But Melissa wasn’t giving up, not by a long shot. She moved in a step closer, tossing back her hair, hoping it looked disheveled, instead of unruly.

Her actions caught his attention, and he glanced at the ground.

She lowered her voice as she gave him her brightest smile. “I’m a little embarrassed,” she cooed. “But should I know the man you dropped off?”

The chauffeur looked back up. He didn’t answer. Instead, he swallowed hard, and his neck flushed beneath the collar of his uniform.

“I only ask,” she continued, tilting her head to one side, surprised it took so little to rattle him, “because I don’t want…”

He worked his jaw.

She paused, waiting for him, but he didn’t make a sound.

She suddenly realized his gaze wasn’t fixed on her. He was focused on a spot behind her left shoulder. Her scalp prickled.

Uh-oh. She twisted her head and came face-to-face with Jared Ryder.

It was clear he was annoyed. He was also taller than she’d realized, and intimidating, with that strong chin and those deep blue eyes. He wore a fitted, Western-cut shirt and snug blue jeans. His shoulders were broad, his chest deep, and his sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms, revealing a deep tan and obvious muscle definition.

“Don’t want to what?” he asked Melissa, his tone a low rumbling challenge.

She didn’t have a quick answer for that, and his deep blue gaze flicked to the silent chauffeur. “There’s coffee in the cookhouse.” He gave the man a nod in the appropriate direction.

The chauffeur immediately took his cue and hustled away.

Jared’s tone turned to steel, the power of his irritation settling fully on Melissa. “I’d sure appreciate it if you could flirt on your own time.”

“I…” What could she tell him? That she wasn’t flirting? That, in fact, she was spying?