Naughty Marietta. Nan Ryan

I love the feel of silk or satin against my skin.”

      Alone now, Marietta was lifting a delicate white shawl from a display table, when she felt a presence behind her. A chill skipped up and down her spine. She turned, looked up and saw Cole. The shawl slipped from her hand and her heartbeat quickened.

      For one long instant they inventoried each other and there was a definite challenge in their glances. Snared by his arresting blue eyes, Marietta automatically smiled and almost imperceptibly nodded to this darkly handsome man for whom she’d been secretly looking for the past four days.

      Cole smiled back and asked, “Did you nod to me?”

      “Did I?”

      “I’m certain that you did.”

      “Well, perhaps,” she admitted with a radiant smile.

      Cole cautiously approached her. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said in a low, pleasing baritone. “I’m Cole Heflin, one of your legion of admirers, Miss Marietta.”

      He offered his hand. Marietta accepted it and felt a quick jolt of excitement race through her as his tanned fingers closed warmly around hers. She knew she should withdraw her hand. She didn’t. She allowed him to continue holding it securely in his own and derived a strange thrill from the innocent act. She was certain this mere touching of hands had affected him too, because a muscle in his firm jaw moved as if he was clenching his teeth. Neither spoke.

      They just stood there holding hands, looking at each other. It was a moment of electric silence. But although Marietta delighted in the firm pressure of his hand, she finally made an effort to withdraw her own. Cole tightened his grip. She was secretly glad.

      “Then you have been to the opera?” she said, her emerald eyes aglow.

      “Every performance since opening night,” he lied.

      “Ah, so you enjoy my singing, Mr. Heflin?”

      “Words cannot describe,” Cole said with an engaging smile. He gave her hand one last gentle squeeze, released it and asked, “I know it’s awfully forward of me, but would you consider having lunch with me, Marietta?”

      She was tempted. He was so compelling, so masculine, so attractive. The good-looking deeply tanned face, the jet-black hair that curled away from his temples. Those hooded eyes, as blue as the Colorado skies. That provocative smile, a smile that lifted one corner of his full lips a little higher than the other. And his hands, such marvelous hands, so strong and warm. Lean, beautiful hands with long tapered fingers. She was tremendously attracted and longed to know him better.

      Still, she hesitated. Maltese was down in Denver again today, but his two hired minions, the Burnett brothers, were just outside Lilly’s. They watched every move she made. Lunch with this handsome stranger was out of the question.

      “I’m very flattered, but I—”

      Cole interrupted, “Leave now and I’ll stay behind. Go to the Far Canyon Café and I’ll meet you there.” Marietta’s brilliant green eyes flickered and Cole knew she was weakening. He continued, “I’ll go around through the alley behind the buildings. When I reach the café, I’ll use the back door, come through the kitchen. It’s almost two o’clock. The café will be deserted at this hour. No one will see us together.”

      Marietta took only a second to think it over before she whispered, “I’ll be in the back banquette, away from the street.”

      Cole grinned boyishly. “I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

      “Fifteen minutes,” she repeated, and taking a step closer, glanced nervously out the front windows and told him, “Don’t turn and look when I leave.”

      Cole shook his head and said, “The next time I look at you will be across the table at the Far Canyon Café.”

      True to his word, Cole kept his back to the street as Marietta quickly exited the apparel shop. She had just walked out the door, when Lilly, carrying several frothy undergarments over her arm, came out of the storeroom, saying, “Marietta, there’s an ice-blue satin nightgown that you…you—” She stopped, frowned, looked about and said to Cole, “Where is the beautiful lady, the red-haired opera singer?”

      Cole looked around, shrugged wide shoulders and said, “No one else is here.”

      “But that can’t be! Marietta, my best customer, was waiting until I—”

      “Ma’am, the shop was empty when I walked in. Now, if you’ll just show me that blue satin nightgown you mentioned. My wife might like it.”

      “Oh, indeed she will,” said Lilly, tossing the bundle onto a table and withdrawing the slinky nightgown with a bodice fashioned entirely of delicate lace that left nothing to the imagination.

      Cole said, “I’ll take it. Wrap it up and I’ll be back for it later.” He withdrew some bills from his pocket and paid the beaming proprietress.

      “Your wife is going to be so pleased, Mr…. Mr….?”

      But Cole was gone. He stepped outside. The sidewalk was now empty. He walked to the end of the block, turned and slipped down through the alley. He headed for the restaurant.

      Marietta blinked blindly when she entered the dimly lit Far Canyon Café. When her eyes adjusted to the change in light, she saw that she was the only customer. For that she was extremely grateful. If she was very lucky, no one would see her here. No one would ever guess that she had lunched with a stranger, a man who could be a dangerous outlaw for all she knew. The fine hair at the nape of her neck rose and she wondered if she was in danger. If she had any sense, she would leave now before he arrived.

      Too late.

      No sooner was she seated in a high-backed banquette in a private alcove at the back of the café than Cole Heflin joined her. He slid onto the soft leather seat across from her, licked his thumb and forefinger and extinguished the lighted candle at the center of the table. Smoke from the dying flame wafted and hung in the still air.

      Unsmiling, Cole leaned back and gazed at Marietta through the thinning smoke, fixing her with those incredible indigo eyes. He said nothing, just stared at her. His intense scrutiny both embarrassed and pleased her. She could feel the blood rushing to her face and all at once her clothes felt uncomfortably tight.

      Cole noticed the pulse in her pale throat throbbing rapidly, saw the high points of color now staining her cheeks.

      “Are you too warm, Marietta?” he inquired, shifting on the seat, leaning up to the table. “You look a little flushed.”

      “No, I’m fine, really,” she managed to say and silently ordered herself to calm down.

      “I wish I could say the same,” Cole said as he reached up and deftly flipped open a couple of buttons going down the center of his shirtfront. “You don’t mind, do you? I’m perspiring.”

      “No, of course not,” she said and couldn’t keep from focusing on the expanse of dark, muscled chest that the open shirt revealed.

      “There, that’s better,” said Cole, then lifted a hand in the air to signal the waiter.

      Soon Marietta relaxed somewhat and began to enjoy herself. Wine flowed into tall goblets of Venetian glass with elegant twisted stems. Crisp salads on gold-banded china and a basket of hot yeast rolls with butter were placed on the table before them. Neither was very hungry. But both drank thirstily of the red wine.

      Cole was clever. He put Marietta at her ease, teased her, laughed with her, drew her out. Found out all he could about her without pressing her. Marietta was more than happy to tell him of her triumphs, her plans, her dreams. She had, she told him, been in Central City for a little more than a year. Her residence in the remote mountain village was temporary, she had no intention of staying here long.

      She would, she told him, likely be leaving soon to grace the stages of opera houses in much larger cities. Her career in opera was only