He pressed his mouth to her ear, anxious to get closer. "Are you going to invite me to your room?"
She nodded, then turned to kiss him.
James went hard. Instantly hard.
She sighed, and he imagined licking her like a lemon drop and watching her melt against his tongue. She tasted like desire, his and hers, swirling in warm, wet—
Cursing his stupidity, he stepped back. He didn't have any condoms.
"I goofed," he said.
"What?"
"I have to get protection." He motioned to the convenience store across the street.
Her voice turned shy. "I think I'd prefer to wait in my room."
"I'll walk you." Her room was located at the top of the second set of stairs. They leaned against the door and kissed, almost too aroused to separate.
She bumped his fly, and he had the notion to forget the damn condoms, to take a chance, to have unprotected sex.
But he knew better. He'd already fathered a child he couldn't keep, a beautiful little boy he missed with all his heart. He wasn't about to make a baby with a stranger, to leave her swollen with his seed.
He smoothed a strand of hair from her cheek. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"I'll be waiting." She gave him a sweet smile and unlocked her door, using the key card.
He watched her disappear, then turned to leave, thinking this was a hell of a way for Reed Blackwood to start over, to begin his life in the guise of James Matthew Dalton.
* * *
Chapter 2
«^»
Emily waited in her room, trying not to pace. Suddenly she was nervous, scared out of her inexperienced wits.
Should she tell him?
Tell him what? That she was scheduled for surgery in two weeks?
She sat on the edge of the bed and wrung her hands together. The melanoma would send him packing, that much she was sure. What hot-blooded American male would want to discuss skin cancer before sex?
Surely he wouldn't notice the mark on the back of her leg, the site where a mole had been removed, Of course not. Why would he notice a small, seemingly insignificant scar? It wouldn't matter to him.
Okay, fine. Then what about her virginity? Should she broach that subject? Should she admit that she'd never been with anyone before?
Emily had talked to her girlfriends about their first times. They'd sipped sodas, munched on potato chips and discussed indecent details, the way women often did. But at the moment, that didn't help.
She had expected her first lover to be her only lover, the man she married, the man who would father her children. But waiting for Mr. Right seemed foolish now.
The cancer had changed her perspective. Life was too unpredictable to plan, and James Dalton was too handsome, too stirring, too erotic to ignore.
Desperate to relax, she removed her boots, peeled off her socks and looked around.
The motel room was spotless, aside from the makeup bag she'd left on the vanity and a blue T-shirt peeking out of a toppled gray suitcase.
Would James stay the night? Would he shower in her tub? Would he—
A knock sounded, and Emily nearly flew off the bed. With a deep, shaky breath, she stood, smoothed her blouse and answered the summons.
James offered a smile, an expression that gentled his rawboned features and softened the dark, hollow haunting in his eyes.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi." She stepped back and allowed him entrance into the room, her heart beating with a girlish flutter.
She locked the door, and he held up the brown paper bag in his hand. "I got 'em."
Yes, of course, she thought. The protection. He was responsible enough to practice sex safe and experienced enough to sight the topic ahead of time. But the fact that he didn't keep condoms in his wallet set her mind at ease.
Apparently James didn't make a habit of one-nighters, of picking up women in bars.
"You still have your clothes on," he said, his smile tilting one corner of his mouth.
Her pulse leaped like a lizard. "You expected me to be naked?"
He tossed the condoms on the nightstand. "A guy can hope."
"I took off my boots," she said, almost wincing at her own naiveté, her inability to say something provocative.
He glanced at her feet. "Then you're one step ahead of me." Without hesitation, he sat on the edge of the bed, yanked off his battered boots and placed his socks inside them. "Now we're even."
"You're wearing a jacket," she pointed out.
He shrugged out of the denim and tossed it aside. "Not anymore."
Emily hadn't expected him to initiate a game, to bait her into a striptease.
Nervous, she remained near the dresser, the unit that doubled as an entertainment center.
He pushed his hair off his forehead, where the thick, dark strands routinely fell. "Your turn, pretty lady."
She didn't feel pretty, not with the lights blaring, not with him watching every move she made. Would he think her breasts were too small? Her tummy too soft? "You go next."
"That's cheating."
She moved a little closer, determined to relax, to let this happen on her terms. "My room. My rules."
"You got me there." He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing his chest and the silver ring that pierced his left nipple.
Stunned, she stared at the shimmering ornament and noticed a black stone in the center.
"I did it a long time ago," he said.
"You pierced it yourself?"
"It was sort of a spiritual thing."
To Emily, it looked more sexual than spiritual, but she wasn't about to say that. "Is it sensitive?"
He glanced up and grinned. "Want to come closer and find out?"
Yes, she thought. She did. She couldn't believe how alluring he was. Or how incredibly dangerous he looked, half-naked on her bed, teasing her with a flirtatious smile.
He held out his hand, beckoning her. She stepped forward, and he pulled her onto the bed, kissing her hard and fast, pushing his tongue into her mouth.
Suddenly his hands were everywhere. She'd meant to turn out the bedside lamp, to ease into his arms, but he was too anxious, too hungry, too strong and muscular.
"Tell me what you like," he whispered, licking the shell of her ear, opening the top of her blouse. "Tell me what you want me to do."
Heaven help her, but she didn't know. She didn't—
"I'll do anything, Emily. Anything you want."
She had to warn him to slow down, to give her a chance to catch up. She couldn't give him directions, say the naughty things he expected to hear.
Scraping her nail across his chest, she paused at his left nipple, almost touching the captivating ring.
"I'm new at this," she said.
He lifted his head. She was pinned beneath him, the weight of his body pressing her onto the bed.
"New at what?"
"Sex. Making love. This is my first time."
His features went still, much too still. Then the scar across his eyebrow twitched. Emily held her breath. Her fingers brushed the piercing, grazing the magic stone in the center.
He pulled back, disconnecting her hand from his skin.
"We don't have to stop, James." She glanced at his zipper, saw that he was still aroused. "Do we?"
He frowned at her. Was he angry? Confused?
"How old are you?" he asked.
She bit her lip. She could still taste him, the hard, desperate tongue thrusts he'd given her. "Twenty-two."
He gazed directly into her eyes, but his were troubled again, as haunted as a ghost-ridden night. "Why me? And why now?"
She didn't know what to say, how to explain her decision, not without mentioning the cancer. And she wasn't about to bring that up, to evoke pity, or God help her, revulsion from the man she wanted to make love with.
"I'm tired of waiting," she said.
"So you pick up some guy in a bar? That makes a hell of a lot of sen
se."
She wanted to argue, to fight for her right to be free, to feel whole, to lose her virginity to a tall, dark stranger. "Have you looked in the mirror lately, James? Do you have any idea how handsome you are?"
"And for that you're willing to sleep with me?" He closed his eyes, made a disbelieving face. "That's insane."
"It's only sex."
He opened his eyes. "But it shouldn't be. Not your first time. You need to keep waiting, Emily. To find the right guy."
Humiliated, she clasped the front of her blouse. He was turning her down. Her fantasy lover was walking away.
He skimmed her cheek, gently, almost too gently for her to endure. She wanted to ask him to stay, to hold her, but she didn't have the courage to bare her soul, to admit that she still needed him.
He dropped his hand. "I can't do this."
She lifted her chin, protecting her pride. "It doesn't matter."
"I have to go." He pulled his shirt over his head and reached for his boots. "If I don't leave now, I'll…" The words drifted, fading into nothingness.
Emily remained where she was, watching him. Finally, he stood, looking like the troubled warrior he was, his T-shirt catching on the top of his belt buckle.
He grabbed his jacket, and in the next instant he was gone, closing the door and leaving her alone.
Much too alone.
*
At 6:00 a.m. James gazed at his reflection in the mirror. When he'd agreed to enter WITSEC, he'd assumed the government would alter his features, but plastic surgery hadn't been part of the deal. His face was the same as it had always been, including the scar that cut across his eyebrow, the mark he'd acquired the first time he'd gone to prison.
Emily liked the way he looked. She'd been willing to sleep with him, to give up her virginity, because she thought he was handsome.
Disturbed by her reasoning, James studied his features. Would Emily still find him attractive if she knew he was an ex-con? An accessory to murder?
Spewing a vile curse, he turned away from the mirror. Why did she have to remind him of Beverly? He had been Beverly's first lover, the man she'd given it up for, but the circumstances were different.
Beverly Halloway had been in love with him. Emily, the lady with no last name, didn't know him from Adam.
Struggling to clear his mind, he made one last check of the room, grabbed his meager belongings and headed out the door, where the sun had already risen.
He squinted into the daylight and saw Zack Ryder, the field inspector assigned to his case, leaning against his car. James didn't have a vehicle, but WITSEC had provided him with enough money to purchase a used pickup once he got settled.
Ryder drew on a dwindling cigarette and blew a stream of smoke into the air. "'Morning."
James merely nodded. Ryder was a mixed-blood, part Indian like himself, tall and strongly built, but that was where the similarity ended. The inspector looked about forty, with graying temples and a sardonic sense of humor.
He belonged to an elite unit of the U.S. Marshal Service and was trained to protect more than witnesses. Foreign dignitaries and government officials had probably crossed his path, as well.
James, on the other hand, was only twenty-six and had spent most of his youth learning to be a criminal. Boasting a genius IQ, he was a self-taught electronics expert, capable of deactivating the most sophisticated security systems ever designed. In his spare time, he used to build counter surveillance equipment. Skills, naturally, the mob had admired. It hadn't taken him long to become a "made" man, a soldier in the Los Angeles-based West Coast Family.
Ryder motioned to the restaurant affiliated with the motel. "Ready for some chow?"
James adjusted the bag over his shoulder. "That's the last place I want to eat."
"Why? Does it have roaches I don't know about?"
"I just want to get on the road." And avoid running into Emily. What if she decided to have breakfast here? He glanced down the row of cars and spotted the compact he suspected was hers.
"How about McDonald's?" Ryder asked.
"As long as we're driving through." James didn't want to linger in Lewiston. He wanted to forget this town, forget that he'd met Emily here. He'd tossed and turned half the night, thinking about her, wondering who she was, where she lived.
He wasn't supposed to care, but he was worried about the next guy she met in a bar, worried the bastard would be all too willing to take what she offered.
Ryder unlocked his sedan, got behind the wheel and snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray. When he opened the trunk, James stowed his bag and climbed into the car.
While they drank coffee and ate Egg McMuffins, James leaned back in his seat. WITSEC had decided to relocate him to Silver Wolf, a small town in North Central Idaho, positioned about an hour and a half from Lewiston.
Ryder drove with one hand, his sandwich in the other. "You might want to check out Tandy Stables."
"What for?"
"A job. The old lady who runs the place is looking for an assistant. The position comes with room and board, a mobile home on her property."
"How do you know?"
The inspector inclined his head. "I made it my business to know. Did you think I'd dump you in a small town with no job prospects? Besides, I heard you're good with horses."
James shrugged. He'd grown up in the Texas Hill Country, riding and roping and playing cowboy. Or outlaw, he supposed. "I've spent as much time in the country as the city."
"Then getting back to basics will do you some good. Speaking of which—" Ryder slanted him a wary-eyed glance "—you look like hell, Dalton."
"I didn't get much sleep."
"Why not? Too busy jumping some pretty blonde in the bar?"
Son of a bitch. The deputy marshal knew exactly what had gone down. "I didn't break any rules."
"Yeah, well, the first time you do, I'll come gunning for your ass. We'll kick you out of this program faster than you picked up on that blonde."
"Leave her out of this." The last thing James wanted was to talk about Emily, to admit that she'd gotten under his skin.
The inspector shoved his sandwich wrapper into the empty food bag. "Just don't screw up." He flashed a peace-treaty smile, letting James know he was more friend than foe. "You'll make me look bad."
"I don't plan on screwing up." But ex-cons never did, he supposed. He couldn't blame Ryder for being skeptical. But, then, the inspector didn't know the whole story. No one, not even WITSEC or the FBI knew that James had fathered a child, a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy he'd asked another man to claim. In his heart, James was different. Being a parent, even a secret one, had changed him.
Ninety minutes later Ryder turned off the highway and onto a small country road. "This is it."
James looked out the window, noting the tall timbers and quaint wooden buildings. WITSEC had showed him videos of Silver Wolf, familiarizing him with the area. They'd debated sending him to a Cherokee community, but were concerned the mob would expect him to seek sanctuary among his tribe. So they'd picked a place near the Nez Perce reservation, an Indian Nation he wasn't connected to.
The inspector parked in front of the Silver Wolf Lodge. James gazed at the shrub-shrouded motel, knowing this was his temporary home. Once he landed a job, possibly the position Ryder mentioned, he would acquire a permanent place to live.
From there, WITSEC would expect him to establish roots, to blend in. Unless, of course, his security was breached and he had to be relocated again.
*
Three days had passed since that night in Lewiston, since Emily had lost her fantasy lover. Enough time to forget, to move on, yet she couldn't seem to get her harried life in order.
Dashing into the back room of Dolly's All-Night Diner, she punched her time card.
"I'm sorry I'm late," she said to the graveyard-shift waitress waiting to leave. "I had a meeting at Corey's school and it ran longer than I expected."
"That's all right. We've all got kids," came
the gracious reply.
Emily sighed. She didn't have kids. She had a younger brother, a child she did her best to mother, in spite of his knack for diving headfirst into exhausting doses of mischief.
She greeted the cook and took her place on the floor, scanning the diner. The place was relatively quiet, leaving her little to do.
Of course, the locals were here, as regular as clockwork. Lorna, the beautician across the street, paid the cashier for her typical take-out order, and Harvey Osborn, a retired postal worker, occupied his usual stool.
Across from Harvey, at an end booth, she spotted the back of someone's head, a man in a black cowboy hat. A newspaper was spread in front of him, taking up most of the table.
Emily turned the revolving wheel at the cook's counter, checking out the orders she'd inherited, including Harvey's cherry Danish and never-ending boost of coffee.
When she refilled his cup, he looked up and smiled. He was a bony little man, with narrow shoulders and baggy trousers. He wore striped suspenders every day, but she suspected he needed them to hold up his pants.
"How are you, missy?" he asked.
"Fine." Harvey, of course, knew about her cancer. He made a point of knowing everyone's business, of gossiping like a blue-haired matron.
Keeping his voice low, he cocked his head toward the man in the black hat. "I'll bet he's Lily Mae's new assistant."
"You think so?" Harvey loved to talk about Lily Mae Prescott, the scatterbrained proprietor of Tandy Stables.
He nudged her ann. "Why don't you go find out?"
"I suppose I should say hello. Let him know his order is almost ready." She turned, coffeepot in hand, and approached the black hat.
The man shifted, rattled the paper and looked up.
Emily nearly dropped the glass carafe. "James?"
There he was, as rough and rugged as the timeworn Stetson shielding his eyes, as dark and forbidden as her dreams, as the ache of not making love with him.
She feared she might faint.
"Emily?" Equally stunned, he stared at her.
She moved forward, battling for composure, pretending to do her job. "Do you want more coffee?"
"No. Yes. I guess so."
He made no sense, but she understood his confusion. They'd never expected to see each other again.
CHEROKEE STRANGER Page 2
