Drew Hawk knew he wasn’t playing with a full deck when he agreed to that offer. Nobody north of San Francisco paid a whore twenty dollars. And nobody but a shriveled old man paid a whore just to look at her.
Hell, he couldn’t even believe he was frequenting a brothel when all he really needed was a place to stay for the night. But what had made him raise the stakes so high? He was behaving like a greenhorn gambler, wagering big money on a blind hand.
No, not quite blind. Even the quick glimpse he’d caught of the lady from downstairs told him she was something special. Her black hair shone like satin. Her close-fitting dress revealed sleek curves that would fit as perfectly in his hand as those of his Colt forty-five. And her bare feet were more seductive than the collective cleavage of all the saloon girls at the Winsome Saloon.
Once he heard the exotic sound of her voice from behind the door—deliciously throaty and foreign—he was sold.
Besides, he knew women. She was toying with him. He’d agreed to her terms—no “making the sex,” no removing all her “clothings.” But he was sure that was all part of some cat-and-mouse game of seduction. Everyone knew a man wanted most what he couldn’t have. Playing hard to get was a surefire way to goose up the price. Hell, the madam was probably in on it.
Besides, it was a safe bet that Drew Hawk could get any woman out of her knickers with a single come-hither look. One provocative whisper, and he’d have her eating out of the palm of his hand.
“It’s all settled then,” the madam agreed. She turned to him with a pretty convincing poker face, considering he’d just offered her ten times the going rate for a shady lady in Paradise. “Give me the twenty dollars, and she’s all yours till mornin’. I’ll throw in the whiskey for free.”
“Much obliged.” He had a stash of money in his knapsack, so he rummaged in it and dug out the right silver. For a split-second, he wondered if he’d been too hasty. After all, he’d only caught a fleeting glimpse of the shady lady. What if she had the face of a mule?
But then he supposed he was a gambling man. He dropped the coins into the madam’s palm.
The instant the madam opened the door wide, he felt like he’d been dealt a royal flush. The breath deserted his lungs. All he could do was gape. The lady could have demanded fifty dollars. It would still be a bargain.
She was as pretty as a bisque doll. Enticing ebony ringlets caressed her cheeks and cascaded over her shoulders. Her skin had a lovely glow, warm and vibrant. Her lips were rosy, her chin had an adorable cleft, and a tiny, kissable mole resided beside her mouth. Her eyes were wide and wild, like dark honey.
She gave a tiny gasp. She was fully clad in her underclothes. But she still clutched one defensive arm across her bosom and splayed her other hand in front of her nether parts as if shielding them from his view. For a sporting lady, she was pretty good at playing innocent.
When he finally found his voice, he gave her a slight nod. “Howdy, ma’am.”
She gulped in response.
“May I come in?” he asked.
Why he was being so hesitant, he didn’t know. Maybe he was just dumbstruck by her beauty. But he’d paid his twenty dollars. The room and the lady in it were his for the night.
“Catalina!” the madam scolded. “Let the gentleman in.”
She blinked, as if suddenly waking up, and backed away from the door. She fidgeted with her garments as he entered the room. He dropped his knapsack against the wall.
“I’ll be right back with the whiskey,” the madam said.
Then there was a drawn-out, awkward silence while they waited for the madam to return.
After a moment, the lady attempted to strike a casual pose, resting one hip against the dresser. But she knocked over a few small bottles on the marble top. She turned away to right them, glancing up at him in the mirror.
It wasn’t his fault that his gaze dropped to her lovely backside. But in her reflection, her brows drew together in disapproval.
He looked away with a sniff, whacking his hat against his thigh a few times. Then he tossed it toward the coat rack beside the door…and missed.
Shit. He never missed. What was wrong with him? He retrieved his hat and hung it on the peg.
Finally, he broke the silence. “My name is Drew, Drew Hawk.”
“Mr. Hawk.” She gave her head a quick nod.
A smile tugged at his mouth. Mr. Hawk? That was awfully formal for someone who planned to share a bed with him. ”Call me Drew.”
“Drew.”
He liked the way she said it, with a little flick of her tongue over the “r.”
She turned to face him then, but another long quiet ensued. Her eyes flitted over the furniture in the room, anywhere but on him.
Damn, she was beautiful. She had a figure like an hourglass, curved in all the right places. It made his loins ache just to look at her.
He cleared his throat. “Your name is…Catalina?”
She nodded, then volunteered, “Catalina Alfredo Romanesca di Lasso Ferragamo—”
The madam swept in with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, interrupting her mid-name. “Here you go.”
To his surprise, Catalina…Etcetera…rushed forward to seize the whiskey. Apparently, she was eager to start her night of drunken revelry…minus the revelry.
She poured herself a finger of whiskey and slugged back half of it at once. Then she gasped and began coughing.
“Whoa, little lady,” he said.
The madam slipped out then, closing the door behind her, probably so the coughing wouldn’t wake up the whole place.
He wasn’t sure if Catalina’s wheezing gasp that followed was from the burn of the whiskey or the fact that there was now a closed door between her and the madam. But she looked genuinely worried.
He started toward her, intending to clap her on the back a few times to make sure she wasn’t choking. Her eyes wide, she backed up against the dresser.
He furrowed his brow. He’d thought the woman was playing coy. But now he wasn’t so sure. Was she actually scared of him?
He’d seen his brother Chase get this reaction out of women before. His growling bear of a twin could frighten women just by walking into the room.
But Drew was nothing like Chase. Drew was a friendly fellow. With a wink and a smile, he could charm the stockings off a schoolmarm.
Of course, he wasn’t exactly smiling at the moment. And she wasn’t exactly a schoolmarm. Maybe he wasn’t smiling because he was still in shock that he’d paid twenty dollars to spend the night with a lady who said she didn’t want to have relations with him, even more shocked that he still felt like he’d gotten a pretty good deal.
But he’d paid for a body to warm his bed. He couldn’t get a good night’s rest while the woman lying next to him was shivering with fear…or choking on whiskey. He’d have to convince her he didn’t mean her any harm. He might be ruthless when it came to gambling, but when it came to matters of the heart, he was as gentle as a kitten.
“There’s no cause to be scared o’ me.”
“Scared?” She straightened. “I am not scared.” Then she angled her head to look at him uncertainly, arching a fine brow. “Should I be?”
Drew could think of several reasons a woman should be afraid to be in a room alone with a stranger. But he didn’t need to tell her the risks of her own profession.
“Not o' me,” he told her. “I’ve never raised a hand to a woman in my life.” Then an ugly thought crossed his mind. “You ain’t nervous ‘cause I’m a half-breed, are you?”
“A what?”
“A half-breed.”
“What is this—half-breed?”
If she didn’t already know, he wasn’t much inclined to tell her. But something about that tiny furrow between her brows told him he should tell her the truth.
“I’m half white and half Indian,” he admitted. “My father’s a Konkow.”
“Konkow,” she echoed.
He liked the way she said it. He liked the way she said everything, even “half-breed.” Her voice had an intoxicating rough edge to it, as well as a fascinating accent.
“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.
She shrugged, puzzled. “You did not decide how you were born.”
“Right.” He liked that answer. “So where are you from, Miss Catalina?”
"Italia. Italy.”
He reached behind her for the whiskey and his glass, and she stiffened. He decided she was the most skittish hooker he’d ever seen.
The soiled doves he’d met were experts at seduction and usually in a hurry to ply their wares. In fact, he suspected most times they didn’t get as much pleasure out of it as the men did and just wanted to get it over with.
But this one didn’t seem in a hurry to do anything.
Not that he’d let that put him off. It just made seducing her more of a challenge.
He poured himself a shot, swirled it around the glass, and then tossed it back.
She followed suit, but wound up gasping and choking again.
“You all right, ma’am?”
She nodded, but her face was red and her eyes were watering.
“You ever drink whiskey before?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head.
He grinned. What on earth had made her order a whole bottle, he didn’t know...unless…
His grin faded. “Wait a minute. You ever done…this before?”
“This?”
“Slept with a man?”
“Of course,” she choked out, almost too insistently. “Yes, yes. Many times. Many, many times.”
The lady couldn’t bluff worth a damn.
It was obvious now she wasn’t playing an innocent. She was an innocent. In fact, if he had to bet, judging by how jumpy she was, he’d say she had no experience whatsoever.
“Many, many times?” He narrowed one eye at her. “So you know what to expect?”
“What to expect?” She poured herself another shot of whiskey. Her hands were shaky, but she managed a smile. “Not too much—what you call it—snoring, I hope.”
“Snorin’?”
“Back home, my brothers snored,” she said with forced humor, holding the whiskey glass in both hands and staring down into the golden liquid. “Sometimes they kept me awake all night.”
Drew frowned. Her brothers? He reached out to take the glass from her. “Have you ever slept with a man here, in The Parlor?”
She bit her lip and looked up at him with soulful brown eyes. “To be honest, Mr. Hawk, you are my first.”
Damn. He was afraid of that.
“Before now, I am the housekeeper,” she told him, pouring whiskey into the second glass. Then she raised it in a toast. “But do not worry. Tonight, I am The Lady of the Evening.”
She said it as if it were a noble title.
He gave her a rueful smile. Something had definitely gotten lost in translation. Clinking his glass to hers, he shook his head and tossed back the whiskey.
She contemplated her glass, considering whether she should try another gulp.
If the lady weren’t so adorable and it weren’t so late, Drew would have marched straight down to the madam, given her a sound scolding for trying to pass off a virgin as a whore, and gotten his money back.
Catalina was obviously new to this country. He wondered if she even knew she was working in a house of ill repute.
She was lucky it was Drew and not some two-bit drunk who’d paid for her tonight. At least Drew had some respect. Though the raging bear in his trousers would be very disappointed, he’d do the gallant thing and leave her alone.
But it was late. He didn’t have anywhere else to stay. His brother was off on some wild goose chase, and god only knew where he intended to sleep. Drew had already paid handsomely for the room. It would have been a waste of a good feather bed if he left now.
Maybe if he drank half the bottle of whiskey, he could forget about the pretty little untouchable lady who’d be sharing that feather bed with him tonight.
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