Dakota Dream (42 page)

Jacob feigned a yawn, and then shook his head as if to clear it. He'd been sitting with the council for hours now, going over the same ground, planning strategies, and making arrangements to rejoin Sitting Bull's group at the Rosebud. But he'd been thinking only of Dominique.

He contemplated her final question over and over, wondering if it had been an innocent observation or a blatant invitation. If, as he dared to hope, it was the latter, what had happened to her earlier fears? Jacob remembered her trembling shoulders and frightened gasps the night he'd nearly taken her. He was a fool to think she'd changed her mind so quickly and offered herself to him. Why
couldn't
he dismiss this feeble hope? He shifted his position, wondering how much longer he could stand the heaviness in his loins, the incessant throbbing that had once been a sweet ache for the crazy one.

"...
by
the next moon?" Gall looked up from the fire, waiting for an answer,
then
noticed the glazed look in his son's eyes.
"Redfoot?
I have asked how long before the Long Hair's army reaches the Rosebud. Do you not have this information?"

Jacob snapped his head up. "Oh, forgive me. My mind wanders. Our troops are badly slowed by the large wagon train. Custer's cavalry is not what we need to worry about. Others, Major Reno and General Crook, are much closer to finding our lodges and attacking them." This time when
he yawned, Jacob added some dramatics and stretched his arms high over his head.

Gall nodded. "We have kept you too long, my son."

Rubbing his eyes, Jacob said, "It is not you. I have been riding with the general's scouting party for two days and have had little sleep the past few nights. I will be here for another night. We can finish our talks tomorrow."

"Go, then," Gall urged. "Sleep well. We will talk tomorrow as we move onward."

"Tomorrow, then."
With that Jacob rose and bade them good night. He stepped outside the warriors' lodge and inhaled the crisp night air, hoping to put his tortured body and mind at ease. Still he thought of Dominique. Still he dared to dream she might want him as much as he wanted her.

Tugging to release the buttons of his dark blue army trousers, Jacob strode across the campground and headed for his lodge, for his woman. He lifted the flap quietly and stole inside. As he worked his troop boots down over his calves and off his feet, he glanced at the outline of Dominique's form. She rested on her side, her back to him. Was she asleep or simply ignoring him? Jacob slid his trousers off and discarded them. After looping the rawhide lace securing his breechclout around his finger, he hesitated. Then he noticed Dominique's shallow breathing, the rigidity of her tense shoulders. She was awake. Without another thought, Jacob jerked the piece of rawhide, and the final garment dropped to the ground.

Taking tiny sips of air, Dominique listened to the rustling as he disrobed. When she felt him slip beneath his own blanket on the rug beside her, she shivered. He was so close, yet so far. Her breathing ceased altogether when he placed his hand on the back of her head and began stroking her hair.

Separating a thick ringlet from the bulky waves, Jacob pulled it high, then watched, fascinated, as the silken strands floated down to her shoulders. "By the firelight, your hair loses its golden color and becomes one with the
flames. Have you decided to become one with me,
wi
witko?
"

"Oh, Jacob," she said, taking a huge gulp of air, "I don't know." Dominique rolled onto her back and stared up at him. He rested on one elbow, his blanket draped loosely across his hips. He looked into her eyes, his gaze was intense and demanding, but his thoughts were unreadable. She suddenly didn't know what she wanted, what to say. "I've done little but think about us and what's to become of us since you left, but still, I'm not sure."

"Ah," he sighed. "I have thought of us, too, even while the council spoke of war. You and the short time we have together fill my mind. My people can run no more. We must turn and fight the soldiers. I worry what will happen to us."

Alarmed, Dominique sat up. As she spoke, her blanket slid down from her shoulders and pooled in her lap. "Does that have to be, Jacob? Isn't there some way to avoid a war?"

His eyes imprisoned by the sight of her taut nipples pushing against the sheer fabric of her camisole, Jacob said, "I do not see a way to stop the bloodshed between your people and mine. But let us not speak of war tonight. Let us finish our earlier conversation. Let us speak of love."

Her bottom lip trembling, Dominique confessed what she'd known all along. "Love is what I feel when I think of you. I suppose that does mean I love you, Jacob. Right or wrong, I love you, but I don't know if I should, if we have the right to be together." She let her words trail off and lowered her head.

Gently coaxing her back down on the blanket, Jacob stretched across her waist and stared down into her lovely features. She glowed with innocence, curiosity, and the love of a woman for a man. Deeply touched, Jacob struggled for the right words, fingering the satin ribbon woven through the ivory lace at the neckline of her camisole. He finally said, "You are my wife,
wi
witko.
I am your husband. Where is the wrong?"

Intensely aware of his touch, of the fire in his fingertips as they skipped over the soft rise of her breasts, she said, "Our marriage may be legal to you, but to me, it simply didn't happen."

Jacob lowered his head, directing his mouth to trace the path of his hands, and spoke against her silken flesh. "You need only to say the words, but it is you who must say them now. Say you wish to be my woman, and we will be as one." As he waited for her reply, Jacob punctuated the statement by dragging his fevered lips across the fabric to her nipple where he teased the hard crown, leaving a damp circle in the cotton.

"I want to, really I do," she said through a sudden groan.

His big hands skimmed over her breasts and down her shoulders, leaving wakes of desire in their trail. "Then say the words," he encouraged, maneuvering his mouth along that same path. "Say them now and you will be mine."

"Oh, my stars,
"
she murmured, assaulted by the exhilarating sensations, the curious blend of strength and tenderness in his touch. "Oh, yes, Jacob, yes. I do want to be your woman. Show me what to do. I don't know what to do."

"What of your fears?" he said, forcing
a calm
, even tone.

"Fears?"
She was swimming in confusion, aching to be touched everywhere at once.
"About what?"

"I know I have frightened you with my desire. I realize you have never lain with a man. How can I put your fears to rest?"

Unable to understand, unwilling to take the time to analyze his thoughts, Dominique said through a tremor of anticipation, "I'm only afraid that you will be disappointed in me, that I won't know how to make you happy."

"Oh, crazy one," he groaned, taking her face between his hands. "You need do nothing to make me happy. Because you exist, I am content."

Before she could answer or change her mind, Jacob brushed her mouth with his, teasing her lips apart with the tip of his tongue. "Be mine,
wi
witko.
Open yourself to your husband," he commanded as he stretched out full length beside her. Taking her mouth, plunging deep inside her with the same rocking movement he would use to make her his, Jacob coaxed the ribbon loose and gently pulled the camisole apart. When she tried to close it again, he took his mouth from hers and slid his hand between her breasts. "Relax, Dominique. Let me love you."

When he looked into her eyes searching for signs of compliance, what he saw instead nearly tore him apart. Dominique was laid bare, the windows to her soul as clear as the first raindrop of spring. Her trust in him was complete, her love
,
 
immeasurable
. Nearly choking on a surge of emotion, uttering an unfamiliar sob, Jacob turned away from her and laid his head in the crook of her neck. Murmuring against skin so soft he thought he must be touching the clouds, Jacob finished unlacing her camisole. "Raise your arms, Dominique. Help me with this tangle of clothing," he managed in a strangled whisper.

Eager to reach the next plateau, Dominique obeyed, but as soon as he lifted the garment off her body, she clasped her arms across her exposed breasts.

"Why do you cover yourself,
wi
witko
? I have seen your beauty before—remember?" At her nod he, too, thought back to that first day, to the sight of these small firm breasts. Then they were taut from exposure, the nipples hard from the icy water. Now they stood rigid, not from the cold, but from the heat of his touch. Jacob lowered her arms to her sides and assaulted those taut peaks with his tongue, circled and teased until he had the response he sought.

She was twisting, turning, working to bring every part of her body into some kind of contact with his, making him the crazy one, challenging his rigid control. Jacob left her breasts then, working to gather himself. Trying not to think of where his lips touched, he slid a wet trail down her trembling ribs to her navel where he hovered, teasing, tantalizing, driving in and out of the shallow indentation with his tongue until her cries and the strangled sound of his own name nearly drove him insane.

In need of a break, of a moment to
himself
, Jacob leaned back, and stared up at her with clouded eyes. She lay there panting, twisting her head from side to side. Dewdrops of perspiration had replaced his mouth, kissing the skin between her breasts and forming a trail down to her hard flat stomach.

"Hurry, Jacob," she gasped, her eyelids fluttering, even though they were closed. "Please don't stop now."

"I've only begun, my love. There is no need to hurry this night," he said, suddenly unsure if it was a promise he could keep.

Jacob leaned over and tugged at her drawers, but this time, after he'd slipped the cotton undergarment down over her feet, she didn't try to cover her exposed body. She waited, biting and sucking on her smallest finger, and watched him through half-closed eyes as he began a sensual journey up her legs. Nibbling and teasing her soft skin as he made his way to the source of her heat, his kisses, and the maddening caresses of his tongue, ended abruptly at mid-thigh.

Lifting himself alongside her body, Jacob pressed his own throbbing need against her hip and whispered in her ear, "How do you feel now,
wi
witko
? Are you still afraid of me?"

"I, ah, no," she whispered, suddenly reminded of the embarrassing dream she'd had, painfully aware of the wonderfully strange sensations that had led to the release of her frustrations and inhibitions. Was it about to happen again? Could she stop it? Did she even want to try? "Touch me," she begged. "Please don't stop touching me."

"Where would you like me to start?” he whispered, moving his fingertips around in lazy circles, tracing a crooked path down to her navel. When those fingers skittered across the apron of her golden meadow, he lingered there, asking, "Is this a good spot?"

Dominique was beyond any thought of self-control, nearly incapable of speech as the powerful conclusion of the dream loomed ever closer. "Oh, Jacob, something's happening." Higher and higher her body raced, past her ability to halt the unexpected response. Her hips writhing on their own, making the decision for her, she made one last feeble attempt to explain. "Oh, I'm
sorry,
I don't know what's happening." Dominique's body took over then, cutting off her speech, shutting down her mind.