Hand going lax in his, she said nothing.
Thumb caressing the back of her hand, he gentled his tone and no longer worried the faint hint of Wales bled through. “Youcoulddo the act in Paris.”
Still nothing.
“Alice.” Scooting forward, he tucked his finger under her chin and forced her gaze to his. “You could.”
Uncertain brown eyes regarded him. “What if they laugh?”
Quiet and hesitant. Words he never thought he’d associate with her, and a response he’d never thought she’d utter either. “Why would they laugh?”
Sudden anger burned away any uncertainty he’d seen in her. “Whywouldn’tthey? ‘Look, there’s that hick girl from some nowhere town in the middle of America. Why did she ever think she could attemptParis?’”
“Turn it the other way.” Capturing her hands, he shifted so he sat right in front of her. “They know nothing of Alice Reynolds, the most successful promoter in the West. See her magnificent Spectacular, direct from the heart of America!”
Brows drawn and jaw set, she watched him with eyes still troubled. Anger as a defence. There was the Alice he knew.
To put her at ease, to convince her, he doubled his efforts. “Fall in love with her exotic dancing girls! Marvel at the death-defying Tranmere Twins, and the snake lady whose name I can’t quite remember at the moment! And, if the stars align and our luck is right, Alice Reynolds herself may deign to perform for us.”
At this she smiled, though it was reluctant. “I don’t perform.”
Quick as a tick, he changed tack. “Alice Reynolds doesn’t perform, she’sAlice Reynolds. Instead, see the delights known only to those in the American West, available here—for your viewing pleasure—at Mrs Reynolds’ Burlesque Spectacular!” Here he cheered and clapped, making a right arse of himself if any were to see but her.
She captured his wildly gesticulating arms, her smile having grown somewhat and a considering look in her eye. “They would be in awe, wouldn’t they?”
“Of course they would. You’ve only to leave.” Grinning, he tugged her into him. “Know anyone who wants to buy your saloon?”
With a snort of disgust, she fought against him, but her defence was half-hearted and clearly pretence. Wrestling her beneath him, he dropped a kiss on her nose as she scowled rather adorably up at him. “You should definitely take such a dance to Paris. It’s very affecting.” Smoothing a lock of silky black hair from her forehead, he grinned. “I’m affected.”
“I know. I can feel how you’re affected” A scowl still marred her features, but he could see the amusement bubbling beneath.
Heaving a sigh, he pressed his hips to hers. “Damnation, male anatomy has betrayed meagain.”
At this she laughed and brushed a kiss over his lips before flopping back on the bed. With a smile of his own, he shifted to her side and tugged her into his arms. Placing her hand on his chest, she settled beside him. Contentment, an emotion he had little experience with, warmed him as he trailed nonsensical patterns on her bare upper arm.
“Is there something you want?” she said.
“Hmm?” The skin beneath his fingers was soft and resilient, and he could touch it whenever he pleased. How bloody marvellous.
“Is there something you want? Like Paris?” She linked her fingers with his hand resting lax on his chest. “Beyond the saloon, I mean. Which of course you’ll never get.”
“Won’t I?” He grinned when she squeezed his hand almost painfully.
“I’m serious. Do you want something? For yourself?”
He wanted her.
The thought rocked through him. Immediately, he backpedalled. He couldn’t think such things, not when she was near. It would be better to examine a thought in totality and detail, once he had occasion to regard it properly, not when she was in his arms and there was still a whole morning before them.
So instead, he painted a smile on his face, more for his benefit than hers, and shrugged. “What’s wrong with wanting a saloon?”
“That’s all?”
“That’s not enough?” He forced himself to remain relaxed, to continue stroking her arm. Christ, she couldn’t start asking such, although he should have anticipated that she would. Bloody hell, where was his brain? Well, he knew where his brain was. The bloody thing was in his drawers, when it should be coming up with ways to get around her questions.
Her fingers dug into his skin a second before relaxing. “All right, then. Where are you from?”
What was she up to now? Racking his brain, he tried to get the damn thing to work properly. “I’m from Britain.”
