His voice was low—dry and slightly raspy from drink, she guessed. Oddly, it was not unpleasant. But he still hadn't relieved her of that unnerving silvery stare. Abby endured it as best she could, flustered but determined not to show it. She lifted the bottle and set it on the table, then poured the glass full of whiskey almost to the brim. The task complete, she wet her lips and began to straighten.
Kane's eyes followed the movement of that pink-tipped tongue around her lips with a scowl. But when it appeared she would withdraw, his hand shot out and clamped around her wrist.
"Sit," he ordered on a grating breath of air.
Abby didn't move. Her thoughts were disjointed and tinged with panic. She couldn't seem to control them any more than she could tear her eyes from where Kane's fingers curled around the fragile span of her wrist. His hold was firm and unyielding, yet not hurtful. His fingers were lean and dark and not the least bit fleshy or dirty. She stared as if in fascination. So these were the hands of an outlaw... the hands of a killer. Why wasn't she repulsed by him? she thought wildly. His merest touch should have made her skin crawl, yet she felt all shivery inside. He smoothed his thumb across the fleshy skin of her palm in what was almost a caress. Bemused and dismayed by her unpredictable reaction, she tore her eyes back to his face.
"Wh-what do you want?" Her voice came out high and tight, sounding nothing at all like her own.
For a moment Kane said nothing. He'd startled her, he realized, although why, he couldn't fathom. Surely she was used to it. But her eyes were wide and uncertain and very blue, filled with pinpoints of lights that glittered like tiny jewels. He realized vaguely that he couldn't remember the last time he'd noticed the color of someone's eyes.
His lips curled abruptly. Did she know who he was? Undoubtedly. All at once he had no trouble deciphering her expression. She was afraid and trying hard not to show it.
His eyes glinted as he tipped the chair back on two legs. Shoving his thumbs into his belt, he regarded her through half-closed eyelids. "I don't like to play games, sweetheart," he drawled with a lazy half-smile. "Try to keep that in mind."
It was his tone more than the words themselves that rattled Abby from her daze. Why, of all the arrogant... A swell of indignant outrage swept through her as he proceeded to inspect her from head to toe. His eyes took liberties no other man had dared, lingering with brazen interest on the tempting swell of her breasts and hips.
Well, she thought half-angrily, half-desperately, at least she had his attention, which was what she'd wanted in the first place. But her fingers fairly itched to slap that insolent smirk from his lips.
The chair came down with a resounding thump. "You gonna sit or not?" he demanded.
Abby clenched her jaw so hard her teeth hurt. She dropped down into the chair unceremoniously. Her lips smiled; her eyes did not as she lifted her chin and returned his bold regard.
She said nothing as he turned and signaled the barkeep for another glass. She kept her head down and averted her eyes when the barkeep delivered it a moment later, praying he wouldn't realize that she didn't belong here. She caught a telltale odor when he shuffled past her and experienced a sliver of relief; apparently the customers weren't the only ones who freely imbibed. That was undoubtedly why he hadn't thrown her out on her ear.
Kane leaned forward and tipped the neck of the bottle into the clean glass. He poured it nearly half full, then set it before her. "My name's Kane," he said.
"I'm .. . Abigail." She hated the breathless quality of her voice but she couldn't seem to help it.
His laugh got her dander up further. "Abigail, eh? Somehow that doesn't suit you. Sounds too damned prim and proper. Maybe I should call you Susannah or Polly or something like that." The brash sweep of his gaze made her grow hot all over.
Abby beat down the fury simmering in her veins. It wouldn't do to anger him, she reminded herself.
She conjured up what she hoped was a convincing smile. "I really prefer Abigail," she murmured.
Kane made no reply. There was a faint, nagging feeling tugging away inside him. He couldn't dismiss the notion that something wasn't quite right. Abigail—Lord, but it was hard to call her that!— was unlike any whore he'd ever met. Her skin looked fresh and natural, void of any rice powder; nor were her lips rouged like Daisy's. Nor did she reek of cheap perfume. Those incredibly blue eyes were wide and unerringly direct. The air of purity which surrounded her was puzzling. He had to remind himself that she was no innocent or she wouldn't be here.
Abby curled her fingers around the glass and brought it closer. She glanced at him with a faint smile. "I haven't seen you in town before."
He gave a negligent shrug. "I just got in yesterday."
Abby's nerves were jumping. Simply to have something to do, she brought the glass to her lips and took a small sip.
She wasn't prepared for the taste. The liquid burned her throat all the way down so that she coughed and sputtered. Her eyes began to water. When she finally raised her head, she was totally disconcerted to discover Kane watching her with a mocking light in his eyes.
"It's a little strong for my taste," she defended herself weakly.
I'll bet, Kane thought with cynical amusement.
He reached out and caught hold of her hand. 'Tell me something, sweetheart." Damn, but he just couldn't bring himself to call her Abigail. "How'd a girl like you get into this line of work?"
He began toying idly with her fingers.
Darn! Abby thought frantically. Did he have to touch her? If she could have pulled away, she would have. Why, just looking at him made it hard to swallow. She was so close she could see each thick dark hair of those devilishly slanted brows. She guessed he had shaved earlier, but already a dark shadow lined his cheeks and jaw. The curl of his lips was thin, maybe even a little harsh. He didn't seem brutal, but she sensed a knife-edged hardness in him. No doubt it came from years of living on the fringes of the law, but the realization did little to quell her uneasiness.
"I suppose you could say I came here... out of necessity." Her answer was more instinct than conscious thought. "You see, my father died recently and left me alone with no money." Abby took a deep breath and prayed he wouldn't think she was babbling. "This is my first day, you see. I'm here because I—I had nowhere else to go. No one to turn to—"
Nowhere to rim, Kane finished silently... and nowhere to hide. Unbidden—unwanted—the thought came out of nowhere, bringing a wealth of bitter remembrance ... a wealth of aching pain.
Something inside Kane seemed to shrivel up and freeze. "Amen to that," he said heavily. He stared into the cloudy contents of his glass, a bitter twist to his mouth.
A flicker of panic shot through Abby. He looked as if he were a million miles away. Why, he acted as if he'd completely forgotten her existence. She couldn't let that happen, not when she'd come this far!
"What about you?" she ventured tentatively. "Are you just passing through?"
She breathed a sigh of relief when his gaze lifted, reclaiming hers.
"I've been drifting for a while," he said with a shrug. "Thought I'd stick around for a few days and see if any of the ranchers around here could use another hand."
She tipped her head to the side in what she hoped was an inviting pose. Womanly wiles were totally alien to her, but maybe if he were to fall under her spell, he wouldn't refuse her. "In that case," she murmured, "welcome to town." Summoning her courage, ignoring her trepidation, she boldly laid her hand on his where it rested on the tabletop. At the contact, her nerves seemed to quiver. His, she couldn't help but notice, was much wider and bigger than her own.
He focused where her hand lay atop his, seemingly as captivated as she. She held her breath when his gaze trickled slowly up her bare arm toward her face. It rested for a disturbingly long moment on her mouth.