Capturing The Marshal's Heart (Escape From Texas) Read Online Free PDF Page B

mouth. “I must need something.”
    “I don’t understand.” His gaze fixated on her moving finger, pulling his awareness to her lush mouth like a bee to honey.
    “That is just so sad.” She turned to her room and pushed open the door, mumbling under her breath, “If you’ve forgotten those private moments outside the stage stop, I’m losing my touch.”
    * * *
    An hour later, Jazzy stomped up the stairs of the boarding house muttering, “Twenty-five cents! For a sponge bath! Outrageous for a basin of tepid water, stinky homemade soap, and a dingy gray towel.” Maybe she’d consider opening a bath house with her savings. And if she did, she’d supply fine-smelling French soaps and offer linen towels. As she contemplated the idea, she crossed the hallway and grabbed the doorknob to Room 3.
    Scuffling sounded from the other side of the door and the bedsprings squeaked. Her breath hitched in her throat and gooseflesh rose on her skin.
    Light filtered from the door opening and the acrid smell of a kerosene lamp tickled her nose. Jazzy hesitated—she hadn’t left the lamp burning. Almost on its own, her hand patted the folds of her skirt. Her money was safe.
    A foot away stood a small hall table with several books in a stack. She lifted the top one and hefted it, weighing its effectiveness as a weapon. What she owned might not be much, but the objects were hers.
    With no time to call for help, she quickly drew back her arm into throwing position and stepped inside. She froze at the sight before her. The book dropped from her grasp, dully thudding on the wooden floor. Slade Thomas lay on the counterpane of her iron bed, his jacket hung from the bedpost, and his stocking feet were crossed at the ankles. Even from across the room, she sensed the poised strength of this potent man.
    Against the fabric of her camisole, her breasts grew heavy and tingled. The man was too handsome for her peace of mind. Before she started her questions, she breathed deeply. A definite mistake. The movement only teased her sensitized flesh. “I reckon you’re in the wrong room, Mr. Thomas.”
    One dark eyebrow rose in question. “Oh?”
    Why did he have to be so manly? She nodded and cast her gaze around the room, surreptitiously checking her personal items in plain view. All seemed to be in place. “This is my room. Number 3.”
    A grin eased his lips apart, showing a flash of white teeth. “Three has always been my lucky number.”
    His low-pitched voice flowed around her, as smooth as Kentucky sipping whiskey. Deep, rumbling voices were her particular weakness. A shiver ran over her skin, yet her blood burned. Years of practice settled like a cloak over her movements. She shifted her weight and rested a hand on her forward hip. “So, you’re feelin’ lucky, are you?”
    His gaze skittered to the side and back to her face, then slowly ran down the length of her body. He levered himself up onto an elbow and leaned toward the middle of the springy mattress. “Yes, ma’am.”
    That throaty voice again. She sighed. With an exaggerated swing in her step, Jazzy approached the end of the bed. So, those gazes she’d felt all day had been leading to this.
    His gaze riveted on her bust line.
    As she moved, she lifted her hand to loosen the front buttons of her jacket and shrugged it off her shoulders. Folding it to hide her mother’s cameo, she let the garment drop to the seat of a nearby chair.
    Maybe there was another reason for his visit—a reason that didn’t involve the two of them rolling around in the middle of this bed, aroused and completely naked. Best not make another mistake like she had earlier. “Slade?”
    “Yeah.” His gaze lifted to hers and held.
    His cinnamon-colored eyes darkened with desire. A look she’d seen often enough to recognize. She eased several buttons through the buttonholes of her blouse, then rested her forearms along the top bar of the iron foot rail. “Please tell me you’ve come for more than