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time she’d freely given anybody her real name in three years.
    A true smile warmed his eyes and broadened his mouth. It changed his face from a sculptor’s masterpiece to a study in sensuality. “Justin,” he offered in exchange.
    “Justin,” she agreed and clinked her cup against his. Maybe it wouldn’t be too dangerous to take shelter from a blizzard at his side. At least if she could forget about his voice, scent, and body, it would be safe.

Chapter 5
     
    “T his is my private bedroom,” announced Justin hours later and threw the door open.
    Charlotte blinked at a tiny chamber, barely sufficient to hold the wrought iron bedstead, plinth with a basin of water, and straight-backed chair. “Are you sure we can both sleep in here? It’s hard to believe you can fit in that bed.”
    “Normally I sleep at my own house, further up the mountain.”
    “Where it’s quiet.”
    “Where I can practice gunplay in private,” he corrected her.
    She hiccupped a breath. She’d forgotten all too fast the true meaning of the pistols riding so easily at his hips.
    “I only use this room to snatch a few hours’ rest or if the weather’s too foul to get home, like tonight.”
    A cold draft rustled her petticoats, emphasizing his point. She quickly stepped inside and he closed the door behind them, his lean body heating her back like a torch.
    “You can undress behind the screen.” He tilted his head toward the corner behind them. “After that, the bed’s yours. I’ll take the floor.”
    “You’ll freeze!”
    “Worried, Charlotte?” His white teeth flashed in a rare grin.
    She flushed. “Of course. You’ve been very kind.”
    “Not my standard reputation,” he said wryly. “But I’ve survived worse than a hard floor under a sturdy roof and I doubt you’d sleep a wink if I were anywhere near you.”
    She couldn’t think of a single response. That she was afraid of his guns? That after an evening spent bantering poetry with him, she didn’t know if she was more afraid of his lusts or her own?
    She was only certain her single night with Holbrook hadn’t equipped her to deal with a man like Justin Talbot.
    He gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Go on now, get ready for bed. Everything will work out well.”
    “Thank you.” She tucked herself into the remarkably ample space behind the gilded Japanese screen and started yanking open buttons on her jacket.
    When this was over, she would make twice as much money as she’d planned before returning to Boston to lord it over her supercilious stepmother and stepsisters. She’d need the extra concentration and time at the poker tables to stop thinking about Justin Talbot.
     
    Ike Johnson lowered his lantern, satisfied. Talbot was locked down tight inside Hair Trigger Palace with the bitch. Almost as important, the season’s first storm hadn’t shown any gaps around the Silver King’s windows. Maybe this year would be better than the last.
    “Where is she?” His salvation’s huge frame blocked the hallway, like an avalanche closing off a road. “You promised I’d have her by now.”
    Shit. Ike’s heartbeat hit triple time but none of his nervousness showed in his voice. “She’s still with Talbot. You’ll have her tomorrow.”
    “I’ll lose an entire day of whipping her.” Simmons blew out a disgruntled breath. “You’d better get her to me fast or you won’t have your precious charter. Sweetwater can pay me more gold to become the county seat.”
    “Don’t worry about it!” Ike rushed to give an alternate explanation for his outcry than panic. “I’d like to see her under the lash myself. A Northern girl from the same blood as the soldiers who destroyed my home—and an adulterous bitch at that.”
    “Yes, she deserves to pay. She’s a rare treat, unlike whores or anything Sweetwater can offer.” Simmons licked his lips and stretched meditatively against the ceiling beams. Their creaking was hidden by the storm howling