Page 56 of Native Hawk
“What about your family?” He tried to keep his voice steady, which wasn’t easy while she was casually unbuttoning her dress.
She shrugged. “The brothers who throw rocks at rabbits? I do not miss them. They are not nice boys.”
Drew wasn’t really listening. He was distracted by the way the lace of her camisole was peeking out as she continued unbuttoning her bodice. But when her words finally sunk in, he was hit by a surge of inexplicable protectiveness.
“Your brothers, they never hurtyou, did they?”he demanded, ready to take on the whole Italian army in her defense.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. They would not dare. My father would beat them.”
He forced his fists to relax. He knew he was overreacting. But he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone hurting Catalina.
“What about your folks?” he asked. “Don’t you miss ’em?”
“My mother is dead. My father is…” She wrinkled her forehead.“Prepotente.I do not know the English word.”
“Sick?” he guessed.
“No.”
“Missin’?”
“No.”
“Meaner than a skilletful o’ rattlesnakes?”
She burst into delightful laughter. “No, no, no. He is only very serious. He tries to tell me what I can and cannot do.”
“He’s bossy.”
“Bossy?”
“He gives you orders, and you have to do what he says.”
“Si,exactly. He is bossy.”
As Catalina shimmied out of her dress, Drew figured it was a good thing her bossy father lived half a world away. He doubted the man would approve of his daughter working in a whorehouse.
She draped her dress over the chair and began to untie her petticoat. He couldn’t help but smile at how used to him she’d become in just a few days. Drew, on the other hand, didn’t think he’d ever get used to Catalina’s irresistible beauty. She was only half undressed, and already he could feel lust rousing in his trousers.
He sighed, wondering how many nights of unrequited hankering a man could endure.
As Catalina slipped the petticoat from her hips, she could feel Drew’s gaze on her, almost like a caress. It warmed her blood and filled her with a curious longing.
It also filled her with dangerous thoughts…thoughts of defying her father and everything she’d been taught…thoughts of throwing caution to the wind and following her heart…thoughts of listening to Miss Hattie’s advice about allowing Drew to be her first lover.
After all, she reasoned, this was the wild West. The rules were different here. That was one of the reasons she’d come to California. Here a penniless immigrant could start her own business. The state was full of spinsters and widows, women who managed ranches, ran brothels, forged their own fortunes…and slept with whomever they chose.
She glanced up at the reflection in the mirror. Behind her, Drew was taking off his shirt. His undershirt did little to hide what was beneath. His shoulders were broad, and his chest was thick with muscle. Her knees grew weak as she imagined running her hands over his smoothly-sculpted contours.
She lowered herself onto the chair and fumbled for her hairbrush, watching him hang his shirt on the bedpost. She gulped and began brushing her hair as he worked on the buttons of his trousers.
When he shoved his trousers down, exposing his drawers, she could plainly see the evidence of his arousal. Rattled, she lost the grip on her brush, and it clattered to the floor.
He looked up sharply, and she ducked her head, feeling the rush of blood to her face.
