Velvet Thunder (19 page)

Crushing her to him, he devoured her with his kisses.

The world beyond the circle of their arms ceased to exist. Passion, hot and pulsing, melded them together, heart to heart, soul to soul. They were both beyond rational thought, acting purely on instinct.

His searching fingers found one firm globe. Its dusky tip crested at his caress. He drew the pebbled tip into his mouth. As a babe at her breast, he suckled. All the while, his hands roamed intimately, expertly, from shoulder to ankle, stoking the fires of her desire.

An inferno, she writhed against him, moving sinuously, white-hot flames licking at his heated flesh. Tremors of arousal shook them both.

Shallow, rapid breaths escaped her lips, merging with his ragged moans. His conscience was burned away in the flame of her passionate response. Her desire for him overrode rational thought, maidenly modesty, and any semblance of control. All that mattered was that they become one.

Of their own accord, her thighs separated and circled his waist. She kissed his manhood with the core of her being. Lifting her hips, she ground against him. He uttered something that sounded quite primitive when she reached between their bodies and positioned his throbbing member at the portal of her femininity.

She whispered encouragement, first in English, then Comanche. “Now,” she breathed. “Please.”

Wrapping her slight body in his steellike embrace, he thrust into her, splitting the barrier that proclaimed her pure, capturing her brief cry of discomfort in his mouth. When he halted to ease her pain, she bucked against him. He plunged into her then, over and over, almost violently. Their mating was as wild, as out of control as the storm raging in the heavens. He cushioned her bottom in his hands and rode her as he would a bucking bronc. Rising and falling, she met him thrust for thrust.

It was over too soon. In a shattering crescendo Stevie reached her peak. Heath plunged over the edge a heartbeat later. With one last violent blast, the passionate storm consumed them.

Panting, she shifted slightly. He hardened inside her again. The seductive look in his sapphire gaze quickened the muscles in her belly and thighs, like a match striking stone, desire flared between her legs, flamed bright, burned hot.

When he slid from her honeyed warmth, she moaned her disappointment. His smile was masculine, hot. “This time I intend to take my time, sweetheart. And love every inch of you.”

Slowly, patiently, he paid homage to her body, worshipping her with his hands and mouth. She was writhing beneath his maddening ministrations when his lips trailed over her stomach, lower. “Open wider, angel,” he whispered against her silken curls, gently pushing her thighs farther apart.

“Lucky,” she gasped, burying her hands in his hair.

His sexy chuckle vibrated against her core. “I'm more than lucky, sugar,” he murmured, loving her with his tongue as he had with his immense maleness.

Had she not been overcome with desire, she would have been shocked at his action. This was an aspect of lovemaking she knew nothing about. But her attention was riveted solely to the part of her that was throbbing uncontrollably, to the sensitive nub that he was adoring with his mouth.

When she was certain she could take no more, he rejoined their bodies. He made love to her again, long and hard, guiding her on a sensual journey, where lovers go, always together, never alone.

Sated, their breathing slowed, their heart rates returned to normal. Sliding to her side, he pulled her against his body.

She still tingled from head to toe. “You're incredible,” she said honestly. “Is it always like that?”

“Never.”

Both in awe of what had passed between them, they fell into a deep sleep, safe in each other's arms.

 

 

Without their awareness the violent wind and torrential rain ceased. The clouds continued their journey across the vault of heaven until the sun's rays burst through, bringing morning to their mountain abode. A rainbow appeared in the sky, like a beautiful awning. Heady scents of freshly bathed grass and trees wafted across the valley on a light breeze. Peace reigned.

Stevie came awake slowly. Sliding out of Heath's embrace, she wrapped a blanket around her nude body and moved to the entrance of their hideaway.

For the first time in her life she felt whole. She leaned her head against the rock wall and silently thanked her white father's Christian God and her Comanche mother's Great Spirit for the serenity Lucky's loving had brought to her heart. He had touched her in a way that she would never be touched again. Now she knew what it was to be a woman. And she owed the wondrous discovery to a man she knew simply as Lucky Diamond.

He had awakened her and taken her on that sensual journey once again during the night, the last time more precious, more tender, than the ones before. Wrapped in each other's arms, they had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

“Come back to bed,” a deep, sexy rumble caressed her ears.

She turned and found him smiling at her from their love nest. His ebony hair was tousled, a hint of a shadow on his strong jaw. Just the sight of him caused her knees to go weak.

Smiling, she hurried to his side. The morning air was cool on her bare skin as she dropped the blanket to pool around her feet. He lifted the cover and she slipped in beside him. He wrapped her in his embrace.

“Mmmm, you're warm.” She snuggled against him. Hooking one leg over his hip, she slid her foot up and down the back of his thigh. The contrast of their bodies felt delicious. Where she was soft and smooth, he was firm and hair-covered. Kissing his lips lightly, she trailed her fingers down his stomach and drew provocative patterns below his waist.

“Witch.” The husky word sounded like an endearment.

When she wrapped her slender fingers around him and touched his lower lip with her tongue, he kissed her roughly and pulled her under him.

Once more he loved her with his body. But she noticed a new element to his lovemaking. More than passionate, he seemed respectful, almost restrained. She wondered at the difference. “Lucky?” was all she said after they shared a satisfying completion.

He offered her a gentle smile. “I have a confession.”

She raised a brow, inviting him to continue.

“My name isn't Lucky Diamond.”

She feigned surprise. “You don't say.”

He chuckled, touching her cheek. “I do say. Name's Heath Turner, ma'am. I'd stand and bow properly, but since I'm naked, I doubt I'd look very impressive.”

She grinned impishly and dropped her gaze below his waist. “I beg to differ.”

He almost blushed. “Thank you.”

“No, thank
you,”
she whispered.

“Me? What for?”

“For making me a woman.”

“About that, honey, we need to talk.”

She didn't like the chagrined look on his face. It told her that this was a conversation she did not want to have. “I'd say we communicate a whole lot better when we don't speak.”

He was tempted to agree, but withstood the temptation. He had taken her virginity and that carried certain responsibilities . . . to a gentleman. The sooner he informed Stevie that he intended to live up to those responsibilities, the better. But he was a bit unsure of her response. She wasn't always predictable. “Maybe I can do this better with my pants on,” he uttered to himself, rolling to his feet and shimmying into his trousers. They had grown cold and stiff during the night. Considering how much he wanted to make love to Stevie again, they were just what he needed. He looked down at the fetching sight she presented. “Aren't you going to dress?”

She stretched, the wool blankets feeling decidedly sensual against her bare skin. “No thanks. I'm fine, just like I am.”

That was an understatement. Gorgeous, sexy, devastating, were the words that came to Heath's mind. But fine?

Turning his back to her, he stoked the smoldering embers of the fire. When his heated blood cooled somewhat, he joined her on the blankets, careful to maintain a respectable distance. A taunting voice told him it was too late for that, but he squelched it . . . and the accompanying guilt.

“Honey, about last night. I didn't mean for this to happen.” He gestured vaguely at the rumpled blankets. Closing his eyes, he searched for the words to explain why he had assured her he would not take advantage of her and then proceeded to do just that. “When I got back from checking the horses, I was soaked clean through. I took off my wet clothes and wrapped up in a blanket. I planned to lie by the fire while my pants dried. Somehow, I ended up sharing your bed.” He smiled weakly. “You know the rest.”

It was apparent that Heath regretted making love to her. The most wonderful experience of her life, and he was apologizing for it. Her earlier joy evaporated, but she wouldn't let him see how much it meant to her. “We're both adults: You didn't exactly force me. There was no harm done. So let's just forget it.”

He stared at her, openmouthed. She was so damned nonchalant about the whole thing. If he didn't have firsthand knowledge that she was a virgin, he would wonder at her virtue. “No harm done? I took your innocence. And I intend to do the right thing. We'll be married as soon as we reach Adobe Wells.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

He fought to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “We're discussing your loss, Stevie. You lost your virginity to me and I feel honor bound to do the right thing.”

“So I took your virginity too?”

Clearly, he found such a thought ludicrous, if not insulting. “Of course not.”

“Well, do you marry every woman you've made love to? If so, I regret to inform you that there's a law against that sort of thing . . . having more than one wife. If there isn't, there should be.”

“I'm not really certain what you're babbling about. And you needn't lecture me about the law.” He produced his U.S. marshal's badge and brandished it in front of her face.

She jerked to a sitting position, the hem of the blanket crushed in her fists, pressed against her collarbone, hiding all the charms he had enjoyed during the night. “You're a lawman? And you let me think you were a gambler, a no-account drifter? Who I had to beg to help me deal with a crook?”

“Stevie, we're hell and gone from our original topic. Which was that I intend to do my duty by you. I ruined you, now I will marry you.”

Her jaw tensed. “You have forgotten two very important facts, Mr. Turner.”

“Pray tell, Miss Johns, enlighten me.”

His calm in face of her anger made matters worse. “One, I do not intend to marry. Not you. Not now. Not ever. Two, you did not take my innocence. I surrendered it. Now, if you will take your pompous, overbearing, ignorant self out of here, I will dress and we can be on our way.”

What was she so mad at? He was offering to do the right thing and she was throwing his chivalry back in his face. It wasn't as if he were dying to get married. He had a good many years left before he had planned to become leg shackled. Couldn't she see that he was making a monumental sacrifice . . . willingly? “I'm not ignorant! Maybe pompous and overbearing, but not ignorant. Furthermore, we're not leaving today,” he informed her, slamming his hat on his head, grabbing his shirt, socks, and boots and stomping out into the beautiful morning.

The birds chirped gaily in the trees. He turned turbulent sapphire eyes on them. “Shut up!”

Huddled deep in the blankets, Stevie withdrew into herself. Like the final note of a song, she turned off her mind; emotion reigned supreme, a myriad of emotions; regret—that she had given so freely of herself, love—for a man she couldn't have, and fear—that the loss of him would eventually destroy her.

Fear? The uncharacteristic emotion tasted like bitter ashes in her mouth. Stevie Johns, fearless hellion who needed no one to make her complete, had discovered the other half of herself in a valley nestled in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. No. Not in a valley, but in the cradle of a man's arms—the man she loved now, the man she would love until she drew her last breath on this earth, the man she would cheerfully strangle at the moment.

And he wanted to marry her. Not because he loved her, but because he had ruined her. How could he not know that a forced proposal would insult any woman's pride?

Suddenly, she threw the cover off and surged to her feet. No good would come of lying in the dark, licking her wounds. She would face this latest challenge as she had all others in her life—head—on. Dressed, she emerged from the shelter to find Heath awaiting her.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

She regarded him warily, but followed him to a log by the fire and took a seat.

“Coffee?”

“Thank you.” When she accepted the cup, their hands brushed.

Her sharp intake of breath restored a measure of his masculine pride. “I'm sorry if I came on too strong, Stevie.”

She couldn't quite meet his eyes, but she relaxed marginally. “And I apologize for losing my temper. I'm not exactly world famous for my sweet temperament.”

His soft chuckle raised the hair on her arms. “Oh I don't know. I think you're awfully sweet.”

She colored furiously. “Awful anyway.”

“Not hardly.” He slid along the log until they were hip to hip.

She trembled at his nearness. Coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup, soaking into the jeans covering his muscular thigh.

“Here. Let me take that.” He placed the cup on the ground beside his feet, cradled her cheeks in his palms, and lifted her face. She met his eyes then. Something in his heart broke free at the open, adoring, yet incredibly vulnerable look in her gaze.

The kiss he bestowed upon her opened the floodgates of passion and shut off the lifelong inhibitions their doting parents had nurtured. Lifting her high, he returned to their hideaway and loved her as if it were the first time, as if they hadn't been screeching at each other just moments before.

 

 

Over the next three days he loved her as often as his stamina would allow—beside the fire, on the shore, under the stars . . . and there was that unprecedented coupling on horseback.

Both were careful to avoid further mention of the future. By unspoken agreement, they were content to live in the present, to seize every moment of happiness they could. And by the third day they knew their time had come to an end. They were hopelessly in love . . . and helpless to confess it.

Lying in Heath's arms beneath a black velvet sky, Stevie sighed.

“What's wrong, angel?”

“I've been thinking”—she paused, reluctant to continue—“I need to get back. We should leave tomorrow.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“It's what we should do.”

He knew she was right. U.S. Marshal Heath Turner had never shirked his job before, not until he met the fiery, beautiful temptress snuggled against his heart. He loved spending time with her; more precisely, he loved her.

Still, the guilt of cavorting in paradise with a seductive sprite when he should be on assignment had begun to wear on him.

“Okay,” he sighed. “But we still have tonight.”

 

 

Dawn was a precious gift from God to the lovers lying snug in each other's arms. It loomed out of the darkness, grew more definite, then engulfed the slumbering world, capturing them in its panoramic embrace.

The morning sun shone bright overhead; rivers of gold streamed from the sky, gilding their naked bodies. A breathy sigh wafting through the valley swept them with a cool caress while the stream at their side bubbled musically down the mountain, serenading them in its wake.

But they were wholly unaware of the glorious spectacle. They were lost in a world of their own. Today was the day that they would leave their idyllic hideaway and face the future.

Together or alone, they didn't know.

As he told her, Heath had not meant to take her innocence, nor to fall in love with her. But now that he had, he would never let her go. Without a word he pressed his body flush with hers from shoulder to ankle. She shivered, reflecting his need, causing the breath to lodge in his throat.

Slipping into her body as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he looked down into her face and was struck anew by her incomparable beauty, beauty not limited to physical perfection, but beauty of the soul. Beauty, the depth of which, could be seen only by the man who had grown to love her deeply.

When had it happened, this all-consuming love? He didn't know. Stevie just sneaked up on his blind side, burrowed under his skin, then became an obsession. And he would never let her go, he vowed silently with every thrust of his body. This was the beginning for them. The beginning of a lifetime of love and happiness, together, forever.

Their passion blossomed to previously unimaginable heights. They moved as one, rising and falling, locked in an embrace that spoke of tenderness and desire in equal measure.

His pale hips ground against her bronze flesh. The contrasting color was ironic, perhaps even symbolic. She was Indian; he was white. Their people were at war while they were linked together body and soul.

Heath knew it would require courage to flaunt convention, strength to reach out and grasp what they both so desperately wanted. They would encounter opposition from society in general, and from individuals in particular, chiefly his mother.

But it wouldn't matter, he affirmed silently, kissing her feverishly. Turner men did not sound retreat once they entered battle. The general, Chap, and Rad would be disappointed in him if he turned his back on the woman he loved, simply for the accident of her birth.

But would she turn her back on him? He knew fear in the depth of his soul. Raw, stark fear that he might lose this woman he held close to his heart.

Inordinately disturbed by the thought, he engulfed her slender body completely and increased his efforts. He rained heated kisses on her dusky cheeks. It was then that he felt the tears coursing down her cheeks. Dear God, had his vigorous lovemaking hurt her?

He stared down into her eyes. The pain of loss, the resignation of defeat were evident in their watery depths. His heart lurched in his chest. Though they were still joined, neither of them moved. “Honey . . .” he began hoarsely.

Stifling a sob, she held him to her and shook her head. “Please, don't say anything.” Stevie was not hurting physically but emotionally. When they rode out of the valley today, their love affair must end. And the prospect was breaking her heart.

But there was something she needed to express, a poignant feeling of gratitude. She twisted her head away and caressed his cheek in an attempt to cool his ardor . . . momentarily. More than his kiss, she needed to thank him for the past few days, for what he had taught her about love and life, for all that he had given her . . . for making her a woman. “The past few days have been the most wonderful time in my life. I'll never forget it. You made me a woman. Taught me what it was like to be loved by a man.”

He looked at her with such love that her breath caught in her throat. Regaining a measure of her composure, she said as one wise beyond her years, “To be loved, not by a white man nor an Indian.” She smiled wistfully. “Just a man. I can never thank you enough for that.”

Eyes suspiciously bright, he blessed her with a sexy smile. “Truly, sweetheart, it was my pleasure.”

She chuckled on cue. Their gazes met and held, stygian black, sapphire blue, each trying desperately to read what was in the other's heart.

Finally, Stevie's smile faded. Her voice barely broke a whisper. “But I don't want or expect anything else from you.”

Unable to bear the hurt in his gaze, she stared unseeing at the scene around them. Finally, the beauty of nature faded into focus.

“Look around us, Heath. This isn't reality. It's . . . it's paradise,” she breathed against his throat. “A place where race and society don't matter. Where everyone is equal and nobody has to apologize for the circumstances of their birth.” Her arms tightened around his waist again. She was silent for a moment as he rocked against her. “Oh, God, it was wonderful, wasn't it?” Her voice broke as she met his gaze once more.

“It doesn't have to end, sugar.”

“Yes, it does.” There was the ring of finality to her agonized whisper. “But let's not talk anymore. Just make love to me. One last time.”

Heath pushed down a surge of panic. One last time? Hardly. He would love her now as she requested, but that wouldn't be the end.

Taking note of her poignant resignation—and the hot, moist pressure below his waist—convinced him that this was not the appropriate time to discuss the future. Later, he would convince her that they would spend the rest of their lives together, that he would allow nothing and no one to tear them apart, not even her.

His hand trembled slightly as he tucked a stray curl behind her
ear. The simple act, so sweet, so gentle, warmed her heart.
He recognized the affection brimming in the ebony depths of her eyes. “I love you, Stevie Johns,” he confessed, then kissed her with all the love in his heart.

She returned his kiss as if she were saying good-bye forever. “And I love you, Heath Turner,” she surprised them both. “But that doesn't change who we are. And what must be . . .”

“Shhh. Just let me love you.”

And he did.

 

 

Much later, they dressed, broke camp, and left their mountain hideaway in silence. The heady emotion they experienced as they topped the brow of the ridge made speech impossible. There were some things better felt than told, better shown than confessed.

When they halted side by side, the emerald valley a majestic picture in the distance, Heath pulled her over onto his lap. He cradled her in his arms. She snuggled deeper into his embrace. He tightened his hold as if he would never let her go. Still, they couldn't get close enough. It was as if they wanted to fuse themselves together.

The kiss he bestowed upon her then shook them emotionally and physically. His lips and tongue made love to her mouth over and over. Sipping, tasting, savoring, devouring, he kissed her until they were both trembling and breathless. It was the giving and taking of a vow.

Unwilling to commit, Stevie broke away abruptly. When she lifted her eyes, she noted with wonder his unabashed look of affection. It moved her even more than his passionate kiss. A soft whimper escaped her kiss-swollen lips as she threw her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers.

His hands had a mind of their own. As if he were sightless, he sought to memorize her with his touch. From shoulder to knee he caressed her, paying homage to the flesh that caused his body to swell and ache.

Groaning, she squirmed on his lap, her bottom branded by the hot hardness upon which she sat.

His breathing grew shallow, fast, labored. “Whoa, sweetheart,” he gasped. “We can't go on like this. I won't be able to stop.”

“Guess you better put me back on my horse, then.”

His body protested. But with thoughts of making camp early pacifying him, he kissed her one last time then shifted her over to her saddle. “Just don't be wiggling around in my lap like that anymore, young lady. Otherwise, you know what you'll get.”

She blushed at his rakish wink. “I'll try to remember that.” As if she could think of anything else.