Velvet Thunder (18 page)

Naked, he slipped under her blanket, warming her with his body.

“I want you, precious,” he confessed huskily, dropping kisses on her neck. “And I mean to have you.”

She didn't argue. Instead—as hungry as he—she entangled her fingers in his ebony hair, bringing his mouth closer to her own.

He groaned low in his throat, aroused even further by the significance of her act. It told him as nothing else could that she wanted him. Now.

He kissed her again, not at all restrained. Ravenously, passionately, he crushed her lips with his own, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, in and out, over and over, a sure erotic rhythm that matched the instinctive movement of his lean hips as he pressed them against her.

He still wasn't close enough. Not until he was part of her. With trembling hands he divested her of her clothes. Rising high above her, he settled between her legs. The fire illumined her, a gilded goddess that he would soon make his own.

“Open for me, angel,” he rasped, his breath warm on her cheek.

She obeyed gladly, baring her innermost recesses like a beautiful flower spreading its petals to the life-giving force of the morning sun. His lower body was flush with hers. His immense maleness branded her as his own. She could feel him throbbing against her with every beat of his strong, pulsing heart.

She gasped at the heady sensation, marveled at his magnificence when he lifted her thighs, settling them about his waist. He was glorious, limned in the moonlight: a wealth of midnight-black hair resting on bare, broad shoulders, a taut, corded abdomen that quickened at her shy touch, hard, muscled thighs pressing against her flanks firmly.

How she wished she could see his face. But he was cast in shadows with the moonlight and the soft glow of the campfire at his back. This need to see him became an obsession, filling her, flowing from the crown of her head to her toes. She twisted her head from side to side.

Reaching toward him, she tried to visualize him with her sensitive fingertips. She paused to still her shaking hands as first she touched his cheeks. Then slowly she caressed him from cheek to jaw to full sensual lips. He was beautiful! Ruggedly beautiful.

He captured one adventurous finger within the honeyed sweetness of his mouth, drew on it like a babe would his mother's breast. He sucked gently, then dropped his lips to hers once again. He kissed her tenderly even as he positioned his huge, aching need at the portal of her femininity.

“Look at me, angel,” he instructed. “I want to see the look in your eyes when I make you mine.”

Did he truly speak, or were the husky words transferred from his mind to hers? She didn't know. Frankly, she didn't care. All she could think of was the intense ache between her legs. He could ease it. She knew he could. He had to. She would die of want otherwise.

“It's time to make you a woman,” he coaxed. “My woman.”

“Please” was all she said, thrusting instinctively in invitation.

“My pleasure.” His sexy chuckle turned into a groan as he entered her smoothly. He eased forward slowly, allowing her virginal body time to accustom itself to his invasion. When he reached the barrier that proclaimed her pure, he halted. He smiled with surprise and satisfaction to know that no one had ever touched her as he did now.

He tensed his hips and thighs, preparing to make the final thrust, the thrust that would make them one. Forever.

Stephanie jerked awake. A fine sheen of sweat covered her entire body, soaking her shirt and trousers, plastering the wet fabric to her aching body. Her breath was coming in short, rapid pants. To her horror and shame, there were tears in her eyes.

Quickly, she looked across the fire at Heath. She sighed relief when he shifted onto his side and snored softly.

Heath swallowed the painful lump in his throat. Stevie's low moans had awakened him. He had known instantly that she was asleep . . . and that she was in the throes of an erotic dream. The sensuous dance of her thrusting hips had raised a sweat on his brow. Other parts of his body rose to the occasion as well.

Stifling a groan, he knew that he would sleep no more tonight.

 

 

Sunrise found them tense, quiet, traveling farther into the mountains, carefully obliterating their trail as they went. After several hours of hard riding, they crested a peak. An emerald valley lush with grass and flowers lay before them. A craggy mountainside cradled the green carpet in its arms. Two magnificent waterfalls flowed down a precipitous slope, pooling into a reservoir of shifting, shimmering water.

Wordlessly, they crossed the valley, riding toward the falls, crossing a solid slab of rock to the pool.

“Eden.” Stevie slowed her horse's pace; tears threatened. She and Jeff had visited this valley many times in their youth. They had dubbed it Eden. How she wished that he were riding at her side even now. “This way.” She plunged her horse into the shallow water of the pool.

Heath followed close behind, heading straight for the falls on the left. They passed through the cascading water into a hidden cavern behind it, then entered a naturally formed tunnel. Picking their way carefully toward a brilliant light, they emerged onto the brink of another, smaller valley.

It too was lush with green grass and fragrant wildflowers, a smaller version of the valley they'd just traversed. A clear stream flowed through its midst, a blue ribbon providing water for the teeming wildlife that made the valley its home. The grassy plateau, about six square miles in size, was enclosed on all sides by mountains and cliffs. Except for the tunnel, it had no apparent access.

Heath drew up beside Stevie. He pushed his Stetson back on his head with two fingers and whistled through his teeth softly. “It's beautiful.”

Stevie nodded. “We'll be safe here. There's plenty of water and game. The chances of Two Paws finding us are slim. When your wound heals, we'll head back to Adobe Wells.”

She looked at him, and the full impact of last night's dream hit her. It unnerved her to admit how much she was looking forward to spending the next few days alone with Heath, how vulnerable she was to his charms.

Her cheeks flamed and her voice grew harsh when she ordered, “So hurry up and get well. You're no good to me like you are. And God only knows what Judge Jack's doing while we're away.” Without waiting for a response, she sank her heels into her mount's flanks and galloped away.

He stared at her retreating back. “Now, what the hell brought that on?” he asked Warrior.

Warrior's responding whinny sounded remarkably like “Women!”

 

 

During their time in Eden, Heath recuperated rapidly. They spent much of their time relating anecdotes about their past. Examined one by one, these small slices of life seemed meaningless. But all told, they painted a canvas of their previous existence. As they learned about each other, they grew closer and more comfortable in one another's presence.

An overhang in the side of a cliff served as their shelter. It provided a cozy camp. Heath shot fresh meat for the cook pot with the bow and arrows Black Coyote had given him. Stevie went along with him as he stalked his prey, amazed at how skillfully he bagged game. She teased that he wasn't as good as an Indian but he would do in a pinch. Heath, being Heath, pinched her. She didn't scold him, just blushed becomingly.

When his shoulder was almost pain free, they were reluctant to leave. Their desire for each other was a personification of raw lust, a prelude to passion, their constant—if unwanted—companion. Both knew they had mammoth responsibilities awaiting them in Adobe Wells. Yet they sensed this time alone was an opportunity that wouldn't come their way again. By unspoken agreement they extended their stay.

To pass the long days, she taught him a game the Comanches played, using a ball of long grass pulled from the sides of the stream, tied together by two pieces of rawhide. The game involved a great deal of physical contact. When played by Comanche men, it bordered on violence. Such was not the case with Heath and Stevie; their touching was more provocative than injurious.

The sensual tension that characterized their relationship was especially high after each game. Stevie noticed that Heath took long, solitary rides when they finished playing. When she asked him about it, he said the exercise got his juices to flowing and the rides helped work off the excess energy. It didn't seem to work, she noted. He was just as tense when he returned, if not more so. But she refrained from pointing this out.

Each evening they bathed in the stream, first Stevie, then Heath. He invariably teased that he was going to slip down and watch her unaware. She threatened him with bodily harm.

One evening when their sensual tension was unusually high, like electricity building in the sky before a thunderstorm, Heath left for a hunt while Stevie bathed. At gloaming, he returned to camp. She was nowhere to be seen. He called to her, but she didn't answer. The sound of splashing water and her off-key rendition of “Camptown Ladies” drew him like a magnet.

Smiling, he picked his way down the path. She was standing in knee-deep water, her wet hair plastered to the gentle curve of her backside. Her gloriously nude body was bathed in rays of silver. Just as he halted, she turned toward him. Slowly.

He expected her to cover herself with her hands, but she didn't. Instead, she took a step closer to shore. The water shifted, caressing her satiny skin, swirling around her thighs, licking the soft flesh like a lover's tongue.

The breath lodged in his throat. His body responded to her sensual allure. He knew he should leave, but was rooted to the spot. His gaze traveled upward, past her most intimate place—lingering slightly—over her flat abdomen, up to her firmly rounded breasts. He stared hungrily at her rosy nipples. The rise and fall of her chest grew faster. He groaned softly when the dusky globes peaked under his gaze.

When he raised his eyes to hers, he saw fear mingled with desire. This was no seductive sea nymph, but a confused yet curious innocent. He should run like hell, for both of them. He managed not to run. Instead, he treated himself to one long, lingering glance, then turned on his heel and retraced his footsteps up the path.

He was throbbing with unfulfilled desire. A good dousing in the icy waterfall was what he needed to cool his heated blood. He jumped on Warrior's back and kicked him into a gallop.

Stevie crossed her hands over her chest and dropped down in the water. Guilt, embarrassment, frustration, and anger battled for prominence in her churning emotions. She had behaved like a common hussy, and had obviously repulsed Heath.

She couldn't blame him for being put off; she was disgusted with herself. Such behavior was unlike her. Why had she done it? she screamed silently.

The answer came to her with stunning clarity. She had fallen in love with Lucky Diamond. Instinctively, she wanted to give something of herself that she had given no other.

But he's a drifter, a gambler,
her sensible self screamed, the kind of man who is here today and gone tomorrow.

Which made him the perfect man to have a brief affair with, since she never intended to marry anyway. The unprecedented idea took root and began to grow, becoming stronger, less shocking, and more enticing by the minute.

 

 

When Stevie returned to camp, she was clothed in a thin chemise and bleached buckskin pants made buttery soft by almost constant wear. Heath was resting against his saddle, cleaning his arsenal of weapons. She felt his eyes upon her but appeared oblivious.

Slowly, sensuously, she walked over to the fire and took a seat. Absently, she finger-combed her moist hair, stretching and thrusting her chest forward a bit more than necessary. Smiling softly, she was aware of every tense breath Heath drew.

He had taken two cold showers in the waterfalls, galloped over a three-mile area bareback, and was still throbbing with desire. It showed in his husky voice when he spoke her name. “Stevie.”

“Hmmm?”

“I think we should head back to Adobe Wells tomorrow.”

She was stunned into silence. How was she to seduce him if they left tomorrow? Exasperated, she turned her back on him.

He stared at her through the darkness. She was embarrassed by her actions, he knew. If he just had the words to let her know it was all right, that he had been flattered she would trust him enough to allow him to look upon her nakedness.

And he ached to tell her how beautiful she was, to confess how very much he wanted her, to admit he had never desired a woman as he desired her now.

But such conversation would lead places neither of them should go. And while she was just a kid—albeit a gorgeous, sexy kid—he was old enough to know better. “Well, good night, then,” he said finally.

“Good night.”

He failed to note that she did not agree to leave on the morrow.

Nature conspired against Heath.

When they awakened the next day, the scent of a storm was in the air. Only a fool would leave shelter and begin a trip on such a day. He was a horny hombre who wanted nothing more than to seduce the innocent who had saved his life. But he wasn't a fool.

He went in search of Stevie. She was currying Whiskeypeat, studying the sky. “We'll have to wait till tomorrow to leave,” he said.

She jumped as if she'd been struck by lightning. Gaining a measure of control, she spoke without looking at him. “Fine.”

He hesitated as if he would say something more, then walked away.

She buried her nervous smile in Whiskeypeat's mane. One more night with Lucky, a voice chanted in her mind. Could she really go through with her plan to seduce him? More important, would making love to him change her emotionally as well as physically? The thought was exciting and frightening at once.

Clouds gathered above her head, mirroring her turbulent emotions. By late afternoon the sky was black, threatening. Lightning zigzagged across the astral dome, followed by drumrolls of thunder. Wind raced through the valley like a steam locomotive. Wild animals on the plateau prepared for the ominous scene about to be played out. Squirrels and rodents hid in their dens. Snug in their nests, birds ceased their chirping. All nature was subdued by the impending sirocco.

Heath was equally restrained. He had hardly gone near Stevie all day. Just the sight of her brought him to a state of arousal. And it was beginning to wear on his nerves.

If he wanted their relationship to remain platonic, he could ill afford to be shut up with her in a tight place, the elements of nature raging outside. But by late afternoon he knew they had to prepare for the upcoming storm. The need for safety overrode the danger of intimate contact.

Silently, he moved their bedding under the overhang. The alcove was so small, there was room for only one pallet. He patted the blankets in place, avoiding eye contact with Stevie as she stood in the entrance, staring at the narrow bed. He was the first to speak. “Not Willard's, but at least we'll be dry.”

She stared at him blankly, never having heard of the plush Washington hotel. Then her gaze darkened as it slid down his body to the evidence of his desire.

The look in her eyes made him decidedly uncomfortable. “And safe.” They would be safe from the electrical storm, he granted. But what about the carnal tempest engulfing them?

A man could withstand just so much temptation. . . .

 

 

Several hours past nightfall, the storm raged on. Stevie stood at the brink of their craggy home and blindly watched the wonders of nature unfold. Her mind and heart were filled with the man lounging on the pallet in the corner.

How did one go about seducing a man of the world? she wondered. It was a job Sandy Johns had neglected to prepare his daughter for, one he would tan her hide for even considering.

Outside, clouds billowed up into endless layers of black cotton, lost to the advancing darkness of night. Thunder boomed like muffled cannonfire. Lightning brightened the sky with brief flashes of midday illumination. Torrents of rain, great sheets driven by fierce winds, soaked her to the bone. Still, she was unaware.

When she shivered involuntarily from the wet and cold, Heath rose and draped a blanket about her shoulders. She tensed at his touch. Misunderstanding her reaction, he attempted to reassure her. “I won't hurt you, hon.”

Wide-eyed, she turned toward him.

He tapped her nose as if she were his kid sister. “And I don't bite.” His arm around her shoulders, he led her to the blankets in the corner of the hideaway. When he seated her, he noticed the tension running the length of her. Suspecting she was afraid of him, a pensive frown knitted his brow. “I promised I won't bite, Stevie. Unless you want me to,” he teased to lessen her tension . . . and his. He failed. Drawn by something in her eyes, he lowered himself to her side. Through a haze of confusion and desire, he whispered, “Sugar, if you keep looking at me like that, I'm gonna think you want me to bite. Or at least nibble on you a bit.”

Her face flamed; she trembled. She hadn't meant for her need to be so transparent. Somehow, she grew passive, not yet ready to play her hand.

Standing, he picked up another blanket and tossed it to her. “Here, get out of those wet clothes and wrap up in this.” Ignoring her quick intake of breath, he dropped down on his haunches near the entrance and began making a small fire. “You'll catch your death.” When he heard no movement from her quarter, he threw over his shoulder, “Hurry up, sugar. I'll keep my back turned until you're decent.”

Considering the wanton thoughts going through her mind, Stevie feared he was in for a long wait. In fact, the sight of his broad back, the muscles rippling under his shirt as he tossed kindling on the fire, she wasn't sure she wanted to be decent.

She had spent all day thinking about him. Or, more precisely, thinking about making love to him. At first she was horrified by the impropriety of such a notion. Then, as the hours passed, she warmed to the notion.

Discounting her lifelong beliefs and values, she wondered what would be so wrong with giving in to her desire for Lucky? Frankly, she was too full of life to imagine dying of old age, her maidenhead firmly intact. She had to know—just once—what it felt like to be a woman in every way. And since she would never want another man the way she wanted Lucky, and never have the opportunity of being alone in the wilderness with such a virile man, why not take advantage of the situation and enjoy herself?

The fact that he was a handsome drifter was to her advantage as well, she reaffirmed. She couldn't possibly have a long-term relationship—physical or otherwise—with any white man. So making love to a mysterious gambler who had more charm than the law allows, a heartbreakingly sensuous rogue who would undoubtedly leave town as soon as he escorted her safely back to Adobe Wells, was just the thing she needed.

Now all she had to do was convince him that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. His next words shook her resolve.

“Sugar, I want you to know you can trust me. I tease a lot about making love. Always have. But I would never do anything to dishonor you. Your virtue is safe with me, hon. Just think of me as a not-too-much-older brother.”

Inordinately proud of himself for his gentlemanly attitude, he turned toward her with a familial smile pasted on his face. His smile froze, then disappeared altogether. He uttered a silent curse.

The sight before him heated his blood to the point of agony. Stevie, sitting in the corner, the firelight playing on her bare shoulders, her skin like brushed gold, made his fingers tingle with the need to touch her. Stevie, the blanket riding low on her breasts, was more provocative than a bride in a transparent peignoir on her wedding night.

He was in serious trouble here. “You look done in.” Was that hoarse croak his voice? “Why don't you go on to sleep? I've gotta check the horses.”

“But the storm . . .”

He waved her concern away. “A little water never hurt anybody. Don't wait up. I might be a while.”

“Lucky.” She half rose. The blanket covering her breasts slipped. A deep rose-colored half-moon peeked over the edge.

Perspiration popped out on his forehead. “Stevie, go to sleep,” was his strangled admonition as he slipped out into the night.

“Dammit!” She slammed her fist down on the blanket beside her hip. She might be an innocent, but even she knew it was next to impossible to seduce a man who wasn't in your vicinity.

Surely he would return before daybreak. And when he did, she would be waiting for him. If she had to hold her reluctant Romeo down and take him against his will, she was going to make love to Lucky Diamond. The prospect of attacking him while he was kicking and screaming, protecting his nonexistent virtue, made her giggle. Remembering her passionate dream, her giggle turned into a moan.

She dropped back on the pallet and drew deep breaths through her mouth. Marginally calm, she began planning her strategy. Mr. Diamond would soon discover that when Miss Stephanie Kay Johns put her mind to something—even seducing a reluctant lover—she did it.

Maybe even more than once. Innocent that she was, she wondered if that was physically possible. Before the sun rose over Eden, she planned to find out.

Renewed with determination, she paced the narrow confines of their shelter. The scratchy blanket rubbing against her naked flesh only heightened her need and frustration. It seemed like Heath had been gone an eternity when, exhausted, she sat. She drew her knees up and rested her chin on them. Second by second she became more frustrated . . . and more fatigued. Finally, just moments before Heath returned, she fell back on the pallet, slipping into a deep sleep.

 

 

She awakened to a very pleasant sensation. The blanket had fallen away from her naked form. In his sleep Heath's strong, hot body had taken its place.

She smiled instantly; that was the easiest seduction she had ever performed—'course, it was the only one.

Her smile disappeared as lips—soft, moist, searching—covered hers. Callused hands—caressing, teasing, exciting—spread over her, seeming to touch everywhere at once.

The reality of lovemaking was much better than a dream, she decided. One of Heath's expertly tutored appendages made the sensual journey from her shoulder, down her torso, slipping between her thighs, seeking the core of her femininity. She gasped sharply as maddeningly, tenderly, he caressed her inside and out.

She could feel his rapid, uneven breathing on her cheek. Her head fell back over his arm; her eyes, dark with desire, opened slowly. A low, guttural moan slipped past her lips. “Oh, Lucky.”

He made no verbal response.

She raised her head slightly. “Lucky?” Awareness swept over her like a tidal wave. The rutting boar was asleep. He didn't know who she was. He was just acting on instinct.

She started to pull away from the exquisite torture, then hesitated. Wasn't this what she wanted? Sex—impersonal, temporary? No! Not like this. It was too degrading. If she were going to surrender her innocence, the
lucky
recipient was going to know what he was being given, and by whom. She placed her hand on his bare shoulder and squeezed. “Lucky.”

His only response was to stroke her more aggressively. What he was doing felt so good, she could barely think. She bit down on her lower lip to keep from moaning. Her hips strained toward his touch of their own accord.

Something velvety, hot, hard, and slightly wet connected with the inside of her thigh. She was momentarily distracted. Wide-eyed, she lowered her gaze. The muted light of the fire revealed a most provocative sight. His deep-bronzed hand was buried in the pale curls that hid her womanhood; his erect manhood brushed against her inner thigh with each instinctive movement of his hips.

She shook his shoulder harder. “Lucky, please wake up,” she rasped.

Instinctively, he dropped a kiss to her lips. When she responded, he deepened the kiss and continued his bold stroking.

She reached out and touched him as he was touching her. He jerked his hips and came fully awake in an instant. His eyes wide, glazed with desire, found hers. He made to pull away. “Sugar, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—”

She cut off his throaty denial by pulling his head down to hers for a long, satisfying kiss. Voracious, she sucked his tongue between her parted lips and drew on his lower lip, running her teeth lightly along its surface.

He hesitated for a moment, then groaned surrender. Capturing her head in his hands, he tilted it and fit his mouth over hers. As if he were starving, he put every pent-up desire he had experienced since meeting her in that one kiss.

Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice cautioned him to halt. But she tasted so good, felt so good. Where the admonition had once been a roar, it was now little more than a whisper, easily ignored, drowned out by desire's velvet thunder booming in his ears.