Excerpt to Stranger In His Bed - Historical Romance

“I won’t hang for horse thievery?”
            “No.  His owner knows I have him.”
            “He’s stolen?”
            “Borrowed.”
            Angus still didn’t believe her, but he resumed combing.  Several moments passed in silence.
            He couldn’t keep quiet any longer.  “You got a husband?”
            “That’s very bold!”
            “It’s a simple question.”
            She didn’t answer right away.  Finally she said, “I’m not in a relationship.  No.”
            Angus set the comb down.  He couldn’t ignore the part of him which was glad.  Not that she’d ever have anything to do with him either.  That, he was sure of.
            “What if I bought out your indenturement?”
            “I’m not—”  She pulled the quilt higher on her neck and turned to face him.  “Why would you do that?”
            “Why not?”
            “Because.  I’m a complete stranger.”
            “No, you’re Cat Sterling, peck of trouble shown up on my doorstep.  Ever think that maybe I feel some responsibility toward you?”
            “Well, don’t.”  She frowned.  “I can take care of myself.”
            “Uh-huh, looks like it.”  He tried to hide his smile, but he was beginning to enjoy himself.  “Ever consider that I might be a gentleman?”
            “Not sitting in my bed, you’re not. Where are my clothes?”
            “Last I knew this was my bed, sweetheart.  So that would make you in my bed.”  He pointed to the trunk.  “Your clothes are in there.  Do you want me to help you dress?”
            Color was growing up her neck and into her cheeks.  “You are an incorrigible bloke.”
            And you are a cock tease, he wanted to say but held his tongue.  He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt more alive.  There was something about her.  He never acted like this with women.  Cat brought something out in him, something that he didn’t even know existed.  And he liked it.  He liked it a whole lot.
            Reluctantly, he got up from the bed.
            “I’m not indentured.”  She leaned back against the headboard. 
            “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
            “Where are my weapons?”
            Your weapons?”
            “You don’t believe a woman’s capable?”
            Frankly, he didn’t know what to believe.  Except that Miss Piss and Vinegar was the most arousing, disturbingly complex woman he’d ever met.            
            “They’re under your clothes.”  He left the room without telling her the whereabouts of her artillery.  He had enough problems as it was without arming her.

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