And for some reason, Sunny just let go. Let go of everything. She told him about the neighborhood where she’d lived in a tiny house with her mother, about playing in a little hidden creek where she’d once found the head of a deer—“I thought it was my punishment because I wasn’t supposed to go there”—and the long nights lying on the screened porch staring at the sky.
“So how did you end up becoming a seamstress?”
“Ah,” Sunny said. “Because my mother couldn’t sew and I wanted more clothes than she would buy. A neighbor gave me a sewing machine and helped me get started, and I was very good at it.” She lifted a shoulder. “Necessity is the mother of invention.”
He nodded, his posture utterly relaxed, the expression on his face giving every appearance of interest.
“By the time I was in high school, I was earning a pretty good income sewing for the rest of the girls. They came to me for one-of-a-kind prom outfits, that kind of thing, you know? You probably don’t know this, but it’s hard for women to wear just anything off the rack. One has big shoulders and a small rear end, another is busty with short legs, all that.”
“So d’you go to school or something for it?”
“I started at an art school, but I have to tell you, I was already doing better work than that, and I just decided that I’d strike out on my own.” She paused, looking down into her cup, her thumbs moving on the handle. “Hmmm. That’s a bit of a lie, really. My mother died that year and I really didn’t have money for school.”
“Sounds like you did all right.”
“I did,” she said, and had to smile in wonder at the way it had all come together. “Within a year, I had more work than I could do, and was turning people away. One thing that happened was that a couple came to me to make them costumes for the Renaissance Festival, and it just took off after that. I was able to buy a lot of new equipment and hire an assistant.”
His mouth tightened. “The husband’s gotta come into it somewhere along here.”
Sunny looked away from the hard set of his mouth. “Yes, unfortunately, I inherited my mother’s bad judgment about men. Paul seemed like everything I wanted. He was a hard worker, and he seemed very encouraging and we got married after a whole year of dating, so I was pretty sure it was the right thing to do.”
“How long were you married?”
“Two years, officially, from wedding date to divorce date. He didn’t stick around long after I started to be really pregnant.” She lifted her chin, met his eyes. “He thought pregnancy was disgusting, what it did to my body.”
Michael’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes went cold and he uttered a precise epithet.
Sunny laughed. “Exactly.” She shrugged, as if shrugging off the whole mess. “I told you the rest—Jessie was born with a hole in her heart, and the truth is, Paul had ruined our credit and finances, so I didn’t have any reserves to see me through. I’m not whining. I’m grateful for my daughter, and I’m grateful I got rid of him before he took me down with him. It’s just been a bit of struggle.”
“You’ve got a lot of courage, Sunny. A lot of character, and for that reason, I don’t think you inherited bad judgment from your mother. I think you were young and naive and a bad guy took advantage of you.”
“Thank you.” She tossed her hair out of her face, rubbed her hands against her thighs, tried not to look at the opening of his shirt, where she could see a wedge of brown chest that looked as smooth as chiffon. “Now you. Tell me your story, Michael Chasing Horse.”
“Pretty much have, already. Not a lot to it. Born in South Dakota, came here with my parents when I was a little boy, lived here ever since.”
“Wife. Ten years. That’s a long time.”
He turned his lips down a little. “Maybe. But it was just a sad story of a woman who couldn’t live with the loneliness and harshness of this land, and me being too damned stubborn to leave it. I was a—”
He was interrupted by a shrill scream from upstairs. Sunny was on her feet, bolting up the steps in a split second, fearing Jessie had fallen off the bed in spite of all their precautions. Instead, she was simply sitting up, screaming, in the middle of the pillows. “Mama!” she screamed, obviously terrified, and Sunny gathered her up, close, hugging her. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m here. I’m here.”
Jessie grabbed her so hard, burrowing closer and closer, her whole body shivering, and she cried softly, terrified mewings. Sunny looked over her shoulder at Michael, who stood at the door. “She’s probably just processing the tornado, poor baby. I’ll rock her back to sleep.”
He nodded. “I’m gonna shower.”
Michael took the day off him in layers, feeling grit wash out of his hair, his face, the terror he’d felt when he’d thought of Sunny and Jessie alone on that hill—
His belly clutched in memory.
Washed it away. The water eased his tight neck, and he let the spray hit hard there for long minutes. He thought of Sunny, in this very spot, naked, not even an hour ago, and a low rumbling moved through his body—need.
It had been a long, long time since he’d lain down with a woman, skin to skin, smelled her and tasted her. This afternoon, he’d been afraid that maybe he’d never have another chance, that he’d been walled off so long in his sulk that he’d screwed up all his chances.
But he had to respect her boundaries. He’d never met a warier woman, and it sounded as though she had good reason, as if Jessica wasn’t reason enough.
But how long since he’d liked a woman so much, not just desired her body, but liked her? She was as strong as a tree, standing rooted and fierce in her own convictions, all alone against the tornadoes—metaphorical and physical—that would have made a weaker woman despair. He admired her.
He dried off and put on a pair of sweats, then padded down the hall without his shirt to go to his room for a fresh one. As he passed the door to the guest room, he heard Sunny’s light voice winding around an old, old folk song. It was the tale of a woman who stayed true to her love through all tests, wishing him well if he’d found love in another woman, if he’d drowned in the great salt sea, only to find that her love was standing there in front of her. The sound drew him gently, to the doorway, and the picture of the mother and daughter drew him in farther, to sit on the bed, something so big in his chest that he was powerless against it.
Wheat-soft lamplight fell over Sunny’s shoulder, illuminating her loose, long hair from behind so she looked like a madonna. In her arms, the beautiful baby girl, as blond and round as her mother, shuddered awake every so often, her tiny hands flailing out as she grasped for the security of her mother’s constant hand, always there.
Something grew in the room, or maybe only in his heart, filling his lungs, his belly, his limbs. It was a sense of rightness, of knowledge, of blessing. He found himself examining her face, every detail of it, the sweep of pale-brown lashes, the round curve of a cheek, the shape of her lips, her small white hands, and each detail made his breath stronger, his wish more clear. This was all he’d ever wanted, right here. A woman who wanted and needed him, a child to love, maybe a few more, a couple of brothers to drive her crazy. Quiet meals, easy laughter.
It was crazy, but his blood buzzed with it, making him dizzy and hungry, and he gazed at Sunny directly, meeting her eyes when she raised them, letting her see what was written on his heart in this minute.
She swallowed, stumbling in her song, and then looked back at her daughter, but he saw her nostrils flare, saw a faint wash of color, barely visible in the soft light, touch her cheeks.
Still, she rocked and sang. For a long time. And Michael did not move, only sat there waiting until it felt right to her, until she saw that she could trust that he wasn’t moving.
At last, she whispered, “She’s asleep.”
He stood up, moving out of her way as she settled the loose body of her daughter on the bed, covered her securely, and then straightened, not quite meeting his eyes as she brushed a lock of hair o
ut of her eyes. “I guess I’ll go to bed now, too.”
Michael didn’t move. He waited, that sense of blessing growing and growing.
She looked everywhere but at his chest, at his face, at him, moving a pillow a tiny bit, twisting her hair in her fingers. He took a step toward her, then another, reached for her hand and carried it to his mouth, then pressed it against his heart. She made a soft sound, half sorrow, half release, and looked at him. “I have never seen a man as beautiful as you,” she whispered, her eyes full of regret.
Gently, gently, gently, he put his hands on her face, cupped her jaw and bent in, slowly, to press his lips to hers, once, then again, and he raised his head to look at her. “I will not hurt you,” he said, and kissed her again, and this time there was an explosion of light and heat that nearly knocked him sideways, and he actually swayed. As if she felt it, too, her arms flew around him and her mouth opened and their tongues were tangled and he felt that he would fly away into some faraway world, some magic place where everything was possible.
And he wanted to smooth every inch of her with his healing, wanted his skin against hers. “Not here,” he managed, and took her hand, drawing her out of the room, down the hall.
His bedroom was bright with the overcast night, soft ghostly light flooding through a bank of windows that would show the mountains during the day. Sunny was trembling, and her heart was racing and she pulled out of his grip as he closed the door. “Wait!” she cried, “I’m not sure…this is rash…”
He turned, and light skimmed over his chest, over the round, strong muscles of his shoulders and arms, down the planes of chest and belly, and the sight kindled a kind of lust she didn’t even know she could feel. But it was the look in his eyes that was both terrifying and compelling, a gentle, insistent light. It made her dizzy.
“I will not do anything you don’t want me to, Sunny. I won’t take your heart and smash it. I don’t want you to promise anything, either.” Very gently, he reached for the buttons of the shirt. she wore. “This is affirmation, do you understand? We’re celebrating that we lived.”
He undid the first button, then the second, and Sunny didn’t move, aroused and frozen at once, wanting and so afraid of wanting or needing anything or anyone, especially someone who seemed to be everything she’d ever wanted. Her breath caught as he finished unbuttoning her shirt and slid it off her shoulders. His fingers on her skin caused her to shudder softly, but still she couldn’t move.
He bent down to kiss her again, and Sunny found she could manage that, could lift her face, accept the sweetness of his mouth, the fullness of his lips almost sinfully delectable, his tongue teasing and dancing, tasting of toothpaste. His hands lit on her shoulders and she jumped a little, but he took a step closer, sliding his palms down her back to rest on her waist. “Touch me, Sunny,” he said. “Please. I need to feel your hands.”
And somehow it wasn’t so hard to give what he needed. She raised her hands and smoothed them over the sleekness of his skin, as smooth as she’d imagined, and supple, and she could spend a hundred years just memorizing the landscape, the shelf of collarbone, the rigid arcs of ribs, the short nubs of nipples, the play of muscles moving beneath skin. And he touched her in return, running his fingers through her hair, gliding over her shoulders, down her arms, down her sides. There he paused and pulled her back toward the bed, but didn’t immediately pull her down. Instead, he sat down, put her hands on his shoulders, and reached for her bra, sliding those nimble fingers around to find the clasp. She dropped her arms and let it fall off, and Michael took a breath, closed his eyes, then opened them again.
It moved her.
And a sense of wonder seeped in, pushing away fear, so her heart was beating faster with pleasure untainted by anything but this minute, this affirmation, as he took a breast in each hand, then bent his head and put his mouth on her. It was hot and wet and felt so good her knees nearly buckled. She gripped his shoulders and bent her head into him, and he laughed lightly and did it again. And again and again, until Sunny was shivering all over and soft as melted butter, and she pushed him backward, straddling his long, beautiful body with her hips, laughing at his groan when she pushed his arms down and rode wickedly against the erection between them, covered in layers of gray sweat pants. She kissed him and brushed her breasts over his chest, and wiggled her hips until she thought they both might explode with anticipation.
With a swift movement, he reversed their positions, and the mood shifted again. He was breathing hard and so was she as they stared at each other in the darkness, chests bared but nothing else, unless you counted the hearts beating together in some new rhythm, and when he kissed her this time, it was deep and tender and full of meaning. He cradled her between his arms and kissed her mouth and her eyes, dipped to kiss her chin, rose to kiss each cheek, and Sunny felt tears seeping out of her eyes, tears of longing and release, and he even kissed those when he found them, caught a few on his tongue and bent down to kiss her lips so she could taste the saltiness.
And there was nothing to do but give herself up to so much gentle passion. To lift her hips and let him pull away her sweat pants, and watch, vulnerable and naked, as he skimmed out of his own, revealing the rest of him, and every inch of it beautiful. She touched his lower belly, taut and hard, and ran her fingers over the edge of hair, and down the length of his member, and he touched her in return, her breasts and belly and her sex, his slow fingers making her forget everything else as they slid and entered and slid out again.
Yet he did not enter her still. He kissed her neck and the valley between her breasts, his hands running down her arms, over her hands. He kissed her ribs and thighs, parted her legs and kissed her there, and Sunny cried out, “Oh, please!” but she wasn’t sure what she was asking for.
Michael knew. Tongue and fingers and then, when she was on the brink of an orgasm she thought might kill her, he stopped and inched his way up her body again. “Now?” he whispered over her lips.
“Yes.”
He kissed her, deeply, touched her breasts, rubbed the nipples that were so sensitive she thought it might be enough all by itself to give her the release she craved so desperately. Between her legs, she could feel his member nudging her, and she wiggled a little, and he laughed, licked her lips. “Now?”
Sunny grabbed his shoulders and pushed hard, intending to push him over and take him herself, but he caught her arms and at that instant, plunged into her, kissing her and touching her breasts, all at once, and she made a long, low, agonized noise of pleasure, and then it was a rocketing, unbelievable blister of heat that centered in the usual place but moved through her whole body, forehead to toes, as if every molecule in her body were having an orgasm, and she couldn’t help the sounds that came from her as he began to move. Nothing had ever felt that good. Ever.
And he moved and he took and he gave, and she was rippling through the end, when she felt him lose control and bite her neck and fiercely shove himself home, his hands hard on her shoulders, then her bottom, gripping hard. He made his own noises, as guttural and deep as her own, and their bodies arched and pulsed. Sunny gripped him hard, arms and legs and body, and accepted the healing he’d given, hoped she had given him some, too.
He collapsed against her, his face in the hollow of her shoulder and they simply breathed together like that for a long time, allowing pieces of themselves to return to the proper places. Sunny said, softly, “Whew!”
Michael chuckled, rubbed her side. “I can’t move.”
“Don’t. Me either.”
“I know I’m heavy. One more second.”
She moved against him, freed in some unnamed way to be herself, exactly herself. “Take ten. A hundred.”
“Is that purring I hear?” He lifted his head to look at her face.
She started to laugh, her arms around his neck. She made noises like a cat, nudged her nose against his neck. “Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, my gosh.”
He turned to his side, collapsing si
deways on the pillow. Sunny faced him, touched his face, tracing the line of cheekbone, the aggressive nose, his lush mouth with a sense of wonder. Completion. There were no words in her, just a soft warmth. “Thank you,” she said.
His hand moved on her arm. “For what?”
“For great sex, for a good supper, for being so kind to my daughter and me.” She paused, letting the knowledge fill her. “For saving our lives.”
He closed his eyes, pulled her close, pressed his forehead against hers. “I’ve never been so scared in my life, thinking of you two up there on the hill.”
“Me, either,” she said, and laughed softly. “I was standing there in the kitchen, trying to figure out what to do, and my brain just shut down, I couldn’t think, and my heart was racing and there was this little noise coming out of me—” she made it, a little pant “—and then you burst in, like a super hero, to save the day.”
“And provide all kinds of special services.”
“That, too.”
He looked at her, his eyes glowing in the low light, and he touched her hair, smoothed his hand over her head, her ear. “You are so beautiful. I feel like I could just look at you for a hundred years.”
It scared her, the hint of permanence in those words. “Is that purring I hear?”
He grinned.
A sense of peace enveloped Sunny as they fell into a drowsy silence. The big soft bed cradled her sated and exhausted body, and her fretting had been silenced by making love. She felt herself drifting off and thought she ought to move back to Jessica’s bed, but the baby would kick her all night, and she was safe enough, just two doors down; she would hear her if she woke up. As she was drifting into an irresistible sleep, she thought she felt Michael kiss her brow, thought she heard him whisper “thank-you,” but she couldn’t climb back up just then. Sleep carted her away.
Chapter 8
Michael awakened with a start in the middle of the night to discover the place where Sunny had lain was empty. Immediately, he thought of Jessica, and got up to see if everything was okay. Tugging on his sweat pants, he padded down the hall and peeked in, seeing the baby asleep as she’d been, but Sunny wasn’t there.
Lakota Legacy: Wolf DreamerCowboy Days and Indian NightsSeven Days Page 22
