Suzi Love Read Free Page B

remove my weapon. I trust you’ll follow suit.” He slipped his knife back into its sheath. “A gun-wielding woman makes me nervous. Mistakes happen.”
    “I never make mistakes.” Her demeanour was far more self-assured than any thief or prostitute had a right to. “I was taught to shoot by an expert when I was a girl.”
    She retracted her pistol and secreted it on her person, probably in a concealed skirt pocket, and a hiding place any well-trained spy should have considered. Whew. He hadn’t realised he’d been holding that breath until it whooshed out.
    “Now. Who are you and what do you want?”
    “You really are foxed. My disguise didn’t fool those two.” She waved a hand towards the street. “And whoever they had following me. Yet you! You still haven’t recognized me.”
    He frowned. “Despite what Lord Mitchell inferred, I’m positive you’re not a light skirt. I’m guessing you’re a lady of the
ton
, perhaps after a re-enactment of some amorous night we spent together in the past.” He waved her away from the door and ushered her into the hallway. “But I’m mortified to say if we
were
together, it’s so long ago I’ve forgotten.”
    She sighed. Disappointment or resignation? “You’ve forgotten all about me.”
    He halted her under the wall lamp. “If you’re looking to renew an old friendship,” he said as he trailed a finger across her décolletage, “we may be able to arrange something. But at a time when my wits are more collected.” He shifted his lower body closer to her legs and leaned into her.
    She raised a hand between them and backed away. She shook her head. “No, no, no.” She spun towards the door. “I made a mistake in coming here. To
you
. I must leave.” She tripped, stumbled.
    He caught her by the arms and swung her around to face him. “Hey. Not so fast,” he said with a chuckle. “Stay and we can discuss it.”
    When he slid his hands down to encircle her waist, a shiver rippled down her rigid length. Fear? Why now and why from a brazen and gun-carrying housebreaker?
    Two tattered leather gloves pushed in the centre of his chest. She gave an ineffectual little shove. “Release me immediately!” Drawing herself up to her full height of a smidgen over five feet, she thrust out to force away his arms. She adopted her hands on hips stance and hissed out her warning. “Cayle. Saint. Martin.”
    “Ah, I’m touched.” He put a hand to his heart. “You remember my name.”
    “You blind and intemperate dunderhead. Of course I know your name. As you should remember mine.”
    He adopted a soulful puppy expression. “Forgive me. I’ve had a long and tiring evening and struggle to recall my own name. Let alone guess at yours.”
    The little witch growled, then waggled her head. “We … you and I … ” The tiny tyrant waved an imperious hand back and forth. “Arggh!
You
were the one who taught me to shoot a pistol.”
    He squinted at the woman. Regretted the last brandy. And the three — or was it more? — before it. He ripped off her ridiculous hat and pushed back the curtain of wet hair.
    “Merciful heavens!” He stared, wide-eyed, at the distinctive green of her eyes and the red sheen of the drier hair on her crown. “Rebecca Jamison? Is it you? Really you?”
    “Of course, it’s me.” She rolled her eyes. “How many girls, apart from my sisters and I, did you teach to shoot?”
    “Apart from the Jamison girls?” A deep chuckle rumbled up. “None. Three of you created more than enough anxiety for any sane man.” He touched her face, softly. “Good, Lord, you’ve changed so much.”
    “Of course I’ve changed. You’ve been gone for several years. In that time, I’ve grown. Become a woman.”
    He stared at the subject of his countless youthful erotic dreams. She was older, stronger, and even more defiant. Yet the lady that stood before him was a riper and more enticing version of the girl he’d known.
    “Yes, you’ve certainly