Wind Song

by Bonds, Parris Afton

He was with them when they returned to their hotel to catch the midnight show. Before curtain time, while Cody engaged Marshall in a lively debate over Indian subsidized housing, she sat and smoked and fumed.

  And he was with them when they rode the elevator up to their rooms. By that time, after several screwdrivers, Marshall was feeling too good to give her much more than a merry peck on the cheek and saunter off to his own room, still chuckling over some quip of Cody’s.

  Abbie felt that Cody had missed his calling; he should have been a recreation director on some cruise ship. She jammed her cardkey into its doorslot. When it didn’t release the lock, Cody said affably, “Here, let me help you.”

  “I don’t need your help, thank you.”

  He unlocked the door easily, but when he pushed it open, she whirled to block his entrance. “Oh, no, Cody Strawhand, you sneaking, conniving excuse for a human being. You may get your way with Marshall, but you won’t with me.”

  He smiled amiably. “It was a miserable way to start off your vacation, wasn’t it?”

  “You know it was,” she gritted.

  “You’re here to gamble and have fun, Abbie. Gamble with me”—he shrugged—“and maybe you can have your fun after all.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Just what are you suggesting?”

  “Can’t we sit down and talk about it?”

  “No.”

  He feigned a sigh. “You don’t trust me.”

  “Correct.”

  “All right, then. What I propose is simple. You choose your game of cards—poker, twenty-one, gin, what have you. If you win, I leave you and Marshall alone.”

  Her teeth nibbled on her lower lip. “And if I lose?”

  “You spend the rest of the week with me.”

  She was desperate—but not that desperate. “Tell me, Cody,” she said sweetly, “doesn’t it bother your Indian’s sense of honor to do this to your friend?”

  He bent his head to kiss her on the ear. “Not when I know Marshall would make a better mate for Dalah.”

  “But Dalah—she’s in love with you, isn’t she?”

  He chuckled. “Wrong. We’re from the same clan, Abbie, and Indians don’t marry within the clan. She considers me more a big brother.”

  Goose bumps broke out where his tongue flicked her neck. “But you can’t be sure that she would make a better mate for Marshall.”

  “She’s been in love with him since she was in the ninth grade. And he might have seen her worth had you not come and blinded him with your aristocratic beauty.”

  “You say that almost as if you hate it—my aristocratic beauty, as you call it.”

  He straightened and, bracing his hand against the door frame above her head, looked down at her. The amusement, mingled with shrewd determination, that had flickered in the depths of his eyes ever since they had left Pulliam Airport temporarily gave way to solemnity. “I hate exposing myself to the weakness that comes in loving you.”

  “A weakness?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Perhaps I should say pain. Any time someone opens himself up, reveals his innermost feelings, he’s exposing himself to the pain of possible rejection. Rejection—it’s a word Ie had learned as a child. Am I being foolish, Abbie—battling for you against common sense, not to mention rejection?

  She steeled herself against the chords of compassion her heart was beginning to play. “I have the feeling that you don’t expect to lose.”

  “No, Abbie, I don’t. I don’t take risks unless the odds are in my favor.”

  “And what makes you think the odds are in your favor this time?”

  “Number one,” he ticked off on his fingers. “I know you want me wildly and passionately.”

  “Modest, aren’t we?”

  “And number two—I spent years working on oil rigs in the most forsaken spots of South America, passing the time by playing cards. I’m a damned good card player.”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, I’m not going to take up your challenge. Marshall and I can manage just fine despite your obnoxious presence. Good night, Mr. Straw hand,” she finished with the slam of her door.

  The next day, dressed in a stunning black panne velvet sheath, she felt ready to take on Cody. Aggressive men she knew how to handle. Or should have.

  But Cody put her through the same routine as the day before, ignoring her haughty looks and condescending smiles. He began the day by suggesting a champagne brunch. Then it was a celebrity tennis tournament at noon, in which his extraordinary good looks and self aplomb put the shorterJohnny Depp to shame. Following that came a classy lunch and a tour of the strip. When Cody went to hail a cab to take them back to the jai alai games at the hotel, Marshall put his arm about her waist and said, “You know, I have the distinct impression that I’m not the only one interested in you, Abbie.”

  She didn’t pretend ignorance. “You mean Cody, of course.”

  He grinned. “Something like that.”

  “I—I think he’ll probably go on to L.A. tomorrow.”

  Marshall kissed her on the temple. “I value his friendship, but I would also like to value this time with you—alone.”

  But Cody obviously didn’t intend to give the two of them that chance. At one point in the jai alai games, during the furious yelling and wagering on the players, Cody leaned over and said next to her ear, “I’m losing patience, Ab bie. If you don’t tell him about our child, I will.”

  She kept her eyes on the handball court below. “I’ll deny it.”

  “I think you have too much integrity for that.”

  Her gaze swerved upward to Cody’s dark one. “All right, you win. But I need to tell him when I think the time is right.”

  “No, we’ll tell him tonight. I’m damned tired of this charade.”

  They left the jai alai game for dinner at an elegant and intimate Italian restaurant, full of lush greenery and statuary, with a massive canvas mural depicting the splendor and romance of Venice. Seventeeth-century armchairs graced well-spaced tables draped with red linen cloths topped by gossamer ecru lace cloths. But Abbie was unappreciative of the opulence. Dreading the inevitable confrontation later, she drank freely from her crystal glass of Italian red wine but barely tasted her meal.

  “You don’t like your veal shanks?” Marshall asked in concern.

  She glanced at Cody. His eyes challenged hers; then his gaze dropped to her lips, grazing them with a caress she could almost feel. Damn his arrogance. He was openly seducing her! “I’m not that hungry,” she murmured.

  Later they gambled, but she drank more than she wagered. She should tell both men to go to hell, she thought, mentally cursing her weakness. She shouldn’t let Cody dominate her emotions, her thoughts, her actions. This Abbie wasn’t the strong, independent woman she had wanted to discover.

  The croupier raked in her hard-earned ten- dollar bill, and she lifted another glass of vodka from the waitress’s tray. Afterward, when the three of them caught yet another show, each time she lifted her goblet of champagne her gaze met Cody’s mocking eyes across the glass’s rim.

  Soon. Soon she would have to tell Marshall the truth.

  As they returned through the overflowing casino en route to their rooms, a page in red livery passed by, calling out Marshall’s name. Marshall summoned him, and the page said, “Telephone, sir.”

  Marshall tipped the young man and crossed to the bank of telephones nearest the elevator. Abbie waited uneasily next to Cody. His arm circled her waist, pulling her to him. With the bright chandelier spilling its gossamer glow over the lobby and making the red-felt walls shift and sway, she unwillingly accepted his support. His head bent over hers. “No backing out, Abbie.”

  Her mouth tightened. “I’ll tell Marshall, but only because you’re right. He’s entitled to know —which does not, however, entitle you to any further claim on me.”

  He lowered his head, his mouth lipping the delicate rim of her ear. “I laid claim to you the mome
nt I saw you at the trading post.”

  “Stop it!”

  His fingers played with her ribs, tantalizing the skin just below her breasts. “Stop what?”

  “What you’re doing,” she breathed. “What you’re saying.”

  When she saw Marshall replace the telephone receiver, she pulled away from Cody, but placed her palm on the wall to steady her dangerously tilting legs. Marshall wore a scowl when he returned. “Bad news?” Cody asked.

  “My ex-wife. She slipped in the tub and broke both hips. She’s hospitalized, in traction.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Abbie murmured.

  He ran a hand through his sun-bleached hair. “Can’t say I’m that sorry. But the hell of it is that there’s no one to care for my daughter. I need to fly to Oklahoma and bring her back with me.” He took Abbie’s hand. “Would you mind flying back tomorrow to Flagstaff without me, Abbie?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I can telephone the agency to have someone pick you up at the airport.”

  “No need,” Cody said. “I can fly you back.”

  “What about your art deal in L.A.?” Abbie demanded.

  His glance mocked her. “I can postpone it.”

  “How kind of you.”

  “Look,” Marshall said, his gray eyes moving from Cody to her. “It’s obvious that this is a three-way affair. This will give us all some time to do some thinking.”

  A wave of red washed over Abbie’s face. “Marshall, let me explain what—”

  He put his arm over her shoulder and kissed her on the temple. “It’s all right, Abbie. No explanation needed. Cody, take good care of her.”

  Cody’s lips curled in a genuine smile. “I intend to, Marshall.”

  Marshall left them and headed toward the registration desk to check out. Cody ushered Abbie into the waiting elevator. His arm imprisoned her waist, as if he thought she would try to escape. To where? And why, when all her senses were tightly attuned like some microwave saucer toward him? Why did she feel none of that wild fluttering of the heart, that soaring of the senses, for Marshall that she did when she was in Cody’s arms? Was chemistry essential to a long-term relationship between a man and a woman?

  She tried to remind herself that she had been unwise at seventeen to fall for those same heart- stopping sensations. Surely she was not about to make the same mistake over again. This time she must think rationally, practically, logically— which was difficult when her mind spun hazily from all the alcohol she had imbibed earlier.

  The room keycard she extracted from her beaded clutch purse refused to enter the slot in the door of her room. She sighed. Why did she expect anything else?

  Cody reached around her and steadied her hand. When the door gave, his arm encircled her waist and, still holding her against him, propelled her into the darkened room.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she protested in overly precise speech.

  One arm continued to hold her waist, pressing her buttocks against him. His free hand slid down to softly rotate against her abdomen. The motion of his palm inched the velvet dress above her knees, but no modesty signaled her of the danger. All her senses were lulled by the hand that stroked sensuously ever nearer that part of her that now throbbed with longing. Her lungs seemed to freeze; her head drooped forward with the torpor that suddenly possessed her. Strong teeth nipped gently at her nape as he muttered, “Exactly what I told Marshall—I intend to take care of you.”

  Abbie tried to twist free of the arm that he had wrapped beneath her breast, but Cody only anchored her more tightly against the wall of his chest. Her buttocks only pressed more fully against his bulging arousal in her futile effort to free herself. Her feet wriggled inches above the floor and one of her shoes dropped off.

  “Cody . . . no!” But her voice seemed muffled by her wildly beating heart.

  He crossed to the bed, yet did not release her; rather he settled her knees on its edge, still keeping her imprisoned with his arm. He held her thus while his lips branded kisses along the back of her neck. A lassitude she could not beat back settled its magic web over her.

  His free hand released the clasp that bound her hair, and he buried his face in its fragrant mass. “Abbie,” he rasped, “I want you so.”

  She trembled against him. “Cody, it won’t work . . . it . . Her words trailed away as his fiery kisses followed along the V created by the gradual opening of her zipper.

  “I’ve damned myself a thousand times for loving you,” he whispered. “Don’t stop my loving now.”

  She didn’t; she gave herself up to his embrace. Her hand went up to cup the head that nuzzled her now bare shoulder, her fingers curling in the thick, luxuriant hair. His hand slid beneath her bunched dress and slipped up her leg to palm the delta of her thighs. A tortured sigh escaped her parted lips. Her head fell back against his shoulder. His fingers insinuated themselves beneath the narrow elastic band of her panties but refrained from dipping lower to the spot that he had set afire. “I want to hear you say it . . . say you want me, too.”

  She nodded.

  “Say it,” he insisted, his hands anchoring her against him.

  “Cody,” she whispered when he raised his head. “I . . . want . . . you.”

  “Why?”

  She tried to clear her thoughts, to find a suitable reply. I want you to make me feel like a woman again.”

  He withdrew his hand and gently turned her to face him. “Not exactly what I wanted to hear,” he rusked. “But I am a patient man.As I intend to demonstrate.”

  In an infinitely slow, exquisitely punishing movement, he lower his head of hers. His mouth claimed hers in a torturingly tender kiss. Obediently, she parted her lips, obligingly fitting his mouth to hers. His hands drew her arms up about his neck. Gently he lifted and levered her to the mattress. He kissed first one lid closed, next the other; then he deserted her. In the silence of the room she heard the hiss of his zipper. The waiting was unbearable.

  The bedside lamp flared, and she saw reflected above her the smoky image of a woman caught in sensuous abandon. One knee was slightly raised; her dress hem rode high on her thighs and the neckline slipped below her shoulders. Her hair spread over the mauve bedcovers like spilled champagne. She blinked, willing away the lethargy of the alcohol, willing away the vision above her. But the woman was real. Slowly her fingers inched up to her parted lips, as if she didn’t quite believe that the enraptured woman in the mirror above was she.

  Then Cody’s coppery reflection overshadowed hers. Through the fan of her lashes she watched as he bent over her. Openly she studied the beauty of his corded shoulders, the muscles that enlarged his chest, the taut stomach shadowed lower by the crisp, curling hair and the jutting organ with which he would impale her. His hands came to rest at either side of her while he studied her bemused expression. After a moment his lips curved in a loving smile. “I like you better this way, Abbie. Unashamed of yourself. Unafraid of me.

  She held up her arms to him with an answering smile. “And I like you better this way, my naked savage.”

  Obligingly she spread her knees, and her hips rose to facilitate the hands that inched her panties downward. His fingers caressed the silky smoothness of her calves and thighs before he lowered himself over her. As he held his massive body above hers, his mouth possessed hers in a kiss that was rife with caring and tenderness. Her fingers teased his hard brown nipples, and she was rewarded by a groan against her lips. When his head slipped lower and his tongue polished one pouting nipple, she saw their images imposed above her. She saw her legs, draped over the side of the bed, splayed in abandonment as his cheeks flexed to elongate one of her nipples and draw in its aureole that had dimpled with the love play.

  Her stomach contracted at the erotic scene being played out above her. When he knelt on the carpet beside the bed to grasp her knees and rain teasing kisses on the insides of her upper thighs where they hollowed just below the fullness of her downy lips, the reflec
tions above her blurred as her lids drooped. His tongue swept and plowed her furrow. A sweet ecstasy flowed through her like liquid gold, molten sunlight, melded honey and cream. “Oh, God, Cody,” she gasped.

  He raised his head, his eyes glittering savagely. “Let’s try it again – why do you want me, Abbie Dennis?”

  Her lids snapped open. “Ohhh!” she spewed, thwarted from independent thought by her body’s clamoring, insistent need for his addictive touch.

  “Why?” he prompted, still holding her thighs wide for his perusual.

  “Because . . . because . . . I need you. I need you like . . . like a flower needs rain.”

  He smiled grimly. “Still not quite what I want to hear – but I will rain on your softs petals very soon, my love.

  “Please . . .” she begged in a raspy voice . . . please do it . . . please, fuck me now.”

  He laughed lowly. “What?,” he growled. “Did I head the very proper Abbie Dennis say fuck?”

  “Damn you, Cody. “Her hands cupped the solid curve of his buttocks to draw him to her. She marveled at the hard musculature that rippled just below the surface of his flesh as he fused with her. Had she known of the deep fulfillment to be found in the sensual side giving of love . . . perhaps she could have bridged the gap in her marriage that her husband had been unable to.

  “How many years have been wasted,” she murmured wistfully. “I wish I had known.”

  “Then you would not be the exquisite woman I hold beneath me,”

  His breath tickled the hollow of her shoulder and she laughed. “Must I be beneath? I enjoyed the . . . the last ride you gave me.”

  His teeth nipped the soft skin of her shoulder. “I can remedy that.”

  He caught her in the small of her back, rolling her over with him so that she found herself astride. An intense exhilaration swept over her as she rode him again. Once, as he stroked her breasts, her head fell back and she saw the exotic motions reproduced in the mirrors above. The erotic sight aroused her even more, but when she would have undulated her hips, he caught her waist with a laugh. “Slow down, Abbie,” he said and wrestled her onto her back again. “We’ve got all night.”