Apache Summer sb-3

by Heather Graham

  to sell a blond woman to him had to be somewhat of an outcast in his own

  society. But he had not imagined the things Jamie told him. Jamie

  explained that yon Heusen had made war on Tess and had tried to make the

  people around him believe it was the Comanche or the Apache who had car-

  tied out the raids.

  That had infuriated Nalte, and it had almost given him Tess.

  Almost. Nalte wasn't quite ready to let go.

  Jamie clenched his teeth and his fists as he hurried past the circle of

  tepees and into the night. He wanted to reach the stream, to bathe his

  face in its coldness.

  Yet even when he reached the stream, the water could do nothing to

  soothe him. He could not forget Tess's eyes-huge, violet and luminous

  upon his.

  She had been so straight and rigid, and yet she had seemed so very small

  and vulnerable when she had talked to him in the tent. She had explained

  the past few days with a simple dignity, and he had been so relieved to

  discover that she had received a minimum of abuse that his knees had

  gone weak. He had wanted to wrap her in his arms and promise her

  everything would be all right, that no one would ever hurt her again.

  But he hadn't been able to do that. He couldn't make any promises. He

  didn't even dare touch her lest the emotion or the passion tear him

  apart and lead to Nalte's fury. But he had never hungered more deeply

  inside for her.

  She was always fighting; she was always strong. She had endured so much

  that she could be no less than strong. And yet now she had that air of

  vulnerability about her. She did need him. And he wanted to be all

  things to her.

  He splashed more water on his face, and his temper cooled. He owed Jon

  so much--and not his anger. Yet he had been angry, seeing her trustingly

  in his friend's arms, seeing the tears in her eyes, the emotion within

  them. He wanted her. He wanted her in his arms.

  He closed his eyes, and saw again the picture of the young woman with

  the luminous violet eyes and the soft storm of golden-red hair falling

  over her shoulders and down her back. So quiet and still, and somehow

  achingly soft in the bleached white buckskins. There'd been a strange

  serenity about her, a serenity she could not possibly be feeling. He'd

  felt impotent to be just standing there talking to her. He was her gun,

  her hired gun. He'd said that he'd protect her, but he hadn't been able

  to. Others had descended upon her, and she had endured fear and

  suffering at their hands. He'd been praying for a miracle. Praying that

  she hadn't been so abused that he'd never manage to live with himself

  again.

  He'd never felt good about killing a man. Never. Not during the war, not

  after. But he'd wanted to kill yon Heusen's men when they had taken her.

  He'd wanted to do more than kill them--he'd wanted to tear them limb

  from limb and watch them die in horrible agony. Chavez had taken that

  away from him. For the good of his soul, maybe it was just as well. It

  was hard for a man to live with that kind of hate. He knew. He'd watched

  it fester in his brother Cole, and it had nearly cost him his wife,

  Kristin. Then there had been Chavez.

  He'd never seen Chavez, except from the mountaintop. And watching the

  Comanchere shoot the men in cold blood had kept him from feeling the

  least remorse when Chavez had fallen beneath his blade. The fight

  between them had been cold, both men knowing that it was life or death.

  Jamie had been a little quicker, and Jon had managed to come around with

  the horses before the Comancheros knew that their leader had been

  visited, much less killed. The bound woman on the bed had never moved,

  and she hadn't seen anything. They were done with the Comancheros--for

  good, he hoped.

  He smiled suddenly. He would have to ask Tess how the woman had come to

  be bound and tied on that bed. It would surely be an interesting story.

  But when they had fled the Comancheros camp, Tess had been nowhere to be

  seen. They had tracked the trails up and down all night, calling softly

  to her. He hadn't been willing to admit that they had helped her elude

  the Comancheros only to send her into the arms of the Apache. But Jon

  knew the territory, and he knew something of Nalte. And in the end they

  had decided that the only way they could deal with the chief was to lay

  their cards on the table. Jamie was going to have to count on his

  reputation with the Indians. Jori would change into his buckskin attire

  to approach Nalte first, then Jamie would ride in. It had been risky for

  them both. The Apache were a warlike people, and Nalte was known to hate

  the white man. But he had a reputation, too--one for upholding his own

  sense of honor and hospitality.

  Besides, it was obvious from the out skim of the village that some big

  ceremony was going on, and a chief like Nalte didn't usually like blood

  on his hands during such an occasion.

  And so they were here, and still waiting. Darkness was falling upon the

  water. The moon glittered gently upon it, and the easy melody of the

  running water was gentle.

  It was a beautiful sight, this valley within the beginning of the fierce

  mountain ranges.

  A beautiful place to die, Jamie thought.

  Nalte had promised his decision about Tess as soon as the festivities

  for his sister had ended. Jon seemed to believe that the Apache chief

  had already determined he would return Tess, at some cost, of course,

  but he would return her.

  But what if he did not?

  Jamie knew he would never leave without her.

  If Nalte decided against him, he would have to fight the chief. And if

  he won, the Apache would probably slay him in vengeance anyway. He might

  well die in this beautiful place, then there would be nothing more that

  he could do for Tess.

  I'm sorry! he thought. i never should have become so involved. Falling

  in love with a beautiful angel has surely been the downfall of many a

  man. I couldn't let you go that morning. I had to make you see that the

  thing between us was right and that you couldn't turn away from it by

  the morning's light.

  He hadn't had the edge he had needed, the edge that had kept him alive

  through so much.

  So now they were here, and their fate rested on the decision of an

  Apache chief.

  He liked Nalte. He had a keen intelligence, was well- versed in his own

  language and in English, well-aware of the world around him. And

  fighting to maintain the inheritance of a people despite an encroaching

  world. He was not so bad a man, Jamie thought. Rather he die and leave

  Tess to Nalte, than leave her to trash like David or Chavez. Nalte would

  never hurt her.

  He clenched his fists and swore to the night sky. Then his thoughts

  raced as he sank on h~s haunches to stare at the rippling, moon-kissed

  water once again. I will not die here! Come heaven or hell, I will

  fight, and with every edge, and I will bring her home with me!

  "Jamie!"

  He thought he imagined the voice.

  But then, as he stared i
nto the water, her reflection was caught by the

  glow of the moon almost magically on the surface before him.

  "Jamie ..."

  She was there. She was wearing the white buckskin dress he had seen

  before.

  Her hair was flowing, rich and waving, paler than usual in the water's

  reflection. Nor could the water catch the color of her eyes, that violet

  that was so extraordinary and so compelling, so quick to flash with

  anger, so deep when touched by her emotions. Nothing could catch that.

  No words, no mirrored image.

  But the water did catch the softness he had glimpsed before, and he knew

  then why he had been falling in love with her so swiftly and so

  completely. She had great strength, she would never tire, and she would

  never cease to fight, for herself, for others, for the glory of all the

  great muses that caught her heart. She could not bear injustice, and she

  would never falter to overcome it.

  But never could she be less than a woman, beautiful, giving, enwrap ping

  all with the passion of her soul, and of her life. Once he had wanted

  only her smile to touch him. Once he had been enamored of the silk of

  her flesh, and the sweeping curves and slim angles of her form. Once.

  But now he knew what it meant to love. It was desire, but more than

  desire. It was needing the smile as much as the passion. It was wanting

  to lie down by the still waters as much as to weather the tempestuous

  storm. It was wanting to share a lifetime together.

  "Jamie ..."

  Once again, she whispered his name. He turned slowly, and saw that she

  did stand just behind him--no image, no dream, so much more than a

  reflection.

  In her bare feet with her bare calves, her dress falling just above her

  knees, she seemed exceptionally innocent.

  The color of her eyes was true, deep as the night, dark as the desire

  that suddenly swept over him. He wanted her in his arms--but he dared

  not touch her. Not until Nalte made his decision.

  He swallowed hard and came to his feet. He stared at her and hoped that

  his scowl was menacing. Yet he didn't even know if it remained upon his

  face, for he couldn't deny the moonlight or the strange, mystical

  sensation that seemed to touch her. She seemed to be of the

  supernatural, too beautiful to touch, an angel, a spirit, the spirit of

  life that pervaded the mountain.

  "What are you doing out here?" he demanded harshly. She smiled, a slow

  cu~rl of her lips that touched her eyes to deep, shimmering radiance.

  She took a step toward him, shook her head slightly.

  And reached for him.

  Her arms came around him, giving, soft. She pressed against him. She was

  naked beneath the buckskin, and her breasts were full and flush against

  him, the hardened peaks seeming to rake his flesh despite the layers of

  clothes between them. Sparks tore into him, igniting great fires,

  ripping through his limbs, thundering down to his groin.

  And then she kissed him. Her teeth grazed his lips, and the tip of her

  tongue encircled his lips, touched the roof of his mouth, swept into his

  mouth. There was a pounding so fierce he could not deny it.

  He touched her. Touched her almost violently, his arms sweeping around

  her, his lips seizing hard upon hers, his tongue returning each sweet

  torment she had cast upon him. He swept her from her feet and carried

  her to the soft embankment. He pressed her to the earth, his mouth still

  covering hers. He felt the soaring temptation of her nails raking

  lightly against his back, drawing new, shimmering sensations of deadly

  heat within him.

  This was madness.

  He drew his lips back from hers, and her eyes met his. Violet,

  beguiling, with a touch of fire, a touch of innocence.

  Sweetly wicked, she smiled again; she touched his cheek. Her lashes fell

  demurely, sultry, sensual against the pale marble beauty of her cheek.

  She had come to seduce him.

  He groaned aloud.

  It was madness.

  Nalte might well kill them both if he came upon him. But the fire had

  spread throughout his limbs. Tension and desire pervaded his heart and

  his mind and knotted fiercely at his loin, driving him to madness. How

  could she smile so hauntingly, knowing that she invited him to doom. He

  swore softly, and he touched her lower lip in the moon glow, meeting the

  wild violet beauty of her eyes. "Lead me to death then, if you would,

  Miss. Stuart. I cannot leave you now."

  And he seized her lips once again with his own. The rich, verdant scent

  of the earth and stream surrounded them, and he was lost.

  Chapter Twelve.

  l_9ie? Tess whispered against his lips. Desperate to be near him that

  night, she had hardly believed the good fortune that had let her come to

  him, and now, in the magical splendor of the night, he was talking of

  dying in her arms.

  He was so tense above her. His eyes raked over her with a hard edge, and

  his voice was harsh, but still she felt the depth of his longing. It was

  luxurious to be so coveted and so desired. And yet she wondered at his

  words, her eyes widening to his.

  "Nalte," Jamie said, leaning high above her.

  "He would kill me in seconds if he found me with you. Is that your plan?

  To seduce me to my doom?"

  She didn't reply right away. She smiled wickedly and smoothed his hair

  back from his face." Would you really die for me?" she whispered softly.

  He caught her hand where she touched him and drew her wrists together

  high over her head, staring down at her. She didn't know if he loved her

  or despised her in those seconds, but she did know that he wanted her.

  Tension con stricter the length of his body, and muscles convulsed at

  his throat and within the tautness of his features.

  "Is that what you want?" he demanded.

  He wasn't smiling. She knew that she had probably tested him beyond

  endurance, so she whispered softly to him in the night.

  "No, I do not want you to die for me. Nalte knows that I am here."

  "What?"

  "He came to me and told me that I could go to you, that he had made his

  decision. We are to stay here until the ceremonies are complete for his

  sister, then the Apache will see that we are given an escort out of the

  mountains."

  "Nalte ... knows?" Jamie repeated.

  She nodded solemnly.

  "He said that you told him I was already your woman. He also said that

  you were either a fool or a very brave man to have come for me, and that

  a brave man deserves the respect of other brave men. And so he told me

  that you were here, and that I could come to you."

  He stared down at her, his grip hard upon her wrists as he tried to

  understand what she was telling him. Nalte had decided in their favor.

  There was no need to die here. He could leave with Tess.

  He could leave with her.

  And he could make love to her, here, tonight, in the shadow of the

  Apache's mountains, at the stream where life itself and the night seemed

  mystical.

  He cried out harshly and lowered himself over her, his lips parting

  before the
y ever touched hers. He ravished her mouth, demanding that it

  open to his, and he seemed to taste and find all of her, his tongue

  delving ever deeper, his teeth teasing her lips, his breath mingling

  with hers, the whole of his kiss so deep and complete and sensual that

  it was raw and laid her bare. It touched her on a level so intimate that

  the very decadence aroused her to shattering heights. Then his lips left

  hers, and she was bereft. The night air touched her lips where they

  remained damp and moist from his touch.

  His fingers were upon the rawhide laces of her buckskin dress. Her

  breasts spilled free to his touch, and his hand cupped and caressed

  them, his fingers stroking and arousing her nipples. Then his mouth

  formed hungrily around one nipple to suckle and tease the hardening bud,

  to send streams of excitement and desire sweeping through her limbs. She

  was glad of the darkness.

  Flushing, she wondered how it was the searing liquid fire of his kiss

  touched her breast, yet sent the molten longing to swirl to the base of

  her abdomen, and lower still to hover and deepen at the apex of her

  thighs.

  It did not matter where he touched. He continued to kiss her as he

  slowly eased the buckskin from her body. He kissed the nape of her neck,

  and the tip of his tongue hovered at her earlobe, then ran a trail down

  her spine as he shifted her body to toss aside the dress. He kissed the

  inside of her upper arm, and she had never imagined that a touch could

  elicit such wild stirrings within her. Nor did he allow his kisses to

  stop there.

  Soon she was lying prone upon the verdant earth again, so close to the

  water that it lapped at her ankles. And even the touch of the water

  added to the wonder and the magic. It caressed her as the breeze did, as

  his every touch did. She was whispering things to him, things she should

  never have said, things about the wonder and desire he created. She

  struggled to touch him in return, to know more and more of him. Her

  teeth sank gently upon his shoulders, and her tongue laved every tiny

  little wound. Her fingers stroked and massaged his shoulders and

  trembled over every ripple and bulge of his muscle beneath her touch.

  She shed his shirt, nearly ripping the buttons from it. She touched his

  chest with her tongue, and she moved lower and lower against him.

  But then she found herself prone again, and his hands and lips were