Improper Gentlemen Read Online Free PDF Page A

teased his nostrils.
    Even more of his blood sprang to life despite the wind’s bitter lash.
    Lavender and Castile soap were clearly the Devil’s handiwork.
    He cursed, tossed her up into his arms—and greatly enjoyed her smothered shriek. She might slap his face in a few seconds, but he’d have this much to remember her by.
    Then he shoved the Hair Trigger Palace’s swinging doors open and carried her inside, with her carpetbag beating time against his leg.

Chapter 4
     
    T hump, thump! The great doors swung shut behind them and sent a burst of cold air swirling through Charlotte’s skirts. Wall sconces and heavy lanterns overhead flickered briefly, then burned sullenly once again to hint at ornate columns and dark green walls. In the distance, a long, broad shaft of light split the saloon’s center to mark the stage. From there, a curvaceous soprano sang passionately of death-defying love in songs translated from Italy’s latest operas.
    Card tables were stuffed onto the Hair Trigger Palace’s floor. Men crowded around them more intently than frogs ever studied dragonflies in a tropical jungle. Each side of the room below the balcony had its own bar. There an oil painting of a complacently nude female was surrounded by glittering rivers of glass bottles lit by dozens of candles. Skilled bartenders in crisp white shirts and dark vests served whiskey, bourbon, beer, and every drink known or imaginable to a constantly shifting throng.
    The air was hot and greedy, heavy with anticipation for the upcoming sights.
    She could have touched the balcony’s underside from where Talbot held her against his chest.
    She was trapped more completely than in Simmons’s room.
    Damn, damn, damn, why had she simply let herself be carried off? Surely being a woman didn’t have to limit her choices that much, did it? She could have done something else, the way a man would have.
    No matter how much drier this was than the town outside—which was hardly difficult with a storm about to begin—she was still inside the Hair Trigger Palace, the most dangerous concert saloon in Colorado’s wickedest city. Even worse, Talbot, the best shootist in the Rockies, carried her, steady as her father’s finest stallion.
    She was cold to her bones, yet everywhere he touched, her treacherous flesh longed to be closer. Closer to the soft glide of a fine wool frock coat shifting to follow the strong male form underneath, closer to the unhurried breathing caressing her cheek, closer to the sensual aroma of bay rum rising from his skin to invite her touch. This was insanity.
    She needed to escape, despite the unbidden warmth stealing into her from his proximity. She had to leave Wolf Laurel before the weather and Johnson combined to chain her to Simmons’s bed, no matter what Talbot did.
    “Put me down,” Charlotte ordered and thumped his shoulder hard. She’d fought and survived before. She could do it again. Somehow.
    “Try to look as if you adore me,” Talbot whispered and let her slide far too slowly down his front. His profile glowed dark gold in the shadows under his hat, like a Greek hero amid Hades’ fires.
    The saloon’s heat seeping into her toes was far less noticeable than the slow glide of woolen coat and silken vest across her skin, or the hard muscles in the shoulders and chest underneath. Protection and temptation incarnate.
    No, and no, and no. She could not afford to lose her head over another attractive man. No amount of loneliness excused her folly with that fast-talking gambler.
    “You . . . you . . .” She glared at him, for once unable to find words.
    A wickedly teasing laugh flashed through his eyes so quickly she almost missed it, before his countenance turned sober again. “My lovely Miss Moreland. I first glimpsed you in Denver at Ed West’s saloon.” He brushed a kiss across her knuckles.
    The simple touch jolted into her heart.
    Somebody coughed politely nearby and Charlotte blushed hotly, then immediately,