Frazier must have sensed her intent. His grip tightened by painful degrees until she was convinced the bones in her arm would snap from the pressure. He shifted his weight enough to allow her air, and Hope took deeps gulps of it. She watched, horrified, while her unresponsive fingers drained from the pale white to ice cold blue. One by one t
hey uncurled from the handle like the petals of a blossoming rosebud, until the pistol lay nestled in the darkening flesh of her palm.
In one fluid motion, Drake released her hand and snatched up the weapon. With an angry growl, he flung it to the other side of the room. It smashed into the wall, scarring the unstained wood, before clattering harmlessly to the floor.
Her hand tingled with pain, and Hope gasped as her circulation returned. She managed to lift her hand an inch off the floor, but it promptly fell back. Though she would have loved nothing better than to smack that look of arrogant self-satisfaction off Drake Frazier’s face, that chore would have to wait. Her other hand was pinned helplessly between their chests, and it would probably be quite a while before Frazier trusted her enough to free it.
“What are you going to do now, gunslinger? Force me?” Hope taunted breathlessly. Her voice was filled with loathing as she tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. The large, slanted brown eyes sparkled with anger, and there wasn’t a trace of defeat to be found in her hard, square features.
“Maybe,” he replied, his voice a husky whisper. His gaze dropped to her softly parted lips and Hope’s breath caught as she felt his warm breath wash over her cheeks and neck. “Maybe not.” He nodded over his shoulder. “That thing have any more bullets in it?”
Her lips curled into a sly grin and her eyes narrowed in challenge. “Go check.”
“Ha! Not a chance. I’m comfortable right where I am.”
“That makes one of us,” Hope muttered. She squirmed, trying to free the hand caught between their bodies. The strength had finally returned to her other hand, and Hope balled it into a fist and pushed impatiently against his shoulder. It was like trying to move God. “Will you please get off me? I can’t breathe.”
“Not until you tell me why you pulled a gun on me.”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“I want the real reason, sunshine, not the ‘obvious’ one.”
Hope flushed and lowered her gaze to his lips. Sensuous, enticingly molded lips. Hot color flooded her cheeks as she renewed her struggles. This time, as she pushed and strained against him, she noticed a spark of emotion flicker in those fathomless green eyes. Desire? Admiration? Disgust? What had it been? She didn’t know. It came and went so fast that, before she knew it, she was once again staring into a gaze that was hard and indecipherable.
“Tell me, Hope,” Drake whispered. His prodding was so soft that, for an instant, Hope was tempted to tell him what he wanted to know.
The same hand that, just moments before, had been ready to twist her arm into pieces, now tenderly brushed a sweat-dampened curl from her brow. At first she flinched from the touch, but his fingers were so warm, so exquisitely gentle, that she found herself relaxing against them. It was a mistake, she knew, but one that she had no control over. Her body was responding to his nearness with alarming speed, and the result was a breathless sense of anticipation that both confused and frightened her.
“Drake,” Hope sighed, giving another feeble push at his shoulder. Odd, but his name tasted like nectar to her lips. Against her will, she found herself thoroughly enchanted. “Let me up,” she pleaded weakly.
She had to get away from him, Hope realized suddenly. She had to get away from his spicy scent, his warm touch, his tender words. The combined attack on her senses was wreaking havoc, weakening her self-control with dismaying ease. Already she could feel her resolve fading. Another few minutes of this exquisite torture and her traitorous body would be melting against him, as it so badly wanted to do now. And if she let that happen, everything would be lost.
“Let me up,” she cried suddenly. She pushed against him with all her might, as though by turning Frazier away she could also push her deepest, darkest fears back into the far closet of her mind where they belonged, under lock and key. “Let me up and then leave. Don’t... please, don’t make me—” her voice cracked as she swallowed a sob. I won’t cry. I won’t cry. I WON’T CRY! she chanted to herself as a tear slipped down her cheek.
Damn it! Hope turned her head away, praying that Frazier hadn’t seen. She should have known better. Those eagle eyes never missed a thing.
Drake lifted her chin with the crook of his index finger and turned her to him. Her eyes, large and round, reminded him of a doe his grandfather had forced him to hunt and trap. Even then, he hadn’t been able to fire the bullet that would bring the deer down.
And now? he wondered, as he peered into a pair of wide, innocent, velvet brown eyes, the pupils of which were encircled with a golden band to match the glistening flecks in the irises.
He should have been able to pull the trigger without compunction. Past and present had combined to make Drake the hard, bitter shell of a man that he was, but still there was something about those innocent eyes that reminded him of the frightened doe. The reminder scratched painfully close to the tender feelings he’d buried long ago. He’d actually forgotten they existed.
With a muffled curse, Drake threw himself from her as though her dress had just reached a degree past boiling.
Hope felt a waft of cold air brush over her body as he pulled away. An inexplicable emptiness welled in the pit of her stomach, and confusion shimmered in her eyes as she sat up. She watched him run his fingers through his hair as he angrily stalked toward the gun. Wiping away the dampness of her cheek on the back of her hand, she tried to ignore her sudden panic.
Is he going to shoot me? she wondered frantically. She pushed her back hard against the wall and tucked her knees as close to her chest as she could get them. And am I just going to sit here and let him do it without putting up a fight? Hell, no!
Fueled by indignation, she pushed herself to her feet and staggered to the counter. She ached from the cramped position, from having borne the weight of Drake’s body on hers. Hope ignored her muscles’ scream of protest as her fingers wrapped around the knife’s wooden handle. Behind her echoed the familiar clicks of the pistol’s rolling cylinder.
Hope spun on her heel. A frown wrinkled her brow as she watched Drake inspect the gun’s chambers curiously.
“Hmph!” he snorted, snapping the metal loading gate shut. To her aggravation, he addressed her without bothering to turn her way as he tested the weight of the pistol. “The knife’s not going to do you much good, sunshine,” he said, with a devilish grin, as he twirled the gun on his index finger and let it slap neatly into his palm. “Or did you forget that there were five more shells in this beauty?”
Hope stiffened, “I didn’t forget,” she lied. Actually, she’d had no way of knowing how many bullets Old Joe kept in the gun. “I figured I might need them all in case you tried anything nasty.”
Drake shrugged. In two steps he reached the table, where he placed the pistol next to the pile of neatly stacked dishes. “Keep it then, if it makes you feel better, but you won’t be needing it. I’ve decided to—” he scowled, then sent her a cold grin, “postpone payment for the time being.”