Hunter (10 page)

Poetry, she thought dizzily. He was wooing her with words and she wanted his eyes so badly that she couldn't even do the decent thing and pretend to hide herself. All day she'd felt him watching her. If only he felt as she did, shared the fiery attraction that made her too weak to deny him now. She stood, proud in her seminudity, letting him look, feeding on his eyes. If that wasn't desire in his face now, she thought, awed, then she couldn't recognize it at all. He wanted her! The knowledge took away her reserve, her inhibitions. She walked toward him, her heart in her eyes.

His jaw tensed. He watched her come toward him and he ground his teeth together in one last effort at sanity. Her lips were parted, her eyes soft and hungry, her breasts rising and falling jerkily with her unsteady breathing.

She stopped just in front of him, her cheeks faintly ruddy with embarrassment and excitement. She couldn't have imagined doing this, but it seemed the most natural thing in the world. She looked up at him, meeting his dark, fierce gaze, trembling a little, because he looked capable of anything at that moment. For all her loving bravado, she was innocent and he wasn't. The complications of her actions could be extreme.

His chin lifted as he watched her, his gaze a conqueror's, his face rigid. “You're asking for something you may not be able to handle,” he said quietly. It was a warning.

She swallowed. “Would you…hurt me?” she whispered.

He nodded slowly. “Very probably,” he said, letting his dark eyes fall to the perfect symmetry of her breasts. “I've gone a long time without a woman and I'm not particularly gentle even when I haven't. You don't have a lot of experience with men.” His eyes shot back up, catching her surprise. “That surprises you? Didn't you know that sophistication is hard to fake?” He smiled gently. “You're blushing. You had to fight not to cover yourself when I looked at you. You're still fighting your primary instinct, which is to turn and run away before I give you what you think you want.”

“What I think I want?” she asked in a shaky whisper.

He reached out and the backs of his fingers brushed very lightly over one taut nipple in a blatant, deliberate caress.

She gasped and jerked away, and his eyes reflected the smile on his firm lips.

“You see?” he asked softly. “You'd give yourself to me, with a little coaxing. But not in cold blood. You aren't used to this kind of intimacy with a man.”

She did follow her instincts then, and folded her arms over her breasts, shivering as she lowered her eyes to his shirt.

“Twenty-seven. And so inhibited.” He sighed heavily. “What happened, Jenny? Was the first time so traumatic that you didn't have the nerve to try again?”

“You don't have the right to ask me questions like that….”

He caught her by the shoulders. “You offered yourself to me,” he said curtly. “That gives me the right. Was the first time difficult?”

She couldn't tell him that there hadn't been a first time. That was just too humiliating. “Difficult enough,” she said unsteadily. “Please…I'm sorry. I'd like to go in, now.”

It was what he'd guessed. She was probably afraid of being with a man intimately because some man had hurt her. It irritated him to think of someone hurting her. He wouldn't have. His hands stilled on her upper arms, feeling the silky warmth of them. He hesitated. He wanted her like hell, but his mind was in control—just barely.

With a rough sigh, he picked her up suddenly and carried her slowly back into the tent, his eyes holding hers. He laid her down gently on her sleeping bag and sat beside her, frowning at the way she crossed her arms over her breasts.

“Don't,” he said softly, and moved her arms back to her sides. “Don't cover yourself. Let me look at you. God knows, that's all I can do now.”

“You said you didn't want me….” she whispered.

He sighed heavily, his expression sterner than ever, his dark eyes intent on hers. “Yes, I said it. My God, don't you have instincts about men? Don't you know…” He stopped, suddenly aware of the unblinking fascination of her eyes on his face.

Her blond hair was spread around her flushed face in glorious disarray, her small waist and flat stomach faintly visible where her shorts were a little large in the waistline. But he didn't touch her, yet. Only his eyes did, very slowly, very thoroughly, and she trembled all over from just that.

“You're helpless when I look at you,” he said quietly. “When I touch you. Is there anything you'd deny me?”

She shook her head slowly, beyond denial. Her body trembled. “But you don't want to make love to me, do you?” she whispered.

“I can't,” he said evasively. It wouldn't do to let her know how badly he did want her. His hand went out and she shivered with anticipation, but it was her hair he touched and nothing else, smoothing it away from her face. “I'm not prepared.”

“Prepared?” she echoed the word blankly.

He wrapped a strand of blond hair around his forefinger and tugged it gently. “I could make you pregnant,” he said simply. “Making love is one thing. Making a baby is something else. It shouldn't happen because two people are careless.”

“No,” she agreed. She couldn't tell him that to her it wouldn't be careless, that she wanted him and she wanted his child. Loved him, deathlessly. She felt warm all over. Her body arched gently, inviting his eyes. “Oh, please, couldn't you…?” she whispered brokenly.

His breath came jerkily. His eyes slid down her, lingering on her taut nipples. “You ache for me, don't you?” he asked, and there was a kind of bitter compassion in the words.

“So…much,” she whispered mindlessly. “More than you'll ever know!”

His jaw clenched. She was every man's dream, lying there like that. She was his dream, surely, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to hold back.

Despite the hurting tautness of his body, the fever in his blood, he controlled the urge. He bent and gently brushed his lips against hers in the soft stillness of the tent. “Go to sleep,” he whispered.

“Hunter,” she moaned, her body on fire. Her arms locked around his strong neck, trembling, her eyes frantic. “Please!”

He groaned. “Jenny, you don't understand…God!” His mouth opened and crushed down on hers suddenly, and he allowed himself the pleasure of one long, endless kiss. His lips twisted against hers, his chest levered down over her bare breasts. He could feel them through the thin fabric of his shirt, the nipples biting into his skin and he shivered with reaction. She smelled of flowers. Her arms held him, her fingers in his thick, dark hair, caressing him. His hands slid under her bare back and brought her even closer, his tongue starting to probe her lips. She stiffened, surprising him, because her ardor had been so headlong and eager.

He lifted his dark head, breathing unsteadily. “Don't you like deep kisses?” he asked huskily.

“I…I didn't,” she said, her own voice shaking. “Not with anyone else.” She moved her fingers down to his mouth and touched it hesitantly. “Could you…teach me how?” she breathed at his lips.

The words kindled something explosive in him. It glittered in his eyes. “Yes,” he said roughly. “I can teach you.”

She was as close to heaven as she'd ever dreamed of being. His mouth bit hers gently, lifting and probing, delicately coaxing. His breath became ragged, and so did hers. He heard her soft gasp as his tongue probed her lips softly, felt her fingers tangle, trembling, in his thick hair.

“Are you ready for me?” he whispered deeply, and felt her shiver. “Open your mouth, and I'll let you feel me…inside you.”

She cried out. The sound of her voice, the eager parting of her lips sent him over some vague precipice. He groaned, too, as his tongue penetrated her roughly, deeply, in thrusts that lifted her against him and made her weep with reaction. He made a sound deep in his throat and for feverish seconds, he gave her the weight of his body, the unrestrained ardor of his devouring mouth. His hands slid over her bare, silky back, feeling the warm softness of it with blind pleasure, savored the trembling hunger of her mouth. But then he became slowly aware of her uncontrollable shivering, felt the tears in his mouth. Her very abandon was what brought him to his senses. God, what was he doing?

He dragged himself away and sat up, ripping her hands away from his head, her wrists turning white under the involuntary pressure of his lean, dark fingers.

“No!” he said fiercely.

She looked at him through a sensual daze, her eyes smoky with desire, her face expressionless with it. “Hunter,” she whispered weakly.

His hands tightened. “I'm Apache,” he said harshly. “You're white. My God, don't you understand? We belong to different worlds. This whole damned situation is impossible, Jennifer!”

She realized belatedly that he'd stopped. Her mouth throbbed from the drugging contact with his, and she only began to realize how close he'd come to losing control. So had she. He'd wanted her for those brief seconds, and she gloried in the way he was loving her until he came to his senses. She looked at him hungrily, loving him, awash in sweet pleasure.

“Do you hear me?” he asked, his voice a little less cutting. “Jenny?”

“Yes, I…hear you.” She caught her breath, her eyes searching over his dark face. “I can't stop shaking,” she whispered, surprised by the reactions of her body—new reactions, although he wouldn't realize that. She was a newcomer to raging, abandoned desire. “Oh…my!” she whispered, moaning a little with frustration.

“Shhh,” he whispered. His voice sounded actually gentle. “I know. It hurts. But I can't take the risk.” He brought her hands to his mouth before he put them down and gently pulled the sleeping bag over her taut breasts, covering her. She was crying. He bent and kissed away the tears, his lips tender on her wet face. “Breathe deeply, little one. It will pass.”

He moved away and she watched him through her tears. “My things,” she remembered. “I left them by the stream.”

“I'll get them.” He looked back at her. “I'm going to have a cup of coffee before I come to bed. Do us both a favor and try to be asleep when I come back,” he added quietly. “This was a moment out of time, this whole damned trip. But reality is waiting back in Tulsa, and we've got a job to do here. Let's try to get it done and put this behind us.”

She swallowed, tugging the sleeping bag closer around her. “You're right, of course,” she managed shyly, embarrassed now that her heated skin had cooled. She couldn't meet his eyes. “I'm sorry about what…what I did. I…I can't think what came over me…”

He could feel her embarrassment. Odd, that, when she was twenty-seven and so beautiful. But she'd admitted herself that she'd been hurt, and it had been a long time for her. “Abstinence,” he replied. “I know how it feels. You get to the point where you can't bear it any longer. I don't think less of you for wanting me, Jennifer,” he added quietly. “I'm rather flattered,” he confessed.

She relaxed a little. At least he wasn't ridiculing her. He couldn't know that her abstinence had been lifelong. And through it all, despite that shattering tenderness he'd shown her, he'd kept his head. He said she was beautiful, and he'd looked at her and kissed her. But he knew how badly she'd wanted him, so it might just have been pity. She didn't want to think about that, it hurt too much. She stared at him with soft, quiet eyes.

“How long has it been for you?” she asked gently. “Is it all right, if I ask you that?”

He drew in a slow breath, his broad chest lifting and falling, making his muscles ripple. “Two years,” he said.

She searched his hard face. “Is it because I'm white that you won't take the risk?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She had to know.

He stared at her for a long moment. Better to end it here, and temptation with it. “Yes,” he said. “I want no possibility, ever, of a child coming from my desire for a woman with white skin.”

Desire. Only desire, she thought miserably, and he'd just admitted it. She felt shamed, somehow. “Desire,” she whispered.

He schooled his features not to give him away. He nodded his head, very slowly. “Isn't that what you felt for me?” He turned away. “I'll check the perimeter. Good night, Jennifer.”

It would have hurt less if he'd hit her, but she didn't say a word. She lay down and closed her eyes. So now she knew. He felt nothing for her, nothing at all, except a desire that was so mild it couldn't even affect his control. And no way was he going to risk the possibility of creating a child. And she wanted nothing more, because she loved him. What a laugh!

Jenny shivered with mingled shame and bitter disappointment. It might have been better if he'd never touched her at all. She wouldn't be able to forget the expert touch of his hands, his mouth, the things he'd whispered to her. He was no novice, and now she was going to spend years remembering that. Tormenting herself with what might have been.

Jenny got up and managed to get another blouse from her suitcase and put it on. Her breasts were still sensitive from the rough contact with his chest. For such a torrid interlude, it had been remarkably innocent, she thought. He'd looked at her, he'd kissed her. But there had been no deep intimacy at all. Because he didn't want her enough, she supposed, and forced her eyes to close.

Outside, Hunter was lighting a cigarette. Smoking might calm his nerves. He looked at the hand holding the cigarette and watched it shake. Jennifer unclothed was a sight to do that to a stronger man than himself. He wondered how he'd ever managed to let her go. His body was burning and throbbing with need of her. She wanted him. He could go back into that tent right now and she'd open her arms for him.

But it would be a mistake. Despite her blatant desire for him, she was somehow less experienced than he'd expected. Shy and even a little afraid, but so hungry for him. He remembered her voice, whispering to him to teach her about deep kisses, the sight of her breasts in the light of the campfire…