He stroked Eve’s thigh. The action was both a caress and a threat.

«Don Lyon was the descendant of Spanish gentry,» Eve said quickly.

Then she looked from Reno’s hand to his eyes, plainly reminding him of their bargain. Slowly he lifted his hand.

«One of his forebears had a license from the king to explore for metals in New Mexico,» Eve said. «Another ancestor was an officer assigned to guard a gold mine run by a Jesuit priest.»

«Jesuit, not Franciscan?»

«No. It was before the Spanish king threw the Jesuits out of the New World.»

«That was a long time ago.»

«The journal’s first entry is dated in the fifteen-fifties or eighties,» Eve said. «It’s hard to tell. The ink is faded and the page is torn.»

When Eve didn’t say anything else immediately, Reno’s hand went to her belly. He spread his fingers wide, almost spanning her hipbones.

Her breath came in with a rushing sound. It was as though he were measuring the space for a baby to grow.

«Go on,» Reno said.

He knew his voice was too deep, too husky, but there was nothing he could do about it, any more than he could control the heavy running of his desire, no matter how foolish he knew it was to want the calculating little saloon girl.

The heat from her body was like a drug seeping through his skin and being absorbed into his blood, making it harder with each heartbeat to remember that she was just one more girl out to get whatever she could by using her body as a lure.

Then Reno realized that Eve had said nothing more. He looked up and saw her watching him with yellow cat’s eyes.

«Going back on your word so quickly?» Eve asked.

Angrily Reno lifted his hand.

«I think it must be 1580,» Eve said.

«More like 1867,» Reno retorted.

«What?»

Without answering, Reno looked at the frail cotton of the camisole, which served only to heighten rather than to conceal the allure of Eve’s breasts.