To Love a Scoundrel (25 page)

He quickly peeled off the layers of Gypsy clothing, then took his time with the laces on her camisole. When that was unfastened, he left it in place, forgoing the sight of her breasts for the time being. Instead, he slid his hands down over her spine and derriere and slowly sank to his knees.

Through a hoarse laugh he said, "I've always considered the treasure you women hide beneath your skirts to be a formidable weapon, but you do beat them all, Miss Pinkerton. You've got yourself a regular arsenal here."

Eager to get past the preliminaries, Jewel issued a nervous giggle as she started to remove her small pistol from the holster strapped to her thigh.

"No," Brent said softly. "Let me. Let me do it all. I especially want to remove this stiletto," he said tapping the leather sheath. "I want to know where this little beauty is at all times." He glanced up at her, narrowing one brown eye, then slowly removed her weapons. When he slid her cotton drawers from over her hips, Jewel's legs began to shake in earnest; when he brushed his mouth across her naval, her knees buckled and she lurched against his shoulders.

"B-brent," she managed through a tight throat.

"I know," he whispered, his own passion looming up inside him like a dark thick cloud. "I know."

"Then... please
."

He'd wanted to make love to her slowly, construct an atmosphere of trust and caring before they became one, before they gave way to passion, but she wasn't having any of it. Brent got to his feet, still determined to build a stronger base for their lovemaking, stubborn in his need to know all there was to know of her. He would find the real Jewel Flannery or wear himself out trying. With a renewed sense of purpose, Brent removed her camisole and slowly unfastened the pearl buttons on his own shirt.

Jewel stared at him, her green eyes dark with longing, hazy with desire as he stripped off his clothing. When he finally stood naked before her, she drew in a shaky breath.

"Now, Brent?" she whispered huskily.

"We're getting there, beautiful. You're looking a little wobbly. Perhaps you'd like to lie down?"

Sudden emotions, feelings she couldn't or wouldn't identify, joined in with the desire raging throughout her body, leaving her confused and incapable of speech. Jewel nodded violently and staggered toward the bed.

Brent caught her in his arms and deposited her in the center of the velvet and satin spread before he lay down beside her. "And you are beautiful, you know," he murmured, appreciating the dusky peaks of her full breasts just before he filled his palm with one of them. "Every little inch of you is beautiful, just made for kissing, for tasting," he continued, replacing his hand with his mouth.

Jewel cried out as his lips circled her nipple, and then sucked in her breath as he continued his journey. "Brent... for heaven's sake."

"Slow down," he murmured against the hollow apex of her rib cage. "I only want to be sure you actually feel that it's me touching you. Is that asking too much?''

"No," she said plunging her fingers into his hair and forcing him to look into her eyes. "I'm really trying, but because I
do
feel you touching me, because I know without a doubt that it
is
you, I just can't wait any longer. I wish you'd move along."

"Really?" he said, glancing at her breasts, at the rigid sentries guarding the twin peaks. "But I was just getting to know your freckles, and this..." He ran a finger slowly, torturously down over her hip to the top of her thigh, "This cute little mole. I'm trying to think of a name for it." Recognizing that her groan was as much from frustration as from arousal, he continued making circles on her feverish flesh with his fingertips, sliding them along as if they were lazy ostrich plumes. "Which is the real you, Jewel? Are you just a mass of wanting now, or do you want me?"

"Y-you," she stammered through a tortured groan as Brent's hands and mouth worked their magic. "All I want is you."

And although he knew she was ready for him, eager to have him become a part of her, Brent recklessly continued, piling her pleasure higher and higher until he was certain she'd reached new, glorious plateaus. Too late, he realized he'd pushed her too far. When he finally entered her, she was beyond control.

Brent rode with her, enduring her bucking and twisting with as much apathy as he could manage. When she finally calmed and her breathing became rapid but not labored, he pushed his own needs into the farthest corner of his mind and said, "Impatient little thing, aren't you?"

Jewel laughed as she tried to catch her breath. "I tried to slow down. Really I did."

"I guess you know what I'm going to have to do now," he warned against her flushed, damp skin.

"No," she breathed, liquid heat still throbbing in her veins.

"I'm going to have to start all over again."

And then he did just that.

* * *

Later—how much later, he couldn't determine—Brent jerked his head up off the pillow. He sorted through the ruins of his mind and pieced together his memories, trying to understand what had happened here. He glanced down at Jewel and found her skin damp and rosy, her eyes closed with a serenity of expression that touched him so deeply he had to look away.

He had taken her to places she'd never been before; that much he knew. He had also discovered mysteries in her body that even she was unaware of, and he'd definitely found the avenues that led her to the greatest pleasure. But had he actually reached the goal he sought? Had he touched her heart? He didn't know, couldn't be sure. Somehow he'd lost himself in the bargain.

"Jewel?" he whispered.

Her answer was a low, gratified moan.

Smiling down at her, sensing she was at some new level of discovery within herself, he whispered, "Don't move. Stay exactly the way you are. I'm getting out of bed, but I'll be back in one minute."

Again she moaned, but her eyes remained closed, her expression contented. Loving that look, sensing he was closer to her now than anyone had been in a very long time—maybe ever—he carefully eased himself out of bed and padded over to his dresser.

Jewel heard Brent's words, felt him leave the bed, but she couldn't speak, couldn't open her eyelids, which felt leaden. She was lifted out of herself, floating above her own body on a sensual cloud of the softest velvet. What had he done to bring her to this state? Who had she become? No one had ever given her so much and expected so little in return. What had she given him? she suddenly wondered. More than her body, came the answer. Some part of her she'd never recognized, never allowed to surface before. What did it mean?

In the midst of her thoughts, Jewel realized Brent had returned to the bed. An instant later his gentle fingers began to brush the errant hair from her brow. Her lids fluttering, feeling drugged and unresponsive, Jewel tried to open her eyes.

Brent kissed her cheeks and her damp eyelashes. "Stay the way you are. Rest, think of us and how good we are together. I'm going to cool your skin."

And then, before she could object—or thank him—Jewel heard the trickle of water being poured into the washbasin and felt the cool damp cloth as he drew it across her fevered brow. Unfamiliar emotions swelled in her throat, threatening her air supply with their enormity. Why was he doing this? she wondered as he methodically, lovingly, washed her flushed body from head to toe. She felt stripped, symbolically cleansed right down to her soul, and deeply moved by an act that seemed somehow more intimate than their lovemaking. A new emotion—fear?—joined in with her already tangled feelings, pushing her to the edge of yet another unfamiliar response—Jewel Flannery was perilously close to tears. Choking back an enormous sob, she drew her knees up to her chest and rolled away from him.

"Oops," he said, unaware that she'd withdrawn her mind as well as her body. "Did I touch a ticklish spot?"

"Ah, no," she hedged, covering herself with the bedspread. "I was taking a chill."

"That's enough of this," he said, tossing the washcloth into the basin. Then he turned back to her and saw it. Her eyes were guarded, her expression wary. She looked like a frightened bird trapped by a wildcat.

"Oh, Jewel," he said with a sigh. "What is it? What happened to that beautiful, artless woman I just made love to?"

"Don't, please. I can't talk right now."

He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. "If that's the way it has to be, all right." Moving to the edge of the bed, Brent retrieved his trousers and stepped into them, continuing as he tugged them up over his hips and buttoned them. "Every time I start to get close to you and begin to know you as a woman, not as some character you're portraying, you pull away from me and hide. Why can't you trust me?"

Jewel chewed on her bottom lip, seeking an answer for herself as well as for him. Her gaze followed Brent as he picked up his shirt and slipped it on, buttoning it as he circled the bed and crossed over to the side where she sat huddled against his pillows.

"Well?" he said again, easing down beside her. "Why can't I earn your trust?"

Although she knew the answer to that lay deep inside her, so deep that even she couldn't reach it, Jewel gave him the only reply she could. "Everything—not just our lovemaking—is happening too fast. Besides," she added, hoping it didn't sound too feeble, "I don't know enough about you to trust you. You have a little explaining to do yourself, you know."

Frowning, he said, "Like what?"

"Like the first time we met. I was on a special assignment. Why were
you
hiding in Scotty's room? I somehow doubt you had an invitation."

"That's a perfectly legitimate question," he said with a grin. "I broke in, too, but I had a very good reason to do so. Scotty had bragged to a couple of my friends that his newest partner was a high-class crook named Harry Benton."

"Harry Benton?"
Jewel sat straight up, unconcerned about her nudity as the cover fell away from her body. "What kind of business did you have with him? How long have you known him?"

Alarmed by what he saw in her eyes, Brent held up his hands. "Hold on a minute. I didn't say I know Harry Benton. In fact, I've never met the man. He stole some things from my family—my mother's family jewels, to be precise."

"He swindled your mother, too?" she blurted out.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess you could say that. What do you mean by 'your mother, too'? "

Jewel shrugged. "Harry has a weakness for wealthy women and their jewelry. How long ago did he make off with your family treasures?"

Brent shrugged, "A year or so ago."

"Umm, too bad," she said with a shake of her head. "He's probably unloaded them by now. I doubt you'll ever see them again. When I finally trap him, I'll keep a lookout for them if you like."

Brent's eyebrows slammed together. "When you trap him? Are you trying to track him down, too?"

Here was her opportunity to do something for Brent, to give instead of take. Sliding her hand across his, Jewel said, "I've been trying to corner that man for years. He's the reason I had to get, and keep, this job. When I trip him up, I'll see that you get your pound of flesh."

Brent popped off the bed. "You mean to say he's on board this ship?"

Jewel raised a skeptical brow. "Are you trying to tell me you didn't know?"

"Hell, no, I didn't know. Where is he?" Brent demanded as he paced back and forth at the foot at the bed. "I'll have him tied him to the paddle wheel of his ship. He'll be separating the mud from the Mississippi until he tells me where those jewels are."

"Before I can help you get your family possessions back, I have to catch Harry Benton at his own game."

"Then I intend to help." Brent stopped pacing and gripped the brass bed frame. "I know that passenger list upside down and Harry Benton is not on it. What name is he using?"

Jewel shook her head. "Sorry, but I can't tell you that."

Brent's features darkened. "I have a big stake in his capture. Surely you can trust me enough by now to give me that much information."

But Jewel was adamant. No one and nothing would come between her and Harry's darkest moment. Not even Brent Connors. "Stay out of it. You'll only jeopardize my chances of apprehending him."

"That's right," he snapped back, anger running his tongue. "I forgot—you're a professional. A coldhearted professional. And what am I? Answer me that, Miss Detective. Just what part will I play in all this?"

"That's not fair," she said, snatching the sheet off the bed and covering herself. "I've got a job to do. I'm just trying to do it to the best of my ability."

"Regardless of who you hurt in the process?"

Jewel glanced up at him, and her heart constricted. "I don't want to hurt you, Brent. I never asked you to care about me."

"No, you sure as hell didn't," he agreed, deep in thought. "But you have to admit you did lead me on a little. What about the pool game? Did you wager your body in the name of professionalism or was it something else?"

"I don't have to answer a question like that."

"Then answer me this: Today, here in this bedroom, just what did that have to do with your job?"

"Nothing, Brent." Cornered, unable and unwilling to offer any more of herself, she blurted out, "I have needs, like everyone else. Please don't think of what happened between us as anything more than that."