The pixie’s gaze narrowed in on the window, and she hurried over to it, sliding it open. The muted sounds from outside came in loud and clear. Wagon wheels squeaking, horses snorting, and the murmur of conversations filtered in on the hot breeze. Even the music from the saloon wafted in like a pied-piper melody. Maybe the woman was, indeed, a fairy, for it sure appeared as if she planned to fly out of the window.
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Nash had never seen a woman dress so quickly. What a crying shame. With curves like hers, why wear clothes at all?
The pixie, Nash caught—or rather, she flew into his arms— looked luscious, sweet, and ready for the picking. He moved with purpose and lowered his head to recapture those beautiful lips that had desperately locked onto his for a show, but with a little coaxing on his part, had kissed him back. He wanted to taste her again and it seemed only fair for his role in rescuing her.
“Now, kindly leave,” her impromptu champion demanded and left no room for negotiation. “And kindly close the door behind you…before I forget my manners.”
Stanfield sputtered taken aback by the stranger’s harsh words, but the gun pointed in his direction could have been a factor, too. Stanfield couldn’t see her, but he had to know Nash wasn’t in bed alone. “What do you think you’re doing with two
of Maribel’s saloon girls?” Suspicion laced his words.
Nash chuckled, but only a buffoon would mistake it as humor. “My good sir, I don’t kiss and tell.”
he man she was in bed with removed his hot, tantalizing lips from hers and gave her a devastating grin that made her think of the big, bad wolf—but instead of feeling afraid, she felt a thrill of excitement at being devoured by him.
He was a good-looking cuss if she said so herself. Broad shoulders, and a firm chest that was bare to her eyes, and those arms of his sported a thick bunch of muscles. A fine specimen of a man, she thought of the words Maribel was so found of articulating when a good- looking man entered her establishment.
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She stalked right over to Nash with only her chemise and drawers as though it was the most natural thing in the world for her to be parading around in such attire. “Move over darlin’,” she drawled in a deep, whiskey-worn voice. A voice that didn’t quite match the pixie features with her looking innocent and mischievous at the same time.
