The Hunter by Theresa Meyers Page B

him pretty damn close to the sweet curve of her derrière pressed against the barrier. He tried his level best to ignore the view as he completed his trek around the circle’s perimeter.
    The shimmering barrier dissipated into nothingness, and Colt put his hand on the smooth wood butt of his revolver. No use taking chances. Not with a demon anyhow. He stepped back and eyed her. “You might want to put on somethin’ decent before we head into Bodie. No use in calling attention to ourselves.”
    The demon—he refused to think of her as Miss Arliss, because that just led to all kinds of fantasies he couldn’t afford to indulge—snapped her dainty fingers and the short black silk sheath vanished, replaced by a high-collared wide-striped emerald green gown, gathered up in the front to knee-length swag, which exposed fishnet stockings. If he’d been a less observant man, he would have fixated entirely on those legs and not even noticed the large bustle and train, or the smart white kid gloves, but being a Hunter meant he was always observant of the details. Her fiery tresses were coiled into some elaborate knot at the base of her slender neck. Atop her head sat a feminine version of a black top hat with a wide green ribbon around it and a variety of green and black feathers clustered at the back. The color of her gown enhanced her exquisite pale skin and made the color of her eyes even more enchanting.
    “Better?”
    Colt cleared his throat. What would have been better was if he’d never seen what lay beneath that gown and had it seared into his brain, but he wasn’t about to suggest she change back. “Ain’t that a little fancy for tramping through an abandoned mine?”
    She picked up the long, bustled train of her gown and swung it around as she turned. “Mmmm. Perhaps you’re right.”
    She snapped her fingers. The fancy green gown and matching hat vanished, replaced by a serviceable stretch of pale blue sprigged calico with a rim of white lace that traced the edge of a square-cut bodice framing an enticing display of female assets. A small blue and white cameo threaded through a wide black velvet ribbon at her throat showed the faint throb of her heartbeat. Colt wanted to put his mouth there. The front of the skirt gathered up about her knees, and she still had those damn stockings on, the line at the back tracing every curve all the way up. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.
    “Surely you have no objections to this.”
    Oh, he had objections. By the barrel-full, but that wasn’t going to get him through the hidden door in the Dark Rim Mine, so they were best forgotten. “We’re wasting time.”
    “Then let’s not dilly-dally. Do you wish to walk, or shall I meet you there?”
    As tempting as it was to have her use her powers and get to the mine faster, Colt resisted. There was no telling where she would go if he let her out of his sight. No. It was better to keep a firm hand on the demon while they were partnered up. “Neither. We’ll ride.”
    The demon shrugged. “Suit yourself, Hunter.”
    “Colt.”
    She rolled her unnaturally bright green eyes. “Fine, Mr. Jackson.”
    He doused the fire with the remaining dregs of the coffee he’d made to keep himself alert. It let off a fragrant coffee-scented steam as it hissed and popped against the coals. The minute the light of the fire disappeared, the desert darkness closed in. Colt tightened his grip on his gun as he kicked dirt over the smoldering remains of the fire. The lingering scent of wood smoke persisted. Overhead the stars sparkled like gold dust cast over a swath of black velvet.
    Colt reached out, clasping the demon’s hand in his own. The touch sent an arc of awareness shimmying up his arm. Colt knew enough to tell that it wasn’t some dark demon power, but plain old lust bolting through his system. Her hand felt small, delicate, and distinctly feminine in his much larger one.
    “Watch your step.”
    “For a skilled Hunter,