Runaway Read Online Free PDF Page A

Jarrett’s.
    “The gold is on the table,
monsieur
.”
    Jarrett shrugged. “As you wish,
monsieur!
”
    “You’re bluffing, McKenzie! And we will see!”
    But at that moment Jarrett didn’t really see anything. Just the figure in the cape.
    She turned around, facing him.
    When the hood fell back, he saw her hair. It was fascinating hair, a rich, deep, golden blond touched here and there with highlights of flame. Even in the muted candlelit gleam of the gaming parlor, that hair was something like the sun on the most glorious day, and something like the glow of flame against the deepest darkness of the night.
    It was just a headful of blond hair, he tried to tellhimself, annoyed for the first time that she had so compelled his attention.
    But he was wrong.
    It was more than just a beautiful head of hair. He’d never seen hair like it. The skeins of it were rich in color and texture. It was luxurious. He wanted to come closer to it. He wanted to touch it.
    Someone ought to warn her that she needed to cover it up. This wasn’t the seediest part of town, but it wasn’t any church hall here either.
    He closed his eyes suddenly, tightly, nearly groaning aloud with the pain that stirred in his heart and the anger he felt against himself. It was one thing to walk the streets here in the heart of town, closed in by the old buildings in their wrought-iron decay and splendor. One thing to lose himself in the tawdry districts of New Orleans. It was something to do, like breathing, like walking along the river, staring at the dark water of the Mississippi as it slugged along. It was one thing to meet a cat in the dark with no real emotion, exchanging words that meant nothing, never seeing, bodies meeting, yet never really,
really
touching.
    He could see this woman. And ever since the hood had fallen away from her face, maybe before it had done so, he had wanted her. Wanted to touch her. Wanted to have her. Not a cat in the dark. Her.
    It might have been the way she moved, and it might have been that hair with its extraordinary color. Something both strong and intangible had slipped into his soul from the second he had seen her, even wrapped in the cloak, even in shadow, even before he had really laid eyes on her.…
    Now, beneath the lantern light in the entryway, he could study her face.
    Her eyes were so vivid and dark a blue, he couldclearly see their color from across the room. Where her hair was golden, her lashes were rich and dark, sweeping over her eyes. Her brows, too, were a darker shade than her hair, high and delicately arched. Her eyes were wonderful, wide set and shimmering within the frame of an exquisite face. Her coloring was beautiful. The perfect oval structure of her face was enhanced by the clean marble beauty of her skin. Her nose was straight, her mouth was generous, her lips drawn against the porcelain of her flesh as if by some great artist. More than ever he wanted to touch her. Run his thumb over her mouth and explore the pattern and texture of it. Stroke her cheek, discover its softness. Dive into that hair, and become entwined in the silk of it.
    Robert cleared his throat. “Jarrett? Poker? You’ve called the man, Jarrett. Put your cards on the table.”
    Jarrett did so, barely glancing at the others. Smiling Jack had been sitting on a decent hand, a straight. Not bad. Not enough.
    Robert stared at Jarrett, then swept the money into a pile before him.
    Jarrett cast a level eye on Jack. He really didn’t give a damn about the game anymore. He couldn’t even truly appreciate the irritation he was causing the Frenchman. “Do we continue?” he asked Jack. “Are you dealing,
mon ami?
”
    “Oui, mon ami,”
the Frenchman agreed. He started dealing out the cards with a swift expertise. Jarrett sat back, his eyes half closed. He observed everything.
    The cards, the Frenchman.
    The girl.
    That was one good thing about living in the “swamps” with the “savages.”
    He had learned to watch.

    For