Page 20 of Native Hawk
Chapter 6
Drew knew he wasn’t playing with a full deck when he agreed to that offer. Nobody north of San Francisco paid a whore twenty dollars. And nobody but a shriveled old man paid a whore just to look at her.
Hell, he couldn’t even believe he was frequenting a brothel when all he really needed was a place to stay for the night. But what had made him raise the stakes so high? He was behaving like a greenhorn gambler, wagering big money on a blind hand.
No, not quite blind. Even the quick glimpse he’d caught of the lady from downstairs told him she was something special. Her black hair shone like satin. Her close-fitting dress revealed sleek curves that would fit as perfectly in his hand as those of his Colt forty-five. And her bare feet were more seductive than the collective cleavage of all the saloon girls at the Winsome Saloon.
Once he heard the exotic sound of her voice from behind the door—deliciously throaty and foreign—he was sold.
Besides, he knew women. She was toying with him. He’d agreed to her terms—no “making the sex,” no removing all her “clothings.” But he was sure that was all part of some cat-and-mouse game of seduction. Everyone knew a man wanted most what he couldn’t have. Playing hard to get was a surefire way to goose up the price. Hell, the madam was probably in on it.
Besides, it was a safe bet that Drew Hawk could get any woman out of her knickers with a single come-hither look. One provocative whisper, and he’d have her eating out of the palm of his hand.
“It’s all settled then,” the madam agreed. She turned to him with a pretty convincing poker face, considering he’d just offered her ten times the going rate for a shady lady in Paradise. “Give me the twenty dollars, and she’s all yours till mornin’. I’ll throw in the whiskey for free.”
“Much obliged.” He had a stash of money in his knapsack, so he rummaged in it and dug out the right silver. For a split-second, he wondered if he’d been too hasty. After all, he’d only caught a fleeting glimpse of the shady lady. What if she had the face of a mule?
But then he supposed he was a gambling man. He dropped the coins into the madam’s palm.
The instant the madam opened the door wide, he felt like he’d been dealt a royal flush. The breath deserted his lungs. All he could do was gape. The lady could have demandedfiftydollars. It would still be a bargain.
She was as pretty as a bisque doll. Enticing ebony ringlets caressed her cheeks and cascaded over her shoulders. Her skin had a lovely glow, warm and vibrant. Her lips were rosy, her chin had an adorable cleft, and a tiny, kissable mole resided beside her mouth. Her eyes were wide and wild, like dark honey.
She gave a tiny gasp. She was fully clad in her underclothes. But she still clutched one defensive arm across her bosom and splayed her other hand in front of her nether parts as if shielding them from his view. For a sporting lady, she was pretty good at playing innocent.
When he finally found his voice, he gave her a slight nod. “Howdy, ma’am.”
She gulped in response.
“May I come in?” he asked.
Why he was being so hesitant, he didn’t know. Maybe he was just dumbstruck by her beauty. But he’d paid his twenty dollars. The room and the lady in it were his for the night.
“Catalina!” the madam scolded. “Let the gentleman in.”
She blinked, as if suddenly waking up, and backed away from the door. She fidgeted with her garments as he entered the room. He dropped his knapsack against the wall.
“I’ll be right back with the whiskey,” the madam said.
Then there was a drawn-out, awkward silence while they waited for the madam to return.
After a moment, the lady attempted to strike a casual pose, resting one hip against the dresser. But she knocked over a few small bottles on the marble top. She turned away to right them, glancing up at him in the mirror.
It wasn’t his fault that his gaze dropped to her lovely backside. But in her reflection, her brows drew together in disapproval.
He looked away with a sniff, whacking his hat against his thigh a few times. Then he tossed it toward the coat rack beside the door…and missed.
Shit. He never missed. What was wrong with him? He retrieved his hat and hung it on the peg.
Finally, he broke the silence. “My name is Drew, Drew Hawk.”
“Mr. Hawk.” She gave her head a quick nod.
A smile tugged at his mouth. Mr. Hawk? That was awfully formal for someone who planned to share a bed with him. “Call me Drew.”
“Drew.”
He liked the way she said it, with a little flick of her tongue over the “r.”
