Pet.”
“My name is Petunia, and to you, Miss Wayfield.”
“Since you’re standing in my room, on the upper floor of a saloon, in what technically is a brothel, I’ll call you any goddamn thing I want.”
“I’d appreciate it if you cleaned up your language.”
“I’d have appreciated it if you’d let me sleep.”
“May I turn around now?”
“Yes.”
She was disappointed to see him shrugging into his shirt.
“We have business to discuss.”
“We have business? The most we’ve ever exchanged is a few insults over a cinnamon bun. And I didn’t even buy you that.”
“Nonetheless, we do.”
He finished buttoning his shirt. “You need to get the hell out of here.”
“I need to talk to you.”
Grabbing his hat, Ace crossed the room and grabbed her elbow. Her pulse leaped. Tingles raced up her arm and over her shoulder, sending goose bumps across her chest. Beneath her jacket, her nipples tightened. What was it about this man that affected her so?
“I’ll thank you to let me go.”
He pushed her toward the door. “I’ll thank you to get the hell out of my room.”
“I did try to speak to you down in the lobby.”
“That’s not a lobby, it’s a saloon.” He shoved her through the door. “Do you know what you’ve done to your reputation?”
“You realize I don’t care?” The dryness of her tone got her a look. “I am, as you pointed out, completely on the shelf.”
“I don’t realize anything except a reputation is a hard thing to replace.”
“I have no intention of rebuilding it. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You’re in a brothel.”
“It’s the middle of the day.”
“It’s a brothel!” He shoved her down the hallway. Bess was standing where Petunia had left her. Ace shot her a glare. “What the hell were you thinking, Bess? Letting her up here.”
“What did you expect me to do?” Bess snapped back.
“Trip her and knock her down, throw a punch.”
“She wasn’t looking for me.”
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath. “Fucking women.”
Petunia wanted to shout back “Fucking men” but no matter how liberated she was, she hadn’t gotten to the point where she could say words like that.
Ace hustled her down the stairs. Her skirt caught on her heel, tripping her. He hauled her up. “Keep moving.”
“It would be easier if you slowed down.”
“I’m getting you the hell out of here before somebody sees you with me and starts thinking we need to get married.”
“I have no intention of getting married.”
He grunted. “Probably a lot of men grateful for that fact.”
She planted her feet. “Did you just insult me?”
He yanked her forward. “I haven’t begun yet.”
“Should have taken me, honey.” Jimmy lurched toward them. “Seems like he’s not in any too hurry to have you.”
Ace swore. Petunia looked over her shoulder at the drunk and smiled sweetly. “I insisted on clean sheets.”
He hauled her along to the back of the saloon. “I hope nobody saw you come in here.”
“I imagine everyone on the street watched me come in here.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“I don’t know what you’re worried about. Even if they march you down the aisle with a shotgun at your back, I’ll never say I do.”
This time he was the one to jerk them to a halt. “Why the hell not?”
“Because my standards for a husband are a bit higher.”
Pushing her through the back door and into the alley, he snarled. “I bet.”
Letting go of her arm, he faced her. He was still standing too close for Petunia to catch a decent breath. And with his shirt flapping open like that, he was still too much temptation for her mind to focus the way she needed it to. She wanted to run her fingers through the dusting of hair on his chest to see if it was soft or wiry. She also had an incredible urge to bite his right pectoral. To leave her mark on him.
Clenching her fists at her sides, Petunia reached for focus. It stayed just out of reach. The circular scar just to the left of Ace’s breastbone was far more tempting. She wondered how he’d gotten it. She wondered how it’d feel. Were the edges soft or rough? Was his skin warm to the touch or cool? How would he taste?
With a growled curse, Ace yanked his shirt closed. “So what was so important that you had to come storming into my bedroom?”
“I did not storm.”
He sighed. “I’ll rephrase. What was so important you had to wake me from a good sleep and put us both in peril of a shotgun wedding?”
She wanted to stomp her foot. “Will you stop harping on a wedding?”
The muscles in his jaws bunched. His tone when he spoke was more even. “What was so damn important?”
“You were at a card game last night with the father of one of my students.”
“I was in a game last night with a lot of fathers of a lot of kids.”
“Terrance’s father is Brian Winter.”
“Ah, that one.”
“What does ah mean?”
“He drinks too much, has too many tales and bets more than he can afford.”
“That’s why I’m here. I want you to give him back what you won.”
He blinked. “You want me to do what?”
“I want you to give him back what you won.”
“Why in hell would I do that?”
“Because he lost more than he can afford to.”
“Not
