The Gunfighter and the Heiress - By Carol Finch Page 0,9
of illicit fantasies.
When her gaze darted to the door again, he shook his head warningly. “You’ll never make it, sunshine. Plus, screaming won’t do you any good because no one would dare to venture in here. Except maybe Bart and you’d feel just awful if I had to kill my only friend because of you.”
She fiddled with the folds of her skirt and he noticed the outline of a derringer she had tucked in the pocket sewn into the seam of her gown. She stared at him in annoyance.
“All right. Fine,” she muttered. Then she sent him a mocking toast, grimaced and took another drink. “This stuff tastes awful. Maybe I’d prefer the peace pipe and powwow.”
“Another time perhaps.” He inclined his head toward her drink. “Trust me, sunshine, whiskey gets better with each glass. Take another sip.”
“One thing you should know, Crow,” she said, staring at him from beneath impossibly long, curly lashes.
“What’s that?”
“I never trust men.”
“Neither do I. Most of them try to cheat you or kill you. Sometimes they try to do one right after the other.”
“Which is why I’m here to bargain with you, Mr. Crow.”
“As Bart is fond of saying, bargain with the devil and you end up in hell. Some folks claim that’s where you are when you deal with men like me. So tell me why you’re here. What sort of bargain did you have in mind, sunshine?”
He watched her inhale a deep breath. His gaze reflexively dropped to the enticing display of cleavage he’d tried—and failed miserably—not to notice several times already.
“I have decided to take complete control of my life,” she burst out hurriedly, then took another sip.
“I’ll drink to that.” He poured himself—and her—another glass. “Who’s trying to stop you from taking control?”
“My stepfather and the unfaithful fiancé he selected for me. They concocted a tidy business arrangement that is financially beneficial. To them. They will see to it that I don’t live too long. A year at the most, since I’m a defiant inconvenience to both of them.”
“So you’re hiring me to dispose of the two men before they do unto you?” He shook his head. “Sorry, sunshine, I’m not in the extermination business…unless I’m left with no choice.”
“I didn’t come here to hire an assassin.” She sipped the whiskey more eagerly than before. “I refuse to let them off the hook that easily.”
He swallowed another chuckle—and wondered why it came so easily around her. Must be the whiskey mellowing him.
“Ah, a woman who intends to get even,” he said, and grinned—again. Amazing! “I like that about you. Not enough to marry you, of course…. Go on.”
“My real name is Natalie,” she said in a slurred voice.
The liquor was beginning to work like a truth serum. Which, of course, was the whole point of this deceptive exercise.
“You’ll always be sunshine to me,” he replied.
His betraying gaze roamed over the yellow gown that accentuated all her feminine assets. And she had plenty of them, he noted. His well-honed powers of observation were working against him, causing an unwanted distraction. He was painfully aware of his physical attraction to the mysterious Natalie, alias Anna Jones. But he supposed most men—him included—would have to be dead a week not to be affected by her fascinating appeal.
She set her empty glass on the coffee table, then twisted sideways to stare at him. Van refilled her glass, then replaced it in her hand. He found himself taking more time than necessary to wrap her fingers around the glass.
He liked touching her and he took advantage of the excuse. Her skin was as soft as satin. That, in addition to her arresting figure, her bewitching facial features and her devastating smile kept sidetracking him. She also was smart and daring. He admired both qualities, which were highly praised in Indian culture.
Donovan Crow was nothing if not Kiowa at heart.
She cocked her head and studied him for a long moment. “Are you trying to seduce me, Crow? If so, I must warn you that I’ve been propositioned by the most experienced rakes and adventurers that New Orleans has to offer.”
“Good for you.” He was excessively pleased she had now let her first name and her hometown slip. “I’m only trying to get you to tell me the details of this potential assignment. I assume it isn’t really marriage to a man like me.”
She shook her head and several long, curly strands that were piled atop her head tumbled down and bounced around her temple like springs.