Free Heart of the Hunter by Bj James Page A

next?”
    â€œCharlie coyote came next.”
    â€œAh-ha! He caught the roadrunner. How fast?”
    â€œJust eighty-five miles an hour.”
    â€œJust! That’s not running, honey, it’s flying low. What next?”
    â€œMrs. Atherton.”
    â€œThe old biddy.”
    â€œIn the flesh. She wants Ashley’s paintings. She hates him and calls him the village idiot, and that woman’s child. Whoever that woman is. Ashley’s paintings aren’t for sale. If they were, I wouldn’t sell them to someone who called him an idiot.”
    â€œGood for you.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t say that if you knew how close I came to spitting in her eye and banning her from the gallery forever.”
    â€œOur little cygnet grew into a magnificent swan with a tiger’s heart,” Jeb whispered against her temple. “Tony would be proud of you.”
    His first mention of her brother. He waited for her reaction.
    â€œHa!” She clutched at his shirt and curled closer into him. Her hand trembled. “He wouldn’t care at all.”
    Jeb held her, daring no more as she struggled with something he didn’t understand. It was a long while before her ragged breaths slowed to a drowsy rhythm and when he rose from the chaise, she clung to him, muttering sleepily into his throat. It was a simple matter to find her bedroom. But not so simple to listen to his head and not his body as he stripped away her skirt and discovered the camisole was a chemise. A single garment intended to serve the utilitarian purpose of both lingerie and blouse.
    â€œUtilitarian! Like hell!” he growled on a strangled breath. It was madness dressed up in lace, lying in wait for an unsuspecting male.
    He was suddenly and, he knew, unfairly angry with her for what he felt, for what she made him feel. But anger became his temporary ally. When he left her sleeping like a trusting child with the duvet tucked chastely beneath her chin, beyond the intimate glimpse, he knew little more about Nicole Callison. And because of it, a damnable lot about himself.
    He wanted her. He might curse himself for a fool and an idiot, but it changed nothing.
    Guilty, or innocent, he wanted her.

Four
    T he sun was past its meridian as Jeb slipped the roadster into a narrow slot in the unpaved lot. Shadows pooled in elongated circles about live oaks and blooming crape myrtles. In this late afternoon hour, the hottest part of the day, the purposeful pedestrian would find no relief in them from the sultry heat rising from the walks of Charleston.
    A wise man would have gone to ground, seeking out the cool, or creating his own with a long, cold drink. A worried man would do exactly as Jeb, seeking out the cause of his worry.
    As he stepped into the galley, his first impression was of an island of cool serenity in the midst of the sweltering heat outside. A quiet day winding down to a quieter end. In the space of a thought, the illusion was shattered by the caustic demand of the lone customer.
    â€œYou might as well sell, Nicole. I intend to have the paintings, sooner or later.” Haughty flint in the commanding voice was not softened by a cultured drawl. “Sooner would be much easier, my dear, for all of us.”
    â€œThe paintings aren’t for sale, Mrs. Atherton.” Nicole was calm, only the set of her shoulders betrayed annoyance.
    â€œOf course they are.” The regal woman with an unyieldingly straight back and perfectly groomed silver hair gestured with the arrogance of royalty. Her lust focused on a group of paintings hanging in an obvious place of honor. “Why else would you display them at the sale?”
    â€œThey were only lent to us. I can’t sell what isn’t mine.” Nicole dealt with peremptory arrogance with unshakable composure.
    â€œYou’re being ridiculous, Nicole.” The woman was taller, larger, and by the sheer power of her size and her position in the city, she