Page 28 of Native Hawk
Finally she got the message. She glanced down and gasped, slamming her hands to her bosom.
“I didn’t see nothin’,” he assured her, thinking that was the strangest remark he’d ever made in a brothel.
She tried to tie the camisole then, but between her drunken gaze and her fumbling fingers, she made no progress. Then she started giggling.
He couldn’t help but grin. Her laughter was as pretty as a music box.
“Do you need some help, ma’am?”
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, youare.”
“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.
