A Man of His Word Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Someone took a shot at me in that valley.”
    She managed to swallow, hoping that her reaction would be interpreted as mere shock and not guilt. “That’s awful!” Her voice sounded decidedly strangled, even to her own ears. “Did you see who did it?”
    He took a step toward her, until he was close enough that she could see how much his pupils had dilated. The almost-green was gone, replaced by a black so inky that he looked more like a sica, a spirit, than a man. “It was a woman.” His voice was low and quiet, which gave him an air of danger. “A beautiful Native American woman with long, black hair.” With his free hand, he reached out and grabbed a hank of her hair, twisting it around his hand until she had no way to escape. He pulled her face up to his. “Wearing buckskins and moccasins. Riding a paint.”
    Beautiful. She swallowed again. He smelled vaguely of coffee and horse, with a hint of something more exotic—sandalwood, maybe. He smelled good. And he was less than a minute from committing assault.
    â€œBuckskins, Mr. Armstrong?” She paused long enough to muster up a look of slight disbelief. “Most of us prefer T-shirts and jeans these days.” His mouth opened to protest, but she cut him off. “I can ask a few questions, Mr. Armstrong.” Oh, thank God her lawyer voice had returned. She pressed on. “While we do not approve of your uncle’s actions, we certainly wouldn’t resort to attempted murder.”
    â€œA few questions?” His lips—nice, full lips, with just ahint of pink—twisted into a full sneer as he leaned in even closer. “I want answers.”
    Friends close, enemies closer. She swallowed, and saw his eyes dart down to her mouth. This was playing with fire, but what else was there? “Are you going to kiss me?” Her lawyer voice was gone again, and instead she sounded like a femme fatale from a ’40s film. Where that came from, she didn’t know. She could only hope it was the right thing to say.
    It was. His jaw flexed again, answering the question for her. Then his other hand moved, brushing a flyaway hair from her face and stroking her cheekbone with the barest hint of pressure. A quiver went through Rosebud, one she couldn’t do a thing to stop. The corner of his mouth curled up, just enough to let her know that he’d felt that betraying quiver, too.
    He wanted to kiss her, which should have made her feel successful—Aunt Emily would be proud. But his mouth had something else to say about the matter. “Are you fixing to take another shot at me?”
    â€œI don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” She couldn’t even manage to pull off indignant. The best she could do was a throaty whisper better suited to that kiss that still hung in the air between them.
    His hand tightened around her hair. Oh, no, he wasn’t about to let her off easy. “I thought lawyers were better liars.”
    Now she was back on more familiar footing. “That’s funny. I always heard that liars were better lawyers.”
    Her stomach turned in anticipation. She’d been kissed, of course, but she’d never been hit. She had no idea which way this would go.
    Kiss me. The thought popped into her head from a deep, primitive part of her brain that had nothing to do with Aunt Emily or self-defense. How long had it been since she’d been properly kissed? How long had it been since she’d been thisclose to a man who looked this good, a man who smelled this good? That primitive part of her brain did a quick tally. Way too freaking long. That part didn’t care that this was the enemy, didn’t care that she’d perpetrated a crime upon his hat. It just cared that he was a man touching her hair, a man who seemed to see past all of her artificial “lawyer” constructs—a man less than three inches from her face.
    Kiss