and said, "I slept just fine, if it's any of your business. Here. If you can read this, decide what you want." She tossed the menu on the table, adding as she walked away, "I'll be right back with your coffee."
Laughing to himself, he watched her retreat, taking particular delight in the stiff back and angry gait. But then something about the way she moved, the way her round little bottom effortlessly guided the bustles beneath her plain skirt, caught his attention and cut off his breath. Damn, he thought to himself, acknowledging a spurt of desire, too bad the little lady's a thief.
Brent shifted in his chair and reached for a toothpick. Knowing she'd broken into his room was one thing, he thought, admiring her ingenuity, but getting her to admit it was going to be quite another. Suddenly looking forward to the diversion, the challenge, Brent spread his linen napkin across his lap and picked up the menu just as his quarry returned.
"Sugar and cream are on the table," Jewel announced as she poured steaming coffee into the fine china cup. "Have you decided what you'll have for breakfast yet?"
Brent looked up from the menu, through her octagonal glasses, and into her tired green eyes. With a lopsided smile, he said, "I believe I'll have some, ah..." He squinted, pulling the toothpick from his mouth. "A pair of fried eggs. Please make sure they're fresh."
"The only thing fresh around here is you." The knowledge that she was very close to losing her temper, her control, and even worse, her job wasn't enough to help Jewel muster up the necessary calm. In a voice much louder than was proper, a tone lacking any respect, she demanded. "Make up your mind you two-bit gambler. Just what is it you want?"
Brent raised his eyebrows and cocked his head as he began a slow perusal of her body. "It was easier to decide that when we met in Chicago. I liked that dress a whole lot better than this frigid spinster getup."
Jewel banged the pot down on the table, splattering the fine linen with coffee, and shook a finger in his face. "Listen, you overblown puffed-up dandy. I've had just about all I'm going to take from you."
From behind her, Jewel heard a distinct ahem! She lifted her chin, turned around, and was not surprised in the least to find Maggie Jahner jabbing her with a pointed gaze.
The stern-faced woman approached. "Is there some problem here, Miss MacMillan?"
"Oh, ah, the coffee. I, ah..." Jewel sputtered, chagrined to realize that she'd put her job in jeopardy. "I seem to have—"
"It's my fault," Brent offered. "I'm afraid I stuck my boot out at an inopportune moment for the young lady. Please forgive me"—he looked straight into Jewel's green eyes—"sugar pie."
Sucking in an angry breath, she glared back at him, but somehow managed a sweet sigh and a breathless "Don't give it another thought. I'll just bring you a clean tablecloth. Would you like anything with those eggs besides fried potatoes? Bacon perhaps? Or ham?"
"Oh, no question about it—I'll have the... ham."
Her smile forced, Jewel said, "Right away, sir. Excuse me, Mrs. Jahner?" She curtsied and bounced off toward the kitchen as if she didn't have a care in the world.
As Jewel gathered the fresh linens, she cursed the fact she'd ever laid eyes on Brent Connors, then made herself a promise. She simply could not allow that insufferable man to draw her into any further conversation, nor could she let him jeopardize her job again. From now on, she would draw on her considerable acting talents whenever he was near, and behave as if she were a mute.
Her mind made up, Jewel glided back into the dining room and began moving the china and fine silver to one edge of his table. Although she kept his outline in the corner of her vision, she did not make eye contact with the gambler.
Amused by the sudden change, challenged by this new stoical exterior, Brent pushed his chair back from the table and crossed his legs. "How's your debonair father this morning?"
Jewel
Laughing to himself, he watched her retreat, taking particular delight in the stiff back and angry gait. But then something about the way she moved, the way her round little bottom effortlessly guided the bustles beneath her plain skirt, caught his attention and cut off his breath. Damn, he thought to himself, acknowledging a spurt of desire, too bad the little lady's a thief.
Brent shifted in his chair and reached for a toothpick. Knowing she'd broken into his room was one thing, he thought, admiring her ingenuity, but getting her to admit it was going to be quite another. Suddenly looking forward to the diversion, the challenge, Brent spread his linen napkin across his lap and picked up the menu just as his quarry returned.
"Sugar and cream are on the table," Jewel announced as she poured steaming coffee into the fine china cup. "Have you decided what you'll have for breakfast yet?"
Brent looked up from the menu, through her octagonal glasses, and into her tired green eyes. With a lopsided smile, he said, "I believe I'll have some, ah..." He squinted, pulling the toothpick from his mouth. "A pair of fried eggs. Please make sure they're fresh."
"The only thing fresh around here is you." The knowledge that she was very close to losing her temper, her control, and even worse, her job wasn't enough to help Jewel muster up the necessary calm. In a voice much louder than was proper, a tone lacking any respect, she demanded. "Make up your mind you two-bit gambler. Just what is it you want?"
Brent raised his eyebrows and cocked his head as he began a slow perusal of her body. "It was easier to decide that when we met in Chicago. I liked that dress a whole lot better than this frigid spinster getup."
Jewel banged the pot down on the table, splattering the fine linen with coffee, and shook a finger in his face. "Listen, you overblown puffed-up dandy. I've had just about all I'm going to take from you."
From behind her, Jewel heard a distinct ahem! She lifted her chin, turned around, and was not surprised in the least to find Maggie Jahner jabbing her with a pointed gaze.
The stern-faced woman approached. "Is there some problem here, Miss MacMillan?"
"Oh, ah, the coffee. I, ah..." Jewel sputtered, chagrined to realize that she'd put her job in jeopardy. "I seem to have—"
"It's my fault," Brent offered. "I'm afraid I stuck my boot out at an inopportune moment for the young lady. Please forgive me"—he looked straight into Jewel's green eyes—"sugar pie."
Sucking in an angry breath, she glared back at him, but somehow managed a sweet sigh and a breathless "Don't give it another thought. I'll just bring you a clean tablecloth. Would you like anything with those eggs besides fried potatoes? Bacon perhaps? Or ham?"
"Oh, no question about it—I'll have the... ham."
Her smile forced, Jewel said, "Right away, sir. Excuse me, Mrs. Jahner?" She curtsied and bounced off toward the kitchen as if she didn't have a care in the world.
As Jewel gathered the fresh linens, she cursed the fact she'd ever laid eyes on Brent Connors, then made herself a promise. She simply could not allow that insufferable man to draw her into any further conversation, nor could she let him jeopardize her job again. From now on, she would draw on her considerable acting talents whenever he was near, and behave as if she were a mute.
Her mind made up, Jewel glided back into the dining room and began moving the china and fine silver to one edge of his table. Although she kept his outline in the corner of her vision, she did not make eye contact with the gambler.
Amused by the sudden change, challenged by this new stoical exterior, Brent pushed his chair back from the table and crossed his legs. "How's your debonair father this morning?"
Jewel
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