nodded gravely. “I’m going to fix it so you won’t be bothered by any more no-account, low-life drifters like me.”
“You’re not a drifter. You’re a miner with your very own gold mine.”
“I should be strung up and shot for insulting you.”
“That seems a bit harsh.” Really, he was taking this too much to heart. “Cheer up, Mr. White. You’ve got a dozen wheelbarrows of gold dust to spend.” She frowned. “Though, in good conscience I must recommend you consider your future and deposit your newfound wealth in a bank.”
He shuffled booted feet the size of watering troughs. “That’s what my mother would say. Don’t worry, I’ve already done it.”
“Well then, good day to you.” Even though he stood directly in front of her, she waved goodbye.
His palm came up, and he wriggled huge, sausage-sized fingers. “I’ll be seeing you, Miss Stoneworthy.”
The boardwalk buckled beneath his weight as he ambled away. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine how Miner Newt thought he could assist her.
She stepped through the open doors, turning to lock them. Without warning, a man moved in front of her. A. small shriek sprang from her throat. Tall, lean and grim-lipped, this new arrival projected none of Mr. White’s affability. Wearing a black dress coat, pristine white shirt and snug-fitting black trousers, the intruder radiated an aura of sophisticated hardness.
Her gaze flew to his face. Whereas the miner’s features looked as if they’d been carved by a dull ax, this man’s countenance had been chiseled with the precision of a sculptor’s hand. Angular, strongly defined cheekbones, narrow lips and deeply set brown eyes created a visage without inherent tenderness. Thick black hair, combed severely back, added to his formidable expression. Handsome was too benign a word to apply to a face of such harsh contours. Yet his features were imbued with a bold, almost savage beauty.
Recognition dawned. Standing before her was none other than Burke Youngblood, owner and president of Denver’s largest bank. They had met briefly on two previous occa sions. The indelible impression he’d left during those fleeting encounters had followed her into her dreams.
She had no idea why one of Denver’s most powerful and wealthy men stood on her doorstep. It seemed prudent to inquire. “Uh, may I help you?”
Burke took in the bedraggled appearance of the woman he’d agreed to check on. After overhearing her naive exchange with Newton White, Burke felt obligated to teach her an unforgettable lesson that would irrefutably demonstrate the danger she’d placed herself in by moving into a former whorehouse. “I’m certain you’re the perfect person to...help me.”
Mr. Youngblood’s gritty voice performed some kind of dark magic on Jayne’s inner tickings. She licked her suddenly dry lips. The banker’s expression bordered on carnivorous. “Are you sure you have the right place?”
Only as the question emerged did a horrible inkling of what might be about to transpire unravel within her. Surely not, she told herself. A man of Burke Youngblood’s wealth and reputation wouldn’t—
“I’ll be in exactly the right place when we go upstairs, find ourselves a bed.”
Like jagged bolts of hot lightning stabbing the earth, three thoughts struck Jayne. Burke Youngblood did not remember her from their previous meetings, he expected much more from a dance hall girl than friendly conversation and...and he was no gentleman!
She raised her chin. “You’ve come to the wrong place.”
Something elemental flashed in his eyes. “We won’t know that till I’m there.” His glance took in the room’s torn-up condition. “It’s a little drafty down here, but if this is where you want to do it, I’m game.”
Heat crawled to her cheeks. After being raised by her late aunt Euphemia, Jayne had a good idea what “it” was. The spinster had waxed with vigorous zeal upon the subject of men’s lusts.
Without conscious thought, Jayne’s gaze drifted to Mr. Youngblood’s lower anatomy. To her inexperienced eye, it appeared Euphemia had been on the right track, which would explain why disrobing was required to facilitate actual... er...linkage.
“The view’s likely to be more interesting without my trousers on.”
His husky observation shocked Jayne from her reflections. An even deeper blush singed her face and throat. What a time for her thoughts or gaze to wander! “You’ve made the mistake. This is no longer the Wet Beaver. I bought the building to—”
Without signaling his intent, he swept her into his arms. “You talk too much.”
Before she could react, he was striding toward the stairs. Stunned by the unexpected turn of events, she tried to twist free.
He slung her over his shoulder. Her field of vision shrank to the bobbing floor and an upside-down view of his lean backside.
With an audible whoosh the air bounced from her lungs. She looked over her shoulder and was greeted by the sight of her posterior pushed up alongside his face. One wide palm rested proprietarily upon her upthrust bottom. Incensed by his familiarity, she pounded his back with her fists. The jarring blows should have had him howling for mercy. Evidently, the banker had a high tolerance for pain. He didn’t miss a stair as he took them two at a time.
“Well, well, what have we here?” he drawled with maddening calm. “An ample-sized, unmade bed, waiting for us to get acquainted.”
He tossed her onto the disheveled bedding. Jayne bounced twice, then rolled to her side, scrambling to reach the edge of the mattress and freedom.
“Where’re you going?” Restraining hands pulled her to the center of the bed. “You must be new at this. The exercise is supposed to come between the sheets, not on top of them,”
“There’s not going to be any exercise.” She slapped his renegade hands. “The tavern went out of business. I bought this building to use as a school for young ladies. Now let me go!”
She counted the seconds before her explanation had Burke Youngblood on his knees, pleading that she accept his apology.
“You can’t expect me to believe that.” He straddled her hips and pinned her hands. “No sane person would buy a brothel and try to turn it into a school for respectable girls.”
Jayne’s thoughts reeled. Brothel? She’d bought an obscure, run-down tavern, not a house of ill repute.
When the man’s harsh face a scant inch from hers, his dark, glittering eyes promised danger.
“Am I going too fast? Do you like your customers to take it slower?”
“Mr. Youngblood—”
“So you know my name....” He brushed his mouth against her startled lips. “If that’s how you like it, I’m willing to slow down.”
“You’re not listening,” she began again, desperate to make him understand his mistake before it was too late. “I’m not what people call a...uh...‘good-time gal.’ I’m a respectable teacher and businesswoman.”
“Some men might like the fantasy of having a virgin or a Sunday school teacher in their bed, but I like my women bold. If you’re going to pretend to be someone, try Cleopatra or Delilah.”
“Cleopatra? Delilah?” she sputtered, astonished by his preferences. “They’re two of the most treacherous women who ever lived.”
“You’re not supposed to criticize your customers’ tastes,” he chided. “I know what’s the problem. You want your money in advance, don’t you?”
Burke reached into his coat pocket and extracted a roll of bills. He’d already pushed Miss Stoneworthy further than he’d intended, yet he refused to back off until he’d put