Lone Star Loving Read Online Free PDF Page B

a few pillows,” he said, “or you’ll strangle on your meal.”
    â€œYou’re ever so kind,” she said sarcastically.
    â€œRaise up.”
    He placed a couple of pillows behind her, catching a whiff of rose water blended with the musky scent of woman as he did so. He felt the rush of her breath against his shoulder at the same moment that strands of her hair brushed against his mouth. And the collective effect–
    â€œYou’re smothering me, you big ox.”
    He reared back to sit on the bed’s edge.
    She was watching him, denouncement written in her oval face. Rebuke that turned to pure curiosity. Her brow quirked as she looked him up and down. “Do much wood chopping?”
    â€œBeg pardon?”
    â€œI asked if you’re a woodchopper. With brawn like yours, you must spend a hefty amount of time swinging an ax. Then again . . .” She paused to continue her assessment. “Your skin isn’t quite white and I see traces of savage in your features. Perhaps axes don’t interest you at all. Perhaps you swing war clubs. You’re an Indian, aren’t you?”
    â€œI am,” he answered, giving her credit for her astuteness.
    Sam had been right. Not many pegged him as Indian, especially not when he was garbed in white trappings. Hawk took it as a compliment that Charity had made such a swift and accurate appraisal of his ancestry.
    Complacent, he smiled. “Earlier, you wondered if I was as ugly as you expected. Do you think Indians are ugly?”
    â€œIf you’re fishing for a compliment, think again. If you were as handsome as John Wilkes Booth–Lucifer, burn his soul–I wouldn’t tell you.” She eyed the knife thonged to his thigh, swallowed, then nervously moistened her upper lip. “Going to scalp me before this is all over?”
    He’d heard more than his share of comments like that in his twenty-seven winters. Such affronts were especially bad when he’d attended law school in Maryland. But his mother’s relatives had pulled strings to get their “heathen” relative enrolled, and Hawk had wanted a law degree bad enough to suffer the indignities. By becoming an attorney, he had concluded that he could help his people in these days of reservations and government agents.
    Thus, he had become inured to prejudice. But it was a good ways to Uvalde, and he could do without her insults.
    Hawk said, “Not all Indians are out to scalp women.”
    Despite her superior airs, her mouth bowed sensuously, and Hawk read something in her expression. The hellcat eyed him as a man. Color be damned. Maybe she wasn’t as much her father’s daughter as he had first supposed.
    â€œI’m not interested in scalping you,” he said. “Not unless I have to.”
    â€œDon’t gawk, redskin. It’s rude. If you’re going to feed me, do it.”
    He reached for the bowl. Raising the filled spoon to her lips, he watched as she devoured the portion, then another and another. “Charity, how long has it been since you’ve eaten?”
    Her throat worked as she swallowed. Her eyes closed, a dense fringe of black lashes rested against her fair skin. “It seems as if forever. I’ve got a powerful hunger.”
    The huskiness in her voice and his own powerful hungers broke his resolve to leave her be. To hell with misgivings. To hell with any disapproving McLoughlin. In the matter of man and woman, it was nobody’s business but their own.
    Furthermore, he would enjoy it, conquering this tarnished angel. It might take using the Old One’s scare-tactic suggestion, Indian or otherwise, but Hawk wasn’t above using any means to get what he wanted.
    â€œI told you–don’t look at me that way,” Charity demanded. “I’m not some entrée at a starving man’s feast.”
    â€œPerhaps you’d like to think you’re not.” Captivated by eyes