About
"And you say she does WHAT?" I let my eyes wander over to the beauty leaning against the bar a mere twenty feet from my eyes. Even with that distance, I could smell her amber perfume- bold and tempting."Bodyguard-for-hire sometimes, bounty hunter others, pilot always. Does odd stuff too."
My gaze raced across an hourglass figure cloaked in red-copper skin. "Pity such a body is wasted on her professions. She would make a beautiful whore." I imagined those thick, glossy black curls cascading like ebony rivers down her toned arms and flawlessly muscled back, slightly damp from perspiration.
"Don't let her hear you say that," the bartender advised. I asked the reason, though it was understandable that I only half paid attention to the answer. Her full hips were maybe two inches wider than the glorious half-moons that strained against her fitted white tank.
"She'd tear you apart- she's one of those feminist types, you know, hot-tempered and defensive. She's been trained in some sort of martial art too, 'cause the last guy who hit on her earned a broken nose and an earful of words that would make a sailor stagger and blush."
I stopped listening at that point- I had to hide a low moan when I noticed that her pouting, coppery lips were almost always curled in a half-smile like she knew something I didn't, with gleaming white fangs hidden for the main part in that self-confident grin.
She was built like a tigress- lean and muscular despite her generous curves, maybe five feet eight inches or so, and she had long, toned legs I could easily picture in buckled black leather boots with stiletto heels. She was made for speed, and in that speed found power.
The bartender was still babbling, "got her own stash of weapons god knows where- she'll pull out a blade from her damn HAIR- I've even seen her take an extra razor from her mouth! That was mighty unsettling, I'll tell you."
She was laughing heartily with a hardened old man who looked remarkably like an ex-convict, so I was at an advantage to admire her high cheekbones, strong jaw, and blade-straight nose that hinted at some Native Indian tribal heritage.
The man she was talking with suddenly noticed my bold stares, and muttered something to the woman, making her slightly pointed ears p***k and her long, elegant fingers clench in fists on the bartop.
"********- take off boy, you're not welcome anymore." The bartender sidled away from me under the pretense of organizing shot-glasses.
Her tilted, Arab-almond shaped eyes locked with mine in one heart-tearing instant, and I felt whatever courage I possessed run screaming for cover under the white-hot intensity of eyes colored shades of ruby and garnet, woven together like a spiderweb framed by thick ebony lashes. I had no desire to challenge that self-assured demoness, so I left in a hurry.
"Rabé Crimson, you scare away a lot of customers," muttered the bartender under his breath.
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