before; had never been drawn on by a woman; had never been dismissively treated by a woman, he reflected in a rush. And until now, he had never been cursed by a woman. This willful female was single-handedly setting records of a kind that stoked his fiery temper. Swallowing alternative responses with supreme control, he merely said, "You have a vulgar tongue." But his face was dark with annoyance.
"And you have a vulgar mind," Blaze coldly replied.
Hazard's gaze was disconcertingly sharp. He smiled unpleasantly. "You find sex vulgar? Sinful too, no doubt. I pity your husband. The nights must be cold." His English was educated, his voice a derisive drawl, his accent softly western.
Her chin came up contentiously at his bad manners, and the moonlight caught for a dazzling moment on the lush curve of her neck and rising breasts. A man had never spoken to her so discourteously, and her voice, when she spoke, was icily correct. "Sex, as you so urbanely put it, is still a moot concept for me. Sin, I've discovered, is most often the obsession of small, wretched minds with nothing better to do. You needn't pity my husband. I don't have one. And when I do, I'm sure I'll be able to keep him warm in some adequately wifely fashion."
"Your blistering tongue's wifely enough," Hazard rudely said. "Unfortunately, men prefer other types of warmth."
Blaze shot to her feet in a flurry of shimmering pearls, fury sparkling in her eyes. "Mr.—"
"Black," Hazard supplied politely with a small bow.
"Mr. Black," she retorted, white-hot and hostile, "I find you contemptible!"
There was a pause. Hazard looked down at the glow of ash on his cigar and then his glance returned, enveloping Blaze in a shrewd, dark gaze. "And I find you"—his voice dropped to a whisper—"dangerous."
The word arrested her rising ire. "Dangerous?" she asked.
"Extremely," he replied drily. After a brief silence his face altered and she saw a polite charm he was in the habit of using effectively. "Will you give me your word you won't repeat anything you overheard tonight?"
The overture was coldly received, the request misread as a slap in the face. Blaze drew in a sharp breath of affront, which did alarming things to the high, soft rise of pale breasts pushing above the ivory silk and lace. Unconscious admiration shone in Hazard's dark eyes and he briefly forgot his heated anger.
"Would you like a signed statement?" she asked, the slightest malice in her tone. "Or can you read?" Her voice turned oversweet, "As I recall, at Diamond City, without evening rig and diamond studs,"—her small jeweled hand gestured vaguely—"you posed as a very different type of man. Do you read?" she insolently repeated, the provocation deliberate since neither his speech nor his dress suggested otherwise. "Or are you better at wrestling women to the ground?"
Hazard heard the caustic words with a rising sense of outraged disbelief. His lips parted and then closed in a straight, tight line. He had control of himself in a second and in another had matched her insolence. "I read a little," he murmured in a cool, constrained voice, fighting for equanimity before the female's unprecedented conduct, "and do all sorts of things to women, in addition to wrestling," he added in a husky rasp. She had finally goaded him past the point of acquired civilities. Sensitive of his Indian heritage, the relegation of unwritten Indian tradition and lore to some inferior position beside that of the white man's rapacious theme of progress was always guaranteed to provoke the worst in him. And that impe-riousness was tiresomely excessive, he thought. For a woman. Within his own tribe he was a chief, well-born, a superlative warrior, trained to his fingertips, superior in standing to this spoiled white woman with all her wealth.
A glimmer of deadly derision appeared for an instant in Hazard's black eyes. "Why don't I show you," he said slowly, mockery
"And you have a vulgar mind," Blaze coldly replied.
Hazard's gaze was disconcertingly sharp. He smiled unpleasantly. "You find sex vulgar? Sinful too, no doubt. I pity your husband. The nights must be cold." His English was educated, his voice a derisive drawl, his accent softly western.
Her chin came up contentiously at his bad manners, and the moonlight caught for a dazzling moment on the lush curve of her neck and rising breasts. A man had never spoken to her so discourteously, and her voice, when she spoke, was icily correct. "Sex, as you so urbanely put it, is still a moot concept for me. Sin, I've discovered, is most often the obsession of small, wretched minds with nothing better to do. You needn't pity my husband. I don't have one. And when I do, I'm sure I'll be able to keep him warm in some adequately wifely fashion."
"Your blistering tongue's wifely enough," Hazard rudely said. "Unfortunately, men prefer other types of warmth."
Blaze shot to her feet in a flurry of shimmering pearls, fury sparkling in her eyes. "Mr.—"
"Black," Hazard supplied politely with a small bow.
"Mr. Black," she retorted, white-hot and hostile, "I find you contemptible!"
There was a pause. Hazard looked down at the glow of ash on his cigar and then his glance returned, enveloping Blaze in a shrewd, dark gaze. "And I find you"—his voice dropped to a whisper—"dangerous."
The word arrested her rising ire. "Dangerous?" she asked.
"Extremely," he replied drily. After a brief silence his face altered and she saw a polite charm he was in the habit of using effectively. "Will you give me your word you won't repeat anything you overheard tonight?"
The overture was coldly received, the request misread as a slap in the face. Blaze drew in a sharp breath of affront, which did alarming things to the high, soft rise of pale breasts pushing above the ivory silk and lace. Unconscious admiration shone in Hazard's dark eyes and he briefly forgot his heated anger.
"Would you like a signed statement?" she asked, the slightest malice in her tone. "Or can you read?" Her voice turned oversweet, "As I recall, at Diamond City, without evening rig and diamond studs,"—her small jeweled hand gestured vaguely—"you posed as a very different type of man. Do you read?" she insolently repeated, the provocation deliberate since neither his speech nor his dress suggested otherwise. "Or are you better at wrestling women to the ground?"
Hazard heard the caustic words with a rising sense of outraged disbelief. His lips parted and then closed in a straight, tight line. He had control of himself in a second and in another had matched her insolence. "I read a little," he murmured in a cool, constrained voice, fighting for equanimity before the female's unprecedented conduct, "and do all sorts of things to women, in addition to wrestling," he added in a husky rasp. She had finally goaded him past the point of acquired civilities. Sensitive of his Indian heritage, the relegation of unwritten Indian tradition and lore to some inferior position beside that of the white man's rapacious theme of progress was always guaranteed to provoke the worst in him. And that impe-riousness was tiresomely excessive, he thought. For a woman. Within his own tribe he was a chief, well-born, a superlative warrior, trained to his fingertips, superior in standing to this spoiled white woman with all her wealth.
A glimmer of deadly derision appeared for an instant in Hazard's black eyes. "Why don't I show you," he said slowly, mockery
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