She nodded, still laughing.
Shaking his head, he walked around the end of the bed and turned her by the shoulders to face him. Then he took the ends of the ribbon laces and looped them into a bow. He’d untied many a camisole, but this was the first time he’d ever laced one up. He was definitely going to lose his reputation as a lady’s man if he kept up this kind of behavior.
To make matters worse, he could feel Cat’s drunken, sultry smile on him the whole time. And when the backs of his fingers casually brushed the soft flesh of her throat, he felt her breath catch. He probably could have had her wrapped around his little finger with one kiss.
But he wasn’t going to. As much as it felt like a curse right about now, he did his thinking with his brain and not his balls. His principles still outweighed his pining.
So, ignoring her languid eyes and her luscious lips, her silky skin and her warm, whiskey-laced breath, he made quick work of the tie and stepped back a pace.
Nonetheless, though he could manage a good poker face, he couldn’t say the same for what rose to attention in his drawers.
The little lady took immediate note of his interest, blushed in horror, and practically dove beneath the covers.
While he circled back to his side of the bed, she lay stiffly on her back and pulled the covers up to her chin.
With a self-mocking sigh, he punched his pillow and threw back his half of the covers.
“You do not say your prayers?” she asked in surprise.
He hesitated. He could have explained to her that he wasn’t exactly a Christian. His mother followed the Bible. But he’d been raised in the Hupa tradition. His beliefs lay somewhere in between.
He could have explained that. But rather than trying to engage her in a deep philosophical discussion, he decided to follow the path of least resistance.
As he knelt beside the bed, he thought how crazy it was to pray in a brothel.
“Dearly beloved…” he started. No, that wasn’t right. “Dear creator…” Close enough. “Thank you kindly for the room and the whiskey…and the lovely lady to share it with. I’m sorry if I’ve done anything sinful.” Lord, that was a long list. “And I pray that you keep us free o’ varmints tonight. And please, god, give me strength. Lots o’ strength. Amen.”
He genuflected, though he was sure he did it backwards. Then he got up and climbed into bed, careful not to touch her.
At first, he stared up at the ceiling. But he could feel her gaze on him, and he took a gander over at her. Her eyes were watering.
“You okay, ma’am?”
Her voice was weepy. “You called me a lovely lady.”
“Well, you are.”
“Nobody in this country has ever called me that.”
That was hard to believe. Her eyes were so wet and wide and inviting, he felt like he might drown in them.
It took all his strength of will to reach over and turn the key of the oil lamp to extinguish the flame.
But with the moonlight streaming through the window, he could still see the shine of her eyes.
“I will try not to steal the covers,” she promised.
He smirked, closing his eyes. And he would try not to succumb to her charm.
Chapter 9
At least one of Catalina’s prayers was answered. Drew was still wearing his undershirt and drawers.
His eyes were closed. Lying on her side, Catalina could look at him freely now. He was truly beautiful. His profile reminded her of the statues she had seen in Firenze. His nose was noble. His chin was strong. His hair fell across his brow in unruly locks. And his lips…they looked so inviting. She licked her own lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss him.
She sighed softly.
Anne and Emily had told her that whiskey made a person drowsy. She’d already been tired from housework. By now, she should be exhausted. Her eyelids did feel heavy, but not with weariness. She was wide awake. Apparently, having a half-naked man beside her made parts of her wake up in ways she had not expected.
As she watched him, his nostrils flared, and his chest rose and fell with his breathing. What would it be like to feel his breath upon her neck? A warm shiver went through her at the thought.
His hands rested idly atop his chest. His fingers were large, but they seemed refined, not brutal. She wondered what he did for a living.
He had said he was not a gunfighter, though he claimed he was good with a gun. A cowboy or a stagecoach driver might be good with a gun, but they would also have callused hands. His hands seemed to be smooth. A bookkeeper or a lawyer would have smooth hands, but they would probably not carry a gun. And he was a few decades too late to be a gold miner.
As she continued to watch him sleep, she saw him swallow. She wondered if he was dreaming. She wondered if he was dreaming of her.
She sighed again. In the morning he would be gone. At first, she had thought that a good thing. Now she was not so sure.
She liked the half-breed. He was funny. He made her laugh. He was charming. And he was courteous.
The men in Italy were courteous, too, but only because she was the daughter of a nobleman. Here, she was just a woman, yet Drew treated her with kindness and respect. He had expressed concern over her drinking. He had told her she was lovely. And he had kept his word not to touch her.
That last was a pity. At least the tipsy part of her thought so.
She let out another long sigh.
Without opening his eyes, Drew said, “I thought we had an agreement—no snorin’.”
That made her laugh. “That was not snoring,” she said, giving him a chiding rap on the shoulder, absurdly glad he was awake.
“Ow,” he complained, turning his head to glare at her with one eye. “Q’ut! How do you expect me to get any sleep if you’re gonna beat me?”
“Beat you?” She grinned. “I am not beating you.” She clucked her tongue. “You Americans are very soft.”
He didn’t take her bait. “That’s right,” he agreed, turning his head back and closing his eyes. “So be gentle with me.”
She laughed. And then the whiskey and his teasing gave her the courage to do what she shouldn’t. She reached out and tickled his ribs.
He yelped in surprise and grabbed her wrist. “Why, you little…”
Still grinning, she squealed in panic and tried to reclaim her arm. But he was holding it fast.
“Where do you think you’re goin’?” he asked her.
She could only giggle in answer.
“You think you can just fondle a man without his permission?”
“Fondle? What is fondle?”
His eyes narrowed wickedly. “I’d show you, but unlike a certain little Italian lady, I’m a man of honor.”
“A man of honor would let go of me.” She tried to wrest her arm free, to no avail.
“I will…if you promise not to do that again.”
“Do what?” she asked, all innocence. “This?” She used her other hand to attack his ribs again.
He spasmed and seized that wrist as well. “You are just full o’ the devil, aren’t you?”
There was something wildly exhilarating about being trapped in his grip. So though she fought against him, her struggles to get away were only halfhearted.
“What am I gonna do with you?”
She knew what she wanted him to do with her. Her eyes lowered to his mouth, his beautiful, desirable mouth.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he warned her. “Don’t you be lookin’ at me like that.”
“Like what?” she breathed.
His eyes grew smoky. She could see he wanted this as much as she did. The thought made her pulse race.
She parted her lips, wordlessly beckoning him closer.
He gathered her wrists in one hand. With the fingers of his other hand, he tilted her chin up.
She shivered in anticipation.
He lowered his gaze to her mouth.
She held her breath. He was going to do it. He was going
to kiss her.
Then he snatched his hand suddenly away and began tickling her.
She shrieked, trying to twist loose. Her anger at his trickery was tempered by the fact that she couldn’t stop giggling.
“Basta!” she pleaded. “Basta!”
He stopped with a scowl. “What did you call me?”
Breathless from laughing, she told him, “I said, stop.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
He resumed tickling her.
She shrieked again. “Stop! Stop!”
He did, but he didn’t let go of her. “Will you promise to stop pesterin’ me?”
“Pestering?” she said, snorting with laughter. “What is this, pestering?”
“See? This is why ladies sip whiskey.” He shook his head. “This is entirely inappropriate behavior, Miss Cat. You are corned.”
“Corned?”
“Completely fuddled.”
“Fuddled?” He had such funny words.
“Absolutely roostered.”
“I am not a rooster. I am a Cat.” She snickered at her own joke.
“Xonilwil.”
She wasn’t even going to try that one.
“You, ma’am, are as full as a tick.”
“A tick!” She knew what a tick was. They were disgusting little bugs. She gave him a pout. “That is not nice.”
“Aww, now don’t go stickin’ your lip out like that. I’m sorry. You’ve just been goin’ at the whiskey pretty hard is all.”
A sudden rush of indignation came over her. “You think I am a drunkard?”
He paused uncertainly.
“You do,” she said, her eyes welling with tears. She pulled her arms away from him, and this time he let go of her. “I am not a drunkard.”
“O’ course not,” he assured her.
“I am ferfectly pine.” She frowned. That hadn’t quite come out right.
“Ferfectly,” he agreed. “Now how about you go back to your side o’ the bed and we get some shut-eye?”
“Shut-eye.” She puzzled over that for a moment. “This means sleep?”
“Yep.”
She sighed. “I am not sleepy.”
“I was afraid o’ that.”
He rose up on one elbow and looked down at her. His eyes shone in the moonlight. His hair looked lush and inviting. His lips were tempting. He was so beautiful.
“You are so beautiful.” She furrowed her brow. Had she said that out loud?
“You should see my brother,” he said.
It was an old joke for the twins. He didn’t expect her to understand. In fact, he didn’t think she could understand much of anything, not in the state she was in. If he’d known how incapable she was of holding her liquor, he might have stopped her sooner.
Now it was up to him to make sure she didn’t get herself into trouble.
Actually, she’d taken those words—you are so beautiful—right out of his mouth. As he propped himself up, staring down at her, he knew he’d never seen such a breathtaking woman in his life. Her hair spilled like black ink across the white pillow. Her skin, paled by the light of the moon, looked translucent. Her eyes were drowsy with desire, and her lips were parted with longing. She was magnificent.
But one of them had to take control of the situation so it didn’t get out of hand. He had no interest in taking advantage of a drunk woman, especially a drunk virgin. The way she was looking at him now—all hot and bothered—it would have been as easy as shooting fish in a barrel.
But that wasn’t who Drew was.
“You will give me one kiss?” she asked.
“What?”
“One kiss. You will give me one kiss goodnight? Then I will get the shut-eye.”
Was she dickering with him?
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he told her. The beast between his legs said otherwise, but it wasn’t in charge.
“It is a good idea,” she said. “Otherwise, I will be awake all night, wondering what it would be like.”
She was a wily one. But he knew where that path led.
“Well, I can tell you what it would be like,” he said. “First, you’ll just want one kiss. Then, the next thing you know—”
Without warning, she grabbed him by the front of his undershirt and pulled him toward her. Their lips collided.
It was the most unschooled kiss he’d ever received. Her lips were clamped shut and unmoving. Her eyes were wide open. And since she wasn’t sure where to put her nose, it was mashed up against his.
But for some crazy reason, it still made the breath catch in his lungs and the blood rush to his loins.
He couldn’t help himself. It was a simple case of action and reaction. Besides, it was only natural to try to fix what she was doing wrong.
So he tipped his head and used his mouth to coax hers open. He nipped gently at her lips, softening the contact, and she sighed against him. The desire behind that sigh was more intoxicating than the whiskey on her breath.
Her hands wandered up his chest, past his neck, to tangle in his hair.
He licked lightly at her mouth, then cradled her head in his hands and deepened the kiss. He let his tongue delve tenderly between her lips, feeling a shiver of lust go through her when her tongue made contact.
He intended to stop then. He’d given her the kiss she wanted. And though he was as randy as a spring bull, he knew when to call it quits.
But that was before the tempting little daughter of Eve tried to climb all over him. She rolled him onto his back and slung her leg over him, right where she shouldn’t. Still covering his mouth with eager kisses, she settled her weight on him, and he groaned at the exquisite sensation for a full two seconds before reason intervened.
“All right,” he bit out, forcing her off of him and clambering out of the bed. “That’s enough o’ that.”
He spared her one glance. Just as he expected, she looked shocked and bereft. But it couldn’t be helped. He was doing this for her own good.
He faced away from her so he could make his case without being moved to pity by the hurt in her eyes…and also so she wouldn’t see the ridiculous tent pole holding out the front of his drawers.
“Now, look, Miss Cat, I know you think you’re a fancy woman and all. But you just don’t have the makin’s o’ one.” He hoped she didn’t think that was an insult. “What I mean to say is, you’ve got a future, somethin’ to look forward to, a dream, a real dream. You should go after it. But not like this. This ain’t right.” He spoke over his shoulder. “Look, you can’t tell me you came all the way from Italy with a dream in your pocket and stars in your eyes, just to settle for toilin’ away in a bawdy house. Have a little patience,” he suggested. “Get work someplace else. A nice lady like you shouldn’t be sellin’ her virginity.” He sighed. “Sure, it’ll take some time to save up enough money for that sewin’ machine o’ yours. But in the end, it’ll be worth it. You’ll still have your self-respect. You’ll be able to hold your head up high. And one day,” he added, though the words stuck in his craw, “you’ll find the right man to love you and care for you, a man who’ll be mighty pleased to call you his wife. And you’ll be able to come to him, pure and sweet, not tainted by workin’ in a place like The Parlor.”
She didn’t answer him. Maybe he’d gotten his point across. He hoped he hadn’t hurt her feelings. But what he’d said was in her best interests. He’d hate to think that after he left, she’d fall prey to some gentleman caller who wasn’t so gentlemanly.
He turned back to her, careful to cover his raging erection.
“Understand, Cat?” he said softly.
There was no response.
“Cat?”
He moved closer to the bed.
The little darling was passed out. Her mouth hung open, and her limbs were splayed across most of the bed.
“Shit.” He’d wasted a perfectly good speech.
Rolling her onto her side of the bed, he climbed under the covers and tur
ned his back to her. How he’d get to sleep with a stick of wood in his drawers, he didn’t know. But at least he’d wake with the knowledge he hadn’t compromised the soused little lady.
Chapter 10
Catalina was startled awake by the sound of someone bursting in through her bedroom door. She instinctively dove beneath the covers and went still.
It took her a moment to remember the events of the night before, another moment to realize that Drew Hawk was still in her room.
He wasn’t in the bed, however. He’d leaped up at once to confront whoever had broken in. She wondered if they were varmints and if he’d shoot them.
It sounded like two men. They were snarling at each other. She couldn’t hear exactly what was going on. The voices were muffled. But the men seemed quite upset, and there was some scuffling in the room. She thought she heard them say something about a missing little girl.
Finally, she heard the door close. She threw back the covers.
Before she could even take a breath, in one smooth, lightning-fast move, Drew reached for his gun. He cocked and aimed it at her.
She drew in a sharp breath. In another split-second, he might have pulled the trigger.
But then his shoulders drooped, and he lowered his weapon. He ran a quivering hand through his hair and put the gun back on the night table.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
Catalina’s heart was still in her throat. She’d never seen anyone so fast with a gun. But Drew looked almost as shaken as she felt.
He sank down onto the bed.
By day, he looked even more captivating. The early morning sun burnished his skin like bronze, gilded his black hair, and lent warmth to his dark eyes.
His lips curved up in a rueful smile.
She recalled kissing those lips. They had been soft and warm, not at all what she’d expected from a hulking half-savage like him.
She also recalled that the kiss had been her idea. Whatever had gotten into her, she had behaved like a wanton last night. And by the bright light of day, the fact that they were sitting alone together in her bedroom in nothing but their undergarments seemed very wrong.
She diverted her gaze and clutched modestly at the front of her camisole. What had she been thinking, drinking so much? Today she had a dry mouth, gritty eyes, and an aching head.
Native Hawk (California Legends Book 3) Page 7
