24
" She let her gaze travel over him in a slow appreciation of his tall, lean, muscular frame. She guessed he stood at least six-three in his boots. “I suppose not,” she said. “It would be only prime grass-fed beef and Idaho potatoes for you.”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned on the door frame studying her. “Miz Powell, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were undressing me with those pretty blue-green eyes of yours.”
A guilty flush infused her face but she refused to give him the advantage. She opted for a strong offense instead. “So what if I was? Weren’t you quite fixated on my ass at Denver airport?”
He raised a sandy eyebrow. “You noticed that, eh?” His confession came with a shameless grin attached.
She jutted her chin. “Quid pro quo, Counselor. What do you say to that?”
He approached her slowly, the smile in his eyes transforming in a blink to a wicked gleam. A gleam that promised very bad things. His reply sent a warning signal to every nerve in her body. “I’d say, why just use your eyes? "
― Victoria Vane , Slow Hand (Hot Cowboy Nights, #1)
28
" Cherie," he said softly, "I have tired of this game of charades. The time for defiance is at an end."
He held both of my wrists in the iron grip of one hand and removed his dagger from the folds of his waistcloth with the other. I recognized the ivory handled blade as a jambiya, a small, curved, double-bladed, and extremely lethal weapon.
I squeezed my eyes shut; driving my teeth into my lower lip to keep back the hysterical sob that rose in my throat. I only hoped he would do it quickly. But instead of the slash of his blade across my throat, I felt the sudden and steady pop of the buttons from my blouse. Bewildered, I opened my eyes into his. He lifted a brow over his mocking gaze.
"You thought I would kill you, cherie?" He chuckled. "No. I would not waste such beauty as yours—unless you forced my hand. You comprehend me? "
― Victoria Vane , The Sheik Retold