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against a wall of chest.
    â€œAll right, hellcat,” he growled in her ear, his breath disturbing her hair. “We won’t be sleeping together tonight. But you aren’t getting away–”
    â€œI’d rather die than sleep with a red devil!” she exclaimed.
    Yet her words were false. Maybe the tumultuous emotions raging inside of her had something to do with the fantasy of a particular red man whom she’d never laid eyes on– Good gravy, don’t be thinking about that one!
    When this savage had stroked her, this bronze, rugged, handsome man, he’d dashed her guard momentarily; she’d let herself become aroused, foolish enough to dream about a different situation, one where they would have wanted each other for each other. A lunatic’s conception, given the situation.
    But all Charity McLoughlin wanted in life was to be loved for herself . Always, she’d been judged on her headlong ways. Or for the family fortune no longer at her disposal.
    â€œLet me go!” she insisted, and he pushed her away, yet his fingers fastened around her wrist; he swung her to face him. Eyeing her foe, she forced her lip into a curl. “I cringe at the mere thought of being your squaw.”
    â€œYou weren’t cringing a few minutes ago.”
    â€œI most certainly was.”
    â€œYou most certainly were not.” Above eyes brown like rich cocoa trimmed with cream, his straight black brows elevated. “I think you’re as lusty as I am, hellcat angel.”
    â€œA lie!” She tried to free her wrist; more pressure met her efforts. He turned his head to profile, presenting a rather hawklike and proud nose. “You disgust me,” she said.
    She despised lies and liars, though she had been less than honest tonight. She had not cringed at his touch. And Hawk certainly didn’t disgust her. There was enough of her mother in her not to be against someone because of their ancestry. Nonetheless, the only defense she had against her own torrential emotions was a sharp tongue. “I would never be a squaw to you or to anyone of your ilk.”
    Again he faced her, and the look on his long, sculpted face taunted her. “Let’s clear up a misconception. Number one, the white man’s word ‘squaw’ degrades women of my breed. Don’t ever use that word again. Second, in your kind’s parlance, ‘squaw’ implies lifelong companion.” His fingers squeezed Charity’s wrist with enough power to elicit from her a wince. “I’d never have you for wife,” he said.
    She blinked. “Th-this is my l-lucky day.” A curious stab of pain knifed her breast, though she couldn’t imagine why his denunciation had hurt her. Matching his cruel expression, she said, “Next you’ll be telling me ‘papoose’ is a bad word.”
    His expression softened. “‘Child’ is never a bad word. Children are loved above anything in my culture.”
    Not a bad culture, his, Charity thought. “If you had a papoose, wouldn’t it be ashamed to know its father is an outlaw?”
    â€œIf you had a papoose, wouldn’t it be ashamed to know its mother is a shrew? A shrew and an outlaw?”
    Despite herself, she fought the urge to laugh aloud at the absurdity of their situation. While his words had been as uncharitable as hers, his eyes had lit up in amusement. “Boy howdy, wouldn’t a child be in a mess if it had the bad luck to have us as parents?” Good gravy . Why was she carrying on this way with her kidnapper? “We’ll save humanity a bad seed, since you’ll never, ever touch me.”
    â€œWrong.”
    â€œIf you think so, you’re in for another think.”
    â€œI don’t think. I act.” He yanked her to him, pulling her wrist high on his chest. Beneath her fingers she felt the rapid beat of his heart and the stove-hot heat of his chest. His scent, manly