Tender Taming (22 page)

“Pa hay okee,
” Whitney whispered, smiling at Katie. She didn’t need to say any more; a slender bond existed between the two women, one of the ties Eagle had spoken of, born of friendship, understanding and mutual respect.

When Randy finally pulled off to the high hammock of the Eagle clan, Whitney felt her nervous jitters escalate into full-scale, trembling fear. The closer she came to that which she most desired, the more terrified she became of rejection. Reason warred against her fears. All those things Eagle had said! The way he had held her … the way he had kissed her. He had to really want her! Still, she was grateful for the company of Katie and Randy.

Except, she discovered, she was about to lose that company.

Katie kissed her cheek. “See you later, Whitney. I’m going to like having a sister!”

Were these people all mind readers, Whitney wondered as she quickly demanded, “Where are you going? Aren’t you going to stop and see your grandmother? Randy? I’m sure Morning Dew will be very upset if you don’t—”

“I think,” Randy interrupted gently, “that Morning Dew is probably expecting you. My brother-in-law may be sweating it out a bit, but Morning Dew isn’t. You go on, Whitney. This is your family, too. This is your special time. Find Eagle.”

Whitney’s eyes darted from Harris to Harris. It was a little late for doubt, but she was riddled with it. Was Eagle really here, waiting?

“Katie—”

“Whitney, go on!” Katie laughed as the airboat propeller began to spin. The craft moved off into the marsh and Katie waved and called, “You will find him!”

Alone, Whitney fought the butterflies in her stomach and searched out the little trail in the cypress. A moment later she came upon the village. The women and children acknowledged her with smiles and words of greeting.

They were not surprised to see her.

Following the second trail, Whitney came to Morning Dew. The old woman with the keen, bright eyes and weathered face was sitting before the cooking fire, complacently sewing. She didn’t look up until Whitney stood before her; then she smiled as if welcoming a child who had made it home promptly on time for dinner. Whitney knelt beside her and took a gnarled and work-worn hand into her own.

How much did Morning Dew know, Whitney wondered. What did she think of her disappearance from the Corn Dance? Would she understand how long the road had been?

The Indian woman stared at her with gentle eyes that seemed omniscient and all understanding. Whitney realized she needed no explanations; there would be nothing new that she could tell her.

“Eagle,” she whispered simply, controlling the tone of desperation that was edging her voice. “Eagle,” she practically sobbed. “Oh, Morning Dew! Do you know where he is?”

“Hush, little one,” Morning Dew soothed in her perfect, unaccented English. “He is here. Where your heart has led you. He is by the lake. He waits.” Her wizened features formed a grimace. “Eagle is not all Indian, you know, and right now he is living with a white man’s fears. You must go to him and calm his soul and your own. He has not put his faith in the laws of the spirits.”

Whitney bit her lip lightly, afraid to leave the absolute conviction of the older woman.

“Go now,” Morning Dew prodded. “We will have time, you and I, later. Years to learn better of one another. But now you must go. My grandson—your husband—awaits you.”

Whitney needed no further urging. With a last smile for Morning Dew, she raced down the trail to the lake with her heart plummeting crazily. She sped through the cypress as if chased by the devil, then halted, mesmerized by shivering apprehension.

Here she was, in the swamp, by the lake, where her journey had taken her. But what now? Oh God, what now? What did she say?

And Eagle was there. She saw his back first, rippled with tight muscles and bared to glow bronze beneath the dying sun. She itched to run her fingers over the sleek skin of his broad shoulders and press her lips against his flesh, to reach up and touch the thick raven hair …

But she held back. He hadn’t seen her yet. She couldn’t see his eyes, couldn’t read into his heart.

He turned suddenly, knowing that she was there, framed by the ridge of the cypress. Whitney’s breath caught in her throat. He was just staring at her, his hands in the pockets of his form-hugging jeans. A gentle lash of waves from the quiet lake washed over his feet, soaking his pants legs, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was frozen like a statue, watching her, his blue gaze startling and compelling but fathomless.

The man who stood as solidly as an oak was trembling inside like a young boy. She had come! Guided by the chemistry of hearts and minds that beat together, she had sought him out. As he watched her, her quivering immobility between the flanking cypress trees, he thought lovingly of all that she was. So delicate beside him! Yet like the beautiful orchids of the Everglades, she was strong and tenacious. From that very first night he had loved her, although he had fought against it. And now he wanted to speak; he wanted to reach out and touch the petal softness of her face. He needed to take her into his arms and promise that they would never be apart again.

Whitney was growing desperate. Damn him! She had come all this way, and he wasn’t saying a thing! If his relentless stare of steel persisted much longer, she would run screaming back into the woods.

No, she had come this far. If it was another step that she must take first, then she must take that step.

What could she say? How could she begin?

Maybe it was one of those times when action would say more than words. And time to turn the tables a little.

She was shaking, but a show of bravado could be perpetuated. Leaving the haven of the trees, Whitney stalked slowly toward the lake, keeping her eyes locked with Eagle’s. He followed her every movement but still stood silent.

Three feet from the water Whitney began to undo the buttons of her blouse. Removing the garment with a sultry lack of haste, she tossed it to him, smiling mischievously when his reflexes forced him to catch it. With slow deliberation she stooped, unzipped her boots and kicked them nonchalantly aside.

It was the first strip-tease she had ever performed, and it was hard to calculate its effect on her audience, but feminine instinct told her it was going well. Eagle hadn’t spoken, but the pulses in his neck were becoming fast and erratic. A feeling of happy power was coming over her. The desire she was hoping to elicit made sultry emeralds of her eyes, and she shimmied from her jeans with a tantalizing rhythm.

Eagle could have moved then. He could have reached out, crushed her to him and allowed his hard, burning body to demand all that she was offering. But he waited, now with tender, aching amusement. What she was doing was sheer torture, yet it was the sweetest bliss! His body was as taut as a thinly stretched tightrope; his nerves clamored in a cry of thrill and agony for him simply to force her curvaceous, taunting form into his arms and take her with blunt command to appease the rising passion that strained to be released.

But somehow he knew it would be worth it to wait, as he had already waited all these weeks. The smile that was slowly curving his lips was an assured one; he would soon reap his just rewards for superhuman patience.

Whitney saw the smile and her heart skipped a beat. What she had begun, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, he would finish. Her fingers suddenly became leaden, and as she slipped the stubborn hooks of her French-cut bra and hastily discarded her panties, her cool was somewhat lost. Not all that practiced at being a seductress, her nerve was ebbing, especially as she realized that the eyes watching her had gone a murky midnight blue that promised of things to come …

Whitney ran her fingers through her dark hair and tossed her head back. Feigning complete innocence, she plunged into the deliciously cool water, swam a bit for distance and rose like a mermaid from the depths. Water streamed from her hair and over her breasts in tiny rivulets of crystal. Watching from the shore, Eagle shuddered as a jolt of flaming, uncontrollable desire burst inside him and ripped its way through his entire length.

“Join me?” she teased breathlessly. “I assure you, I will not attack you.” Her voice lowered a shade and the husky tone held a note of beseechment. “It is your move, White Eagle.”

It was his move all right, Eagle groaned to himself, but could he make it to the water? He’d never had more trouble unbuckling a belt in his life.

“Hey, there!” Whitney laughed. “What’s the problem, Flapping Feather? Get in here!”

Eagle grinned. He finally managed to undo the brass buckle and release the fly on his pants. “What’s the hurry?” he drawled. “I mean, after all, honey, if you
don’t
attack…”

His voice trailed away as his clothes fell to the dust and he entered the water in all his natural, ultravirile, male splendor.

“Even the best of us can be provoked,” Whitney murmured.

His raven head suddenly disappeared beneath the water, and Whitney caught her breath. She plunged below the surface herself and began to swim blindly in an elusive manner. It was a foolish gesture. She would never outmatch his prowess in the water.

A powerful hand clamped around her ankle and she sputtered awkwardly to the top, flailing for balance as he continued to hold her foot high.

“Let go of my foot!” Whitney demanded in between a fit of giggles. “You uncouth rogue!”

“As you say, madame,” Eagle replied politely. He jerked her foot and released it, sending her back to the bottom.

Whitney rose to the surface gasping. “Okay, Flapping Feather!” she choked. “This is it. You will get yours!”

Eagle’s blue eyes danced with a hellfire. “Oh, I do hope so!” he declared. “I’m counting on it.”

Whitney crashed through the water and into his arms. Her breasts crushed into his chest and the nipples hardened at the sizzling contact. Her face nestled into the. curve of his neck and she clung to him, radiating in the simple ecstasy of being back where she belonged, of feeling their hearts beat as one.

Eagle caught the hair at the base of her neck and forced her to face him. The bronze skin was stretched tautly over his proud features; the dancing light in his eyes had been replaced by the smoldering cobalt blue. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk first, Whitney?” he demanded harshly.

“No!” She shook her head vehemently.

He held her tensely for a second and then sighed his relief. “Good. I don’t think I could do much talking.”

His lips came down on hers with a fierce possessiveness that left her quaking and gasping for more. Then his head disappeared beneath the water again, but this time his game was in earnest. His teeth moved over a nipple with a gentle tug that sent sparks igniting to her core. Then his erotic water kisses and nibbles moved leisurely all the way down to her toes. When he surfaced again, it was to scoop her into his arms.

Whitney’s breath was coming in short pants as she slipped her arms around his neck and looked tenderly into his beloved face. “Much more of that and I could quite cheerfully drown,” she purred huskily in spurts of air. “I’m glad we’re heading for shore.”

“We may not make shore,” he muttered hoarsely. His arms tightened around her and his murky-lashed lids fell so that his eyes were sensuous slits. “And I intend that you should drown, my love. Drown in me forever.”

They reached the shore—just. Eagle set her down gently so that the water still washed in ripples along her legs.

Then he moved over her, and foreplay was discarded as they both emitted strangled groans and became entwined in a desperate and urgent mutual hunger. Tears of unprecedented joy came to Whitney’s eyes as their unleashed passion raged to new pinnacles of erotic, shattering, mystical sensation and Eagle urged her ever onward, telling her of his gnawing need, of the awesome pleasure of all that she did, of the perfection and beauty of her undulating hips.

The culmination of their fierce intensity was explosive. Whitney’s cry of sweet, sweet ecstasy rent the twilight air, and before its echo had settled into the sheltering cypress, she was moaning slightly, her contentment so great that the world continued to swirl until her form slowly, slowly began to relax. As always, Eagle held her tightly to him as they regained their footing on solid earth, his touch gentle and soothing now, no longer a rough and demanding magic.

He was glorious when he made love, Whitney decided. Most delightfully glorious. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

He shifted after a moment and leaned on an elbow to watch her as he ran enticing patterns over her belly.

“I love you, you know,” he said with velvet softness. “More than I’ll ever be able to tell you. I’m not sure exactly how or when, but you wound me hopelessly around that delicate little finger of yours.”

Whitney inched more closely to his chest, relishing the wonderful masculine scent of him. “I love you.”

“I want to marry you in a church as soon as possible.”

Whitney chuckled. “That’s lovely, darling, and I’d like it very much. But, my dear Jonathan White Eagle Stewart, you had better start considering yourself a married man right now. You have had a wife since the first night of the Corn Dance.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Moving with his startling agility, he pounced over her and his eyes blazed with teasing menace into hers. “Then you’d better consider this! Don’t you dare—ever!—get it into your mind to pull another disappearing act or I’ll skin you alive and tan your hide! Got it?”

“Yes, sir, yes, sir!” Whitney pledged with mock, round-eyed obedience. “But, Counselor, I only plead guilty with an explanation to the first charge! You were leading me down a primrose trail and laughing your rear off all the while.”

“No, I wasn’t, Whitney,” Eagle said, suddenly serious. “I admit I did want to get to you, but it was more than that. I knew there was something special about you from the moment I plucked you from the mud. Even when you were being an impudent snob, I really wanted you to understand. It was important to me that you realize chickees were not hovels, and, of course, that I do speak English. Rather well, in fact.”