"I do not want to see you naked."
"Now, that's a little hard to believe, given the circumstances."
"Shut up and strip."
He started unbuttoning his shirt.
She stared at his chest as the fabric gaped open. Then she swallowed hard and glanced away.
"I won't do it unless you look."
She stiffened. For a second that was her only reaction, and then slowly she looked at him. His fingers returned to the buttons on his flannel shirt, undoing them slowly, one by one. Still staring at her, he eased the shirt off his shoulders and let it dangle from one finger. "Over there?"
She nodded stiffly. He thought for a second that she was going to speak, but she didn't. Her lips tightened into a disapproving line as he started undoing the copper buttons at his fly.
Every scrap of color slid out of her cheeks and puddled at the base of her neck in splotches of red. The flesh at the corners of her eyes flinched, and he could tell that she wanted to look away.
He unhooked the last rivet and slid his pants down his long legs. When they puddled around his ankles, he stepped aside and kicked the fallen jeans into the pile.
He stood there, wearing only a pair of old linen drawers, and scratched his naked chest. "Far enough ... or do you want to see more?"
She sighed impatiently. "Don't you understand that I've got a gun on you? I could kill you, for God's sake, and you're acting as if I'm seducing you."
"I've heard of women who liked the power of a gun. Why, once?"
123
"Shut up!" She took a deep breath. He could see the effort it took for her to speak calmly. "Take off your underwear, please."
Slowly, making every movement count, he leaned over and started peeling off the wrinkled linen drawers. Naked, he kicked the underwear and straightened.
The look on Lainie's face almost made him bust out laughing.
She was standing as stiff as a switch, her white-knuckled hands fused on the pistol's grip. Her face was pale, her eyes bulged. A nervous swallow slid down her throat. "Get over there. In the corner."
"The bed's more comfortable. ..."
"Move."
He meandered in the direction of the corner, loosing a quiet whistle as he walked.
"Stop that. This is serious."
He backed into the corner and crossed his arms. Legs spread, naked, he grinned at her. "It doesn't feel serious."
"It will if I fire at you." She kept the gun trained on him while she gathered up all his clothing and threw it out the window.
He surged toward her. "Hey?"
"Back off."
Suddenly it wasn't funny anymore. It wasn't a seduction, and it wasn't a game. Not to her anyway.
His cocky grin fizzled. He studied her, looking for a tremble in the barrel of the gun, or a sheen of sweat on her brow. But she stood curiously calm, legs spread, both hands locked on the gun's grip.
All at once he understood what was happening, and it started a slow, burning anger inside him. "You are Joe Martin's spy."
She laughed bitterly and put on her boots. "Hardly."