Page 106 of My Hero
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A beautiful thief can squirm out of trouble with a wink and a smile, until she meets the most feared lawman in the shire, who can’t decide whether to kiss her or kill her.
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DANGER’S KISS
Medieval Outlaws
Book 1
He spotted Desirée at once, by the light of a moonbeam filtering through the shutters. She was asleep, luxuriously sprawled across the coverlet like a cat with a belly full of cream, commandeering his pallet as if her spindly frame required every inch of it.
“Oh, nay, you don’t,” he murmured. He might feel sorry for the orphaned lass, but he wasn’t about to let her usurp his bed. “Desirée,” he called.
She didn’t move.
“Desirée.”
Still no reply.
He drew closer, not close enough that she could swing out with a stray fist and clip him on the jaw, but close enough to be heard.
“Desirée.”
She still didn’t stir, but Azrael, tucked behind one of her knees, lifted his head.
Nicholas frowned. There was something tied around the cat’s neck. Something distinctly feminine.
“God’s eyes! What have you done to my cat?”
That woke her. She rose on her elbows, her eyes glazed, her mouth making sleepy smacks. “What?”
“What did you do to Azrael?”
She glanced down at the cat, as if trying to recall. Then her lips curved up in a smile that was pure mischief. “He thinks it’s pretty,” she said, crooning, “doesn’t he, Snowflake?”
Nicholas seized Azrael, who yowled once in complaint, and immediately untied the silly bow, dropping it atop the coverlet.
Desirée shrugged off his actions and snuggled back down under the blankets. “Did you get my list?” she murmured.
He gave Azrael a consoling pat and set him down again on the pallet. “Your list? You mean that nonsense about lavender and beeswax candles? Do you know how much saffron costs?”
“Come, Nicky, you can’t expect me to keep your house properly if I don’t have the required supplies.”
“I seem to have done fine before without them. And stop calling me Nicky.”
“What would you prefer? Your Majesty?”
Nicholas exhaled on a growl, trying to recall why he’d felt sorry for the pesky imp. “I’ve bought another pallet. I’ve placed it beside the fire.”
“Mm, good,” she purred. “I’d hate to think of you getting cold in the night.”
He blinked. The audacity of the naughty wench was amazing. Unable to think of a fitting verbal response, he decided to let his actions speak for him. He threw back the covers and, ignoring her indignant shrieks, scooped her up into his arms.
“Unhand me, sirrah!”
