Page 25 of Native Hawk
But taking off his gun didn’t trouble her nearly as much as him taking off the rest.
Drew knew by the tension in Cat’s jaw that she’d prefer he keep his clothes on. But he damn well didn’t intend to sleep in his boots. She’d just have to put up with his bare feet. Hell, he’d grown up in Hupa, where everyone ran around barefoot.
He sat down on the mattress and crossed his right ankle over his knee. Then, with a scheming glance, he began tugging at the heel of his boot, grunting and grimacing as if it were stuck fast.
After watching him for a moment, she asked, “You need help?”
“I’d be much obliged, ma’am.”
She knelt before him, took his big boot in her small hands, and pulled, inching it off slowly.
“So…” she asked, nodding to his Colt. “Are you a gunfighter?”
He chuckled. “Naw.”
“That is too bad.”
“It is?”
“I would sleep much better with a man who is a good shot beside me.”
“Well, Iama good shot. At least I can keep the varmints at bay.”
She screwed up her forehead. “Varmints? What is this…” She was interrupted when the boot slid off. She set it aside.
“Varmints,” he said. “Pesky critters?” She still looked puzzled. “Never mind. Don’t you worry. I’ll keep you safe.” He gave her his left foot. “This one’s usually a mite tighter.”
She rubbed her palms together, then braced them on his boot. She pulled and pulled. But he was enjoying the sight of her, so he flexed his foot to make sure the boot wouldn’t come off.
Her brow was furrowed in concentration, and the tip of her tongue was wedged in the corner of her lip. The strap of her camisole had slipped down her shoulder, and at this angle, he could glimpse the subtle shadow of cleavage between her breasts.
After a few minutes, she began muttering something in her language, something he was pretty sure were curses. So he finally took pity on her and let his foot go limp.
At the same moment, she wrenched at his boot with a vengeance. It popped suddenly off of his foot, and the momentum knocked her backward.
He inhaled sharply as she rolled onto the Persian rug. He hadn’t meant to do that.
But then she began to laugh, lying there on the rug, clutching his boot to her like a hard-won prize.
And thenhebegan to laugh.
Their laughter tumbled together like dice in a cup, spilling out to fill the room.
After a while, it subsided, and she sat up, wiping at her watering eyes. Drew was left breathless at the sight of her in a puddle of white lace, still cradling his boot.
He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was. Maybe where she came from,allthe ladies were that beautiful.
“You should not look at me like that,” she said, clucking her tongue.
“Like what?”
“Like you wish to devour me.”
He did wish to devour her. “You do look a little like a cream puff, sittin’ there.”
“A cream puff,” she repeated, lighting up. “I know this. They have the cream puff at the bakery.”
She gave him his boot, and he offered his hand to help her up. Her hand felt warm and small in his, but she had a strong, steady grip.
Now she was staring athim.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he told her, still holding her hand.
“Like what?” she breathed.
“Like you’re about to do somethin’ you ought not to.”
It was probably just the liquor, but he could see smoky seduction in her gaze, like she wanted to do something completely reckless. Maybe kiss him.
