An Unlikely Lady Read Online Free PDF Page A

the meal—this bath was heaven itself.
    When he opened his eyes, he was treated to the delicious sight of Honesty’s breasts trying to push their way out of their tight confines. She had beautiful breasts, what he could see of them. Full. Firm. Flawless. Yep, definitely heaven, he thought with a smile.
    Just then a glitter of gold caught his eye. Languidly, he slid his forefinger beneath the chain and lifted an object from the valley it called home. A gold ring set with a small, oval-shaped ruby raised his eyebrows. “What’s this?”
    Soapy hands gently extracted the jewelry from his grip and dropped it between the pale swells. “A gift.”
    â€œYou must be quite talented.”
    â€œFrom my father .”
    Even if the correction had called for a reply, the appearance of a straight blade in her hand warned Jesse against voicing it.
    â€œI hope you aren’t too fond of that scruff onyour face, because you and it are parting company.” She gripped his chin between her thumb and forefinger. “I can’t abide whiskers.” Only then did Jess realize how rich a brown her eyes were, the color of hot chocolate—though right now they glittered with a determination that set his nerves on edge.
    She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and tilted her head first one way, then the other. The sight of those pearly whites nibbling on pink flesh had the temperature in the room rising several degrees. “Have you ever shaved a man before?”
    Perfectly arced eyebrows shot upward. “Do I look like a woman who has never shaved a man?”
    Put that way, shaving was no doubt a drop in the bucket of services she offered.
    The images that popped into Jesse’s mind would have made even the most seasoned harlot blush. Suddenly his skin became overly sensitive to the water, his senses acute to the woman beside him. The rasp of steel scraping away beard and her gentle breaths were the only sounds in the room.
    Normally he avoided bedding saloon girls; he well knew the kind of men who paraded in and out of their beds each night, and had no desire to take with him any souvenirs gained from a few minutes of pleasure.
    So the swift and gripping interest in bedding this one was odd—and a little unsettling.
    It had to be the whiskey dulling his wits, not her flowery-fresh fragrance, so out of place among the smells of steam and spice and whiskey and sweat. Not the glossy brown-gold curls piled atop her head. Not the beads of bath water dotting her skin.
    Closing his eyes, Jess reined in the desire climbing through his veins and forced himself to think of something—anything—other than the woman kneeling over him.
    His mother. Thinking of his mother should overcome this damnedable weakness he had for soft skin and sweet scents. Hoping the old trick would serve its purpose, he called forth an image of Rowena Randolph as he’d last seen her, standing on a depot platform in Cheyenne, Wyoming, recruiting other suffragettes to close down a bordello. He’d just about succeeded when a soft gasp echoed through the room.
    He opened his eyes and found Honesty staring at him in wonder. “Oh, my lands . . . you’re beautiful!”
    His brows shot up. “ Beautiful? ”
    Her cheeks turned a becoming pink, and she self-consciously dabbed at his freshly shaven face with a damp cloth. “You needn’t act so surprised. I’m sure people tell you that all the time.”
    â€œNot if they want to live,” he said with a sardonic twist to his mouth. Beautiful sounded far too feminine, and much too much like the derogatory names thrown at him all his life by his own gender. Angel-face, pretty boy, buttercup . . . and those were the polite ones.
    Of course, as Jess had gotten older, he’d learned to close his ears to the slurs and use his looks to his own advantage: women seemed to appreciate them, and men were so busy underestimating him