said nothing. Instead, he contented himself by watching her dig her own grave. His grin broad enough now to produce his dimples, he folded his arms across his chest.
Jewel glanced toward the bar and was relieved to see the manager approaching them. Looking back up at Brent, she mimicked his confident smile. "There's a fellow about twice as big as you on his way over here now. He's going to wipe that grin off your face before you even know what hit you. What do you think of that, you shined-up dandy?''
Brent pulled the toothpick from his mouth, thinking
This was definitely no lady, he thought again. And even though she'd never pretended to be entirely proper, this couldn't be Jewel.
Brent continued to watch her as she slid into the Windsor chair and turned to face the passengers. Then his breath froze in his throat. When he finally managed to speak, Brent's voice was hoarse. "No. It can't be Jewel—not again."
But it sure as hell was.
Uncertain exactly what propelled him—anger, shock, fascination, or a combination of all three—he caught his breath and pushed his way through the crowd.
* * *
Unaware that Brent Connors was bearing down on her, Jewel unwrapped the deck of cards she'd just gotten from Tex. After tossing the paper under the table, she split the deck and had begun to shuffle the cards when an indignant male voice startled her.
"Jewel?" Cards shot up in the air. A few hearts and spades bounced off Brent's brocade vest as he added in a deceptively gentle voice, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Taken aback at first, Jewel stared up at him with huge round eyes, her mouth dropping open.
"Well? I know you can do better than that. Now, what the hell do you think you're doing, and how did you get aboard this ship?"
When she was able to react like a detective again, Jewel stood up and stepped out from behind the table. "Don't think you can push me around, mister. I have every right to be on this ship. What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, jabbing her index finger into his shoulder. "Running into you once or twice may be a coincidence, but this is ridiculous. I'm beginning to think you're following me. What are you up to?"
"Me?'' Brent circled her wrist with his hand and jerked her toward him. The sudden movement set the rows of cheap gold coins attached to her long necklace jingling. Through the clatter he warned, "You ought to be more careful who you mess with. I may be a southern gentleman, but if you think you can stand there poking me and get away with it, you got another think coming. I might just snap an irritating finger like that in half."
"Or blow it off, Mr. Sharpshooter?" she blurted out recklessly.
Brent's honey-brown eyes narrowed and darkened like cold hard molasses. "You've got one more chance to explain yourself before I pick you up and toss you overboard. I suggest you don't test my patience any further."
Jewel's stubborn jaw tensed. Her expression slowly became thoughtful and calculating. She wrenched her hand free and began to wave it toward the bar, threatening Brent as she tried to get Tex's attention. "This is one gamble you never should have taken. You've just bought yourself a passel of trouble. I wouldn't wager your entire stake on what's going to happen to you when the saloon manager gets over here and I tell him how badly you've been treating me."
More amused than angry, he turned toward the bar and caught Tex's eye. With a short nod, he beckoned the man, then looked back at Jewel. His eyes soft and warm again, Brent spread his legs and drew a toothpick from his vest pocket. Using his tongue in a deliberately sensual fashion, he slowly moved the bit of wood from one corner of his mouth to the other.
"What's so damn funny?" she demanded. "You're the one who's about to get tossed off this boat, not me."
Brent said nothing. Instead, he contented himself by watching her dig her own grave. His grin broad enough now to produce his dimples, he folded his arms across his chest.
Jewel glanced toward the bar and was relieved to see the manager approaching them. Looking back up at Brent, she mimicked his confident smile. "There's a fellow about twice as big as you on his way over here now. He's going to wipe that grin off your face before you even know what hit you. What do you think of that, you shined-up dandy?''
Brent pulled the toothpick from his mouth, thinking
Similar Books
