by Tess LeSue
Neither Two Bears nor Deathrider rose to the bait. The Lakota chief seemed disappointed.
“Good to see you, old friend,” Two Bears greeted him. “Did you bring any of your daughters?”
Deathrider shot him a warning look. He was incorrigible.
“They’re all married now,” Running Elk said with great satisfaction. “So there’s no risk of losing one to your white man.”
Two Bears grunted. He should really have complimented Running Elk’s good fortune then, but he couldn’t find it in him today by the looks of it, because he stayed silent.
“There is something your white man could come in handy for,” Running Elk suggested. “He could go and talk to the whites and find out how this will unfold.”
“My son will be happy to.”
“Will I?” Deathrider asked.
His father didn’t deign to answer that; he just gave Deathrider a shove in the direction of the fort.
“My daughters married men of great honor,” Running Elk was telling a morose Two Bears as Deathrider moved off.
The whole place had a carnival air. He threaded through the Lakota camp toward Fort Laramie proper. He’d been here more times than he could count, but it was difficult to recognize the place today. The ground behind the fort fell away, down to the confluence of the two rivers. People were heading down to fill their pails with fresh water. Where once there had been wooden palisades and a rough structure, there was now a neatly organized army barracks. Off to one side, Deathrider could see the bluecoats building something; there was the sound of hammering. It was a wooden structure, like nothing he’d seen before.
He hunted for someone to get answers out of, glad he hadn’t gone for full face paint. It would have probably scared the whites witless. When he reached the parade ground, he stopped to stare at the soldiers standing on display. They were getting sunburned. None of them looked in a position to answer his questions.
He heard voices coming from around the corner of a small building. It was a square whitewashed adobe house, with a porch that wrapped around two sides, one side facing the camped Indians, the other looking down over the river. The voices were coming from the riverside, away from the sight line of the parade ground.
“I know this is a sudden,” a man was saying in English, his voice pulsing with barely suppressed emotion. “But I’m in love with you. You stole my heart the moment I saw you, but I didn’t know it until much later. This summer we’ve spent together, on the trail here, has been the greatest of my life.”
Deathrider pulled a face. Really? Surely if the man’s heart had been stolen, he would have known immediately?
Deathrider was just being sour because his own heart was beat-up these days. Just like the rest of him.
This was private. He probably shouldn’t intrude. He should let the lovers enjoy their vaguely silly moment and take his sourness off somewhere else.
“You are the most perfect woman in the world,” the overly dramatic suitor declared. That was clearly untrue. Because Deathrider had met the most perfect woman in the world, and she most certainly wasn’t here. She was off causing havoc more than a thousand miles away.
“I’m asking you to marry me!” the poor lovesick idiot proclaimed.
Deathrider sighed. He’d have to go and find someone else to ask about the process of the treaty—these two were clearly busy. And clearly not the right people to ask.
But then a voice came ringing, clear as a bell, setting the lovelorn suitor in his place. And it was a voice Deathrider would have known anywhere.
“Get up off the ground. You’re getting your trousers dirty,” she said, her very practicality harsh beyond words.
It couldn’t be . . .
But it was. Deathrider didn’t even need to see her to know. He’d spent most of his time with her not seeing her, and he could have picked out her voice anywhere.
“I love you,” her lovesick suitor repeated, sounding truly desperate.
“It’s probably just sunstroke, Captain,” she said, and damn if she didn’t sound like she’d be patting him. That was what she did when she thought people were about to crumble in front of her.
Deathrider felt a bolt of joy so powerful, it almost felled him. Ava Archer.
“Or it might be the pressure of this treaty,” she soothed him mercilessly, not giving him so much as the slightest sense of hope. “It’s bound to get to a man, an event like this, with all of these people. All of it your responsibility. It’s bound to make you a bit daft in the head. You’re just imagining that you love me. You don’t even know me.”
Ouch. The poor man. Whoever he was.
“It’s you that’s made me daft, Miss Archer.”
Although Deathrider knew it was her—knew it down deep in his body and soul—the sound of her name was like the sun coming out, blinding him. It was her.
“You’ve taken my wits, and my will, and rendered me helpless.”
“Funny, you don’t seem terribly helpless. In fact, you seem quite handsy.”
Deathrider scowled at that. Handsy?
He rounded the corner of the house and saw her. She was hard up against the porch railing, bending so far backward, she looked like she might go tumbling. Pressing his suit was one of the bluecoats; he was on one knee, but he’d had the nerve to grip her hips in his hands and try to pull her toward him.
“Let go of her,” Deathrider barked before he could think better of it.
Her head whipped up, and her big dark eyes went even bigger. Her sexy-as-hell downturned mouth popped open. “Nathaniel!”
He had competing urges. Part of him wanted to laugh with the sheer joy of seeing her; the other part of him wanted to thump the bluecoat who was yanking on her hips.
“I knew you’d be here,” she said as a smile broke over her face, one that was so startling that he almost forgot what he was doing. He’d never seen her smile before, he realized stupidly. It was astonishing. She went from being striking to being absolutely breathtaking. Like when a pretty afternoon broke into a blazing sunset.
The bluecoat stumbled to his feet, blushing scarlet. He was quite young, Deathrider saw, for all his rank.
“I beg your pardon,” the bluecoat said, sounding irritated. “But we’re in the middle of something.”
“No, we aren’t.” With characteristic bluntness, Ava Archer pushed past him. “We were done.”
The color drained from the man’s face.
“That was cold, sweetheart,” Deathrider told her. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling. It was because she was smiling. It was catching, like a disease. The two of them were grinning at each other like a pair of idiots.
“I missed you,” Ava Archer blurted.
“I missed you too.” He hadn’t meant to say that. And hell, of all the people to miss, the woman who ruined his life was a stupid one to pick. But goddamn, he had missed her. So much it was like he’d lost a limb.
“He’s an Indian,” the bluecoat told her like she was blind and hadn’t noticed.
“Not just any Indian,” she corrected him. “This is my Indian.” She was still grinning that sunset-bright grin.
The bluecoat looked appalled. He dusted his knees as he backed away from them. Deathrider spared him a sympathetic glance. “You don’t want her,” he told the man. “She’s nothing but trouble.”
“It’s true,” Ava agreed. “I am.”
The bluecoat slunk away, looking absolutely miserable.
“You seem to have that effect on men.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m not normal.” Deathrider looked her up and down. He’d never seen her dressed up before. She was in a white gown sprigged with ivy leaves. The green of the leaves brought out her coloring. The skirt made her waist look tiny. “You look nice in a dress.”
She looked down at herself, flushin
g. “What, this old thing?”
“Cleopatra,” he said, his voice growing husky, “I’m going to kiss you now. Unless you tell me not to.”
“If you don’t hurry up, I’m going to kiss you.”
“Me first.” He pulled her into his arms and fell hungrily into her mouth. All of the long months of longing were unleashed as he kissed her. He’d thought of nothing but her, dreamed of nothing but her, wanted nothing but her. It was madness. Because he hadn’t been lying to that poor bluecoat. She was nothing but trouble. Complete and utter trouble.
He pushed her against the wall of the cottage, pressing his body into her. He ran his hands down her long muscular arms as his tongue traced the plump sulkiness of her lips. She opened under him, her mouth hot and wet. He slid his tongue into her as his hands plunged into her hair. Hairpins fell, tinkling on the brickwork. He felt her hands find his hips, hauling him harder against her.
“Ava,” he moaned.
“Wait.” She pulled back. She was smiling, her mouth red and puffy from his kisses. Her brown eyes were glazed with desire.
“No,” he said, dropping kisses against her neck. He opened his mouth and swirled his tongue against her throat. “I’ve been waiting for months.”
“Stop talking,” she said thickly, “and come with me.”
* * *
• • •
SHE LED HIM inside the cottage, walking backward as she pulled him by the hand. He didn’t even stop to think what would have happened if they ran into anyone. Luckily for him they didn’t. She opened a door and led him into a bedroom.
He couldn’t look away from her. She moved slowly, lazily, half-drunk with desire. Her eyes were heavy lidded. She let go of his hand and skipped out of reach as he grabbed for her.
“Patience is a virtue,” she scolded. She pulled the blind and closed the door, turning the key in the lock.
He’d lost his mind, he thought as he watched her lean against the door, head back, her gaze sweeping his body. Outside, thousands had gathered to decide the future of the Great Plains, and he was in here . . . behind locked doors . . . surrendering to his basest animal urges. . . .
Ava Archer bit her lip as she examined him, and the gesture was so sexy, he was hurting. Who gave a damn about the Great Plains? he thought with a groan, diving for her. He pinned her to the door, reclaiming her mouth. She laughed and kissed him back with equal fervor. Her hands ran up the front of his body; he could feel them through the buckskin of his shirt, the shock of them as they ran over his hard nipples.
Her tongue thrust into his mouth. He curled his arm around her body, reaching for her ass.
“I can’t feel anything through this damn dress,” he growled.
“I thought you liked it,” she laughed breathlessly.
“I’d like it off.”
She stretched her arms up above her head. “So take it off.” She looked up at him teasingly.
Hell. He’d had no idea. The woman was wildfire.
He put his shaky hands on her shoulders and turned her. She spread her hands against the wooden door, fingers splayed. He ran his hand down the length of her back and felt her shiver. He bent close and kissed her neck. Her skin was hot. He licked her and felt her shivers become shudders. “Feel good?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Want more?”
“Yes.”
He took her earlobe in his mouth and gave it a firm suck. He heard her moan. As he traced her ear with his tongue, he undid the buttons down the back of her dress, exposing a very sexy muscular back. The tan line between her neck and her shoulders turned him on beyond belief. Beneath the line, her skin was creamy white. He traced the line with his finger, over her shoulders. Then he parted the gown, revealing a simple corset and some very transparent muslin underthings. He could see her moles through the cotton. He peeled the dress off her, letting it drop to the floor. He untied her petticoats, letting them fall too.
This was what he’d wanted to see. She was left in just her corset, chemise and pantalets. The pantalets were stretched tight over a magnificently firm round ass. She was spectacular. And those legs. They went on forever, long and curvaceous as hell. Deathrider ran the flat of his hand down her. She arched her back and her ass rose, rounder than ever. He ran his hand over her cheeks. So firm, so warm.
He was so hard, he felt like he could come without her ever touching him.
She looked over her shoulder at him, her smile almost his undoing.
“Vixen,” he said thickly.
She turned around and he ached. Her breasts were small and perky, thrusting at the whisper-thin muslin. Her nipples were large and dark, hardening as he looked at them. He reached out to rub them with his thumbs. She groaned and arched into him. Hell, her tits were incredible. He wanted to taste her.
He lowered his head to suck her through the chemise. Her nipple swelled in his mouth, filling it. He squeezed her other breast in his hand. Sucking and squeezing, sucking and squeezing until he felt her begin to melt against the door. He pulled back, enjoying the look of mindless bliss on her face.
She was wet for him. He could see her pantalets were damp. The shadow of her was tantalizing.
“I want you naked,” he told her, pressing a kiss against her mouth. Licking the inside corners of her lips. She mewled against his kisses. He took that for a yes.
When she was naked, he lowered her to the bed. She was sheer perfection. He kissed every last inch of her, while she writhed beneath him. He rubbed his hands over her round hip bones and her firm stomach. He lowered his head into the wet heat between her thighs as he cupped her ass. He drove her to the edge and back a dozen times. And he was still fully clothed.
That needed to be remedied.
She stretched languorously when he pulled away to yank his shirt off. Fuck, she was beautiful. Her breasts seemed all jutting nipple.
“I love your body,” she purred as she stared at his chest.
His body loved her back. His nipples were tingling, and she wasn’t even touching him.
“Take your leggings off,” she ordered.
He didn’t need to be asked twice. As he peeled them off, his cock leapt free. It was hard as hell, the head already slick with precum. Her finger slid over its swollen tip, and he thought for a moment he’d come right then and there.
“Don’t you dare,” she warned.
He sat on the bed and yanked her toward him. “Ride me,” he begged.
Her eyes widened. And then she grinned. “Yes, please.”
She swung one long, muscular leg over his hips, hovering over his twitching, hungry cock. He cupped her luscious ass in his hands, loving the feel of her. His gaze was full of her dark nipples, pointy and hard, their long tips aching for his mouth. He obliged, flicking his tongue over them, one after the other. She moaned. And then she slid onto his cock, and he couldn’t think anymore. He was at her mercy.
He buried his face in her tits and held on to her ass as she rode him. She was strong, and she fucked him near senseless. Just when he thought the pleasure couldn’t get more intense, it did. She clenched around him. He sucked on her tits as she came, and as he felt the intensity of her shudders pulling him deeper inside of her, he surrendered to the violent pleasure of his release.
28
AFTERWARD, THEY LAY in the dim room, stunned. Naked, they were pressed flesh to flesh for a long time without speaking. And it felt as natural as breathing. Neither of them had ever experienced anything as uninhibited, as wild and free or as tender.
“So, you missed me, huh?” she said eventually, and she sounded so self-satisfied that he gave her a smack on the ass.
Which she didn’t mind at all.
One thing led to another, and they lost another hour or more.
When they surfaced, the day was growing late. Ava was aware of Deathrider’s uneasy quiet. H
e was brooding again. She felt a stabbing disquiet and lifted her head to regard him.
When he met her gaze, his was solemn. It sent fear cascading through her. She couldn’t have articulated why, but some deep part of her was waiting for him to leave her.
Then she saw a glint of amusement.
“What so funny?” she asked.
“You’re patting me.”
“I’m not.” She curled her hands into fists.
He pulled her closer. “You always pat me when you’re worried about something.”
Always. It made them sound . . . permanent. Which she knew they weren’t.
She didn’t know what they were yet. But none of it was certain.
“I need to get back to my father,” he said, capturing her hand in his as it started patting him again.
“Your father,” she said, startled. “Your father is here?”
“He is,” Deathrider sighed. “And if he finds out about you, my life is going to get complicated, fast.”
She felt a stab of hurt. He noticed.
“I just mean he’s trying to marry me off,” he clarified, “and if he saw us like this, he’d have you married to me before you even got introduced to him.” He grimaced.
Ava wasn’t sure how to take that.
“I need to go, sweetheart. There’s a treaty to sign . . .” He disentangled himself and sat up.
“I barely know anything about you,” she said, holding the sheet to herself and feeling painfully vulnerable as she watched him getting dressed. “Are you one of the leaders invited into the amphitheater?”
“No, but my father is. I said I’d find out whatever I could about the way this is going to play out.”
Ava pushed her hair out of her face and knelt up on the bed. “That I can help you with. What do you need to know?”
He paused and considered her, half in and half out of his shirt. “How do you know about it?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m Ava Archer,” she said, as though it was painfully self-evident. “It’s what I do.”
He sat back down on the side of the bed and pulled his shirt on. “Of course it is,” he said dryly. “Go on, then, Ava Archer. Tell me what you know.”
