Read Online Beauty and the Bounty Hunter by Lori Austin - Free Book Online Page A

her. “Patience,
chiquita
,” he murmured, then licked the lobe.
    The moan that escaped her was low and full of promise. A couple of the men watching answered in kind.
    Alexi lifted his head, but he kept his hand right where it was. “Pardon me. I had forgotten you were there.”
    Cat couldn’t see his smile, but she heard it in his voice. Felt it in his—
    He pulled her more firmly against him. Yes. He was definitely smiling with more than his mouth.
    “You will understand if I ask my associate to show you out.”
    Cat risked a quick glance through the curtain of her hair. Mikhail stood in the opening, and she hadn’t even heard him arrive.
    “Hold on, now,” the lawman began, and turned. When he had to lift his head, then lift it some more, for his gaze to reach Mikhail’s, the remainder of what he’d been about to say faded to a gurgle.
    Everyone else appeared frozen, staring as well. Obviously none of them had seen Alexi’s show or purchased his elixir. Which was probably for the best.
    Mikhail cracked his knuckles—the sound like gunfire in the sudden silence—then swept aside the tent flap. The posse filed out, though each one could not resist throwing a final glance over his shoulder. Perhaps to make sure the big man was not going to break their necks as soon as they turned their backs. Or, more likely, to discover if Alexi would be unable to wait until they were gone to toss her onto the mattress, throw up her skirt, and—
    He pulled his hand free of her shirt, and Cat had to stop herself from snatching it back. What was he doing?
    She spun, clapping a palm to either side of Alexi’s head, narrowly missing the boxing of his ears—she was out of practice at the art of grabbing a man with anything other than violence—and yanked his mouth to hers.
    One of Alexi’s first rules: If you give an audience what they want, they don’t look beneath the surface for the how or the why or the what. Therefore, Cat hoped if she gave the posse what they wanted now—a peek at what they thought would be happening later—they could quit dragging their feet and
vete!—
    Go!
    She also wanted them to leave with the picture of Alexi and his Mexican peasant woman foremost in their mind. They would imagine what occurred after the lowering of the curtain—or in this case the tent flap—and they would forget about Cat O’Banyon. If not forever, at least for the time it would take the three of them to disappear. However, as Alexi’s lips touched hers, Cat was the one who forgot things. Or perhaps she merely remembered.
    The taste of his tongue—iced whiskey, maybe wine. Its texture worn satin—smooth, familiar—both comfortable and infinitely exotic. Her hands gentled, her fingers sliding into his hair, one lock curling about the base of her thumb, then fluttering against her wrist, causing gooseflesh to race up her arms, across her chest, down her back.
    His tongue withdrew, and she nipped his lip in case he was thinking of following it. Instead, he trailed kisses to her neck, her shoulder, the warmth of that clever mouth burning every last shiver away. He’d always known exactly what she needed. Alexi knew what everyone needed before they even knew it themselves.
    His lips brushed the tops of her breasts; his hands skated the backs of her legs, pausing when they encountered nothing but skin. “You were short on Mexican peasant woman drawers,” she murmured into his hair.
    “Do Mexican peasant women wear drawers?” he whispered, breath casting across the damp trail left by his mouth.
    “You would know.”
    “Perhaps.”
    She smiled at the words, lips curving against the top of his head like a caress. Typical Alexi, to agree but never to answer. She thought back on the times she’d askedhim questions about himself. Had he ever told her anything at all?
    His tongue slipped beneath the bodice of the blouse, sliding over a nipple, and for just an instant her mind went blank.
    She fought her way free. She could