He nodded, his eyes narrowing. “And you are free to leave.”
“I—I don’t want to go. May I have a drink, please?”
He was about to explode in a dozen pieces, and she looked as if she were expecting finger sandwiches. “Did you want me to order tea?” he inquired in a long drawl.
“Tea. Yes, that would be—” She seemed to catch the incredulous expression on his face. “No!” she exclaimed. “Not tea. I?—”
“I have whiskey. From Loralee’s.”
“That would be—fine.”
Perplexed, Sloan poured his visitor a snifter of whiskey. She accepted it, smiled flirtatiously, and walked over to the fireplace. The red glow rose around, casting a very soft crimson sheen over her elegant white robe and lace undergarments. She sipped the whiskey and then gagged.
“Listen,” he said. “It’s quite apparent you’re having problems tonight. But I’ll be damned if this is the way I’m going to spend the evening. I can take you back?—”
“I’m fine,” she protested. She offered him a smile. She had beautiful white teeth. She moved with a quick, supple grace. She walked toward the door again, swallowing more whiskey. This time, she didn’t choke. She shuddered. Then she swallowed the rest of the whiskey in the snifter. She hesitated by the door. Once again, he didn’t seem to have her full attention. He brought the bottle to her. Poured out another few fingers of whiskey into her glass. That would be about it. He’d almost done in the rest of the bottle himself.
“Thank you,” she said briefly.
“Cheers.” He clinked his glass to hers. She nodded, jerked her head back. Swallowed. All of it. Three shots of straight whiskey in just about three minutes. Saloon girls were good. They could cost their clientele by drinking down half a fellow’s bottle themselves.
This one didn’t seem to have much experience drinking as of yet. And he wasn’t going to pass out himself. He’d be damned if he’d have her doing so at this point. He took the glass from her.
“I think that’s enough.”
“No, I, umm…” She stared at him, moistened her lips, seemed to be searching. She started to take a step back, away from him. She faltered slightly, smiled. “I think I need another drink.”
“You’re weaving.”
“I’m—fine.”
“You’re trying to drink too much.”
“I’m not. Besides, you’re?—”
“Drunk?” he inquired. “Halfway there. Actually, almost just right at the moment. All the edges are nice and fuzzy, but I’m not going to fail you in any way—or let you earn your keep too cheaply. And you’re not going to pretend I’m not Indian.”
“What?”
“I said you’re not going to pretend?—”
She swayed suddenly, nearly falling, reaching out for something with which to steady herself. He caught her. She stared up into his eyes.
“Dizzy,” she said.
“No more whiskey. You won’t be worth ten cents.”
She laughed. The sound was a little hysterical. “Depends on who is considering my worth.”
“Me.” He looked down into her eyes. “I guess,” he murmured huskily, “you can pretend I’m whatever the hell you want me to be, hmm?” He didn’t remember wanting a woman so much. With such a fever. Such a demand. Now.
He lifted her off the floor. Her eyes closed. Her head hung back. The slightest smile played on her lips. He laid her down, wondering for a moment if she had passed out.
No. She was still smiling. “Dizzy,” she murmured. “I feel like I’m floating…”
“Floating. Umm. That’s just what I’m dying to do, too. Hell, yes.”
He pulled the satin ribbon on her corset. The garment fell loose. Another ribbon held her pantalettes. He tugged at it, then jerked the lacy garment down from her hips. The robe clung to her shoulders, but the rest of her lay naked beneath it. She was enough to rob him completely of breath.
