WARRIOR'S BABY

by Sheri WhiteFeather

Pleased that he shared her love of the ocean, she cursed her next words. "I don't think it's allowed, Colt."

  He frowned and glanced back at the water again. "What do you mean? Like it's against the law or something?"

  "Sort of, I think. I know there are beaches in California with designated camping areas, but none close by. I'm not sure what the law is around here." She'd never had cause to find out. Sleeping on the beach at night had never occurred to her. "After a certain hour it might be considered vagrancy or loitering."

  "That's too bad," Colt said with a dastardly grin, "because I'm sleeping there anyway. If I get busted, you'll just have to bail me out of jail."

  "What if I get busted, too?" she asked in a subtle attempt to invite herself on his sleepover. Miles of sand, the sea at midnight and Colt Raintree. What a fantasy.

  "Are you saying you want to sleep with me?" He countered her question, then flinched when he caught his own blunder. "Damn." The devilish grin faded. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

  I wish you had. She wanted to sleep with him. Beneath him. Naked as the day she was born.

  As Melanie met his smoky gaze, her cheeks heated, her own immodest thoughts making her blush. Thank goodness the balcony was dimly lit. "Camping on the beach sounds like an adventure I wouldn't want to miss.

  When Colt's expression turned dark and altogether brooding, she ignored her flushed cheeks and shot him a warning glance. Too bad if he was uncomfortable about sharing an adventure with her. She wasn't about to let him start in about how he didn't want to be held responsible for her reputation or how her neighbors might talk. If she and Colt got arrested for sleeping on the beach, her neighbors wouldn't give a fig.

  "I'm in on this, Montana man. Don't you dare try to talk me out of it."

  "Okay, California girl." He eyed her as though she were Eve offering Adam the apple. "I'll go back to my hotel and change. You dig up the sleeping bags, and I'll meet you back here at ten. And wear your bathing suit under a pair of sweats. If we're going to break the law, we may as well rile some fish while we're at it."

  After Colt left, Melanie tore into her room and searched for the camping equipment. She felt giddy, like a twelve-year-old on her first sleepover or a teenager preparing for an important date.

  She showered, washed and dried her hair, dusted herself with peach-scented body powder and brushed her teeth. Next she dabbed on a little lip gloss and a couple strokes of waterproof mascara. A pair of tight black leggings, low-heeled boots and an oversize white sweatshirt completed her free-spirited look. By the time Colt returned, Melanie knew she was the picture of good health, her suntanned skin naturally glowing.

  As usual, he managed to steal her breath. Attired in casual gray sweats and tennis shoes, his thick raven hair banded at his nape, he smelled like fresh-showered male. Spice aftershave and a trace of deodorized soap. The faint beard stubble shadowing his jaw hinted at danger. She found herself wondering how it would feel against her own skin.

  His dark gaze took in her appearance in one standoffish sweep before he glanced down. "What's all this?"

  Why was he always so guarded? she wondered. Was he that uncomfortable about his attraction to her, or did he view all women as the enemy? "A few things I thought we might need."

  He eyed the overstuffed backpack. "Like what?"

  "Towels, an extra blanket … you know, things." A portable radio, three flashlights, extra batteries, a first aid kit.

  "And in there?" Colt pointed to another cloth bag.

  Although her heart pounded like a bass drum, she tried to appear relaxed. She didn't want him to know how excited she was. She managed to shrug in nonchalance. "Food and water." Gourmet cheese, seasoned crackers, grapes, celery and carrot sticks, cherry tomatoes, ranch dressing, a big bottle of spring water, a thermos of hot chocolate, paper cups, plates, floral-printed napkins. Just a little midnight snack she happened to throw together.

  Before he could comment on the lantern she had placed beside the sleeping bags, she spoke up. "The beach is dark at night."

  "No kidding," he growled. "Let's go."

  They gathered the supplies and headed to the stretch of beach directly across from her condo. "In case you decide you want to go home in the middle of the night," he said.

  Not a chance, she thought, deliberately inhaling his enticing scent.

  She lit the lantern while he spread the blanket on the sand and weighted the opposite corners with the backpack and food supply. A slight breeze rippled the unanchored ends as he unrolled their sleeping bags and placed them on the blanket—as far apart from each other as possible, she noticed.

  The beach was quiet but for the whispering wind and seductive lull of water rolling and foaming onto the shore. A bright moon bathed the sand and surf in a soft silver light. Stars winked from a crushed-velvet sky.

  They both sat down and stared up at the heavens. Awe sounded in Colt's voice. "Makes you feel small, doesn't it?"

  "But not insignificant," Melanie said.

  He lowered his chin and turned toward her. The golden glow of the lantern illuminated his angular features, enhancing the hollow ridges beneath his cheeks and turning his eyes a shade lighter. They shimmered like her favorite root beer candy.

  "No, not insignificant," he parroted. "It makes you glad to be alive, to be a part of something so wondrous."

  She nodded. For her, the sky, the stars, the beach, couldn't compare to the wonder of this man, or to the knowledge that he had chosen her to carry his child, to bring forth another life.

  They sat quietly then, staring at each other. A strand of hair blew across his lips like a raven feather, almost blue in its glossy black sheen. He pushed it away, toward the ponytail from which it had escaped.

  As Melanie's own freshly washed hair fluttered around her face, a sense of vulnerability came over her. Every fiber of her being longed for this man—heart, body and soul.

  Minutes, long and intense, passed before the sound of Colt's voice caressed the night air. "Sometimes you remind me of someone I used to know … someone from a long time ago, before my life got so messed up."

  Melanie watched the strand of hair return to his lip, and all she could think about was kissing it away until the enormity of his words struck. She reminded him of someone.

  "Who?" she asked, fearing the pounding of her heart might give her away.

  "Just a girl. Like I said, it was a long time ago." He sounded sorry for mentioning it, as though it were too personal to share. "I was just a kid. It doesn't matter."

  It mattered to her. More than he could possibly know. "Was she a friend?"

  "Sort of. It's hard to explain. I never even knew her last name or where she lived."

  She had never expected her old self to surface, yet in some diminutive way it had. "Why do I remind you of her?"

  His root beer gaze studied hers, as deeply as it could in the dim light. "Your eyes seem the same." His next words slipped out slowly as though emerging from the place where distant memories are stored, a place he hadn't visited in a very long time. "God, she was shy. So tiny … fragile, like a baby bird with a broken wing. You know, like she needed someone to protect her."

  Melanie's eyes misted. Should she tell him? No, she couldn't. Not yet.

  "Did you?"

  The renegade piece of hair slipped into his mouth. This time he shoved it roughly behind his ear. "Did I what?"

  "Protect her."

  He shrugged. "I don't know. That era of my life is pretty vague, all that drinking eventually pickled some brain cells, I guess."

  Melanie realized he was too humble to admit the truth. He had protected her and he darn well knew it.

  He appeared to be gnawing the inside of his lip. "I'm not saying that you're fragile or anything like that." Apparently he realized what a sad picture he had painted of the girl she reminded him of. "I know how independent you are, and you're anything but shy. It's just your eyes, that's all. She had pretty eyes, like yours. Big and blue."

>   Melanie's chest heated. She felt as if her heart was made of wax and he'd just set the wick aflame. Clearly, eyes were the window to the soul, and even though Melanie had changed, the fragile little girl she had been still dwelled in her soul.

  "What do you mean, I'm anything but shy?" she asked, trying to lighten Colt's mood. Reflections from the past hovered over him like a melancholy cloud.

  He eyed her curiously before a smirk curled one corner of his lips. The crooked smile made him appear younger, a tad mischievous. "You invited yourself to sleep with me, California girl. That hardly constitutes shy."

  True, she thought. Gertrude would have never done that. "So I'm sleeping with you, am I?"

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. "Oh, hell. I did it again." He shook his head. "What can I say? It's the Freud thing. Subconsciously everything comes down to sex."

  "Sex on the beach," Melanie supplied in a low, sultry tone, teasing him.

  "That's quite an offer, California girl."

  She laughed. It felt wonderful to possess the confidence to flirt with him. "It's a drink, Colt. Sex on the beach, that's what it's called."

  "Yeah, I know." He removed his shoes and socks, then peeled off his sweatshirt and tossed it aside. "But it conjures up quite an image."

  "What are you doing?" She focused on his nipples. They were erect.

  He untied the white string on his pants. "Taking my clothes off."

  Her voice quivered. "Why?"

  Colt stood, and when he did, the sea breeze twirled sand at his feet. A copper silhouette in the moonlight, he mirrored a pagan god, fluid and long. "We're going swimming, remember?"

  She glanced at the waves crashing onto the shore. The water looked dark and cold. Menacing.

  When Colt began pushing his sweats down, Melanie realized she was kneeling before him in near worship, watching every breath he took, every primitive movement. As he leaned forward to rid himself of the fleece-lined garment, raw, powerful sinew bunched and stretched. The animal in him, she thought. Jungle cat sensuality.

  He had a thin, dark line of hair below his navel. She knew where it led, so she moistened her lips and allowed her curious gaze to follow it—right down to the swim trunks riding low on his hip.

  Quickly her eyes shot back up to his face where one black eyebrow slanted in the opposite direction of a crooked smile.

  "So, Melanie, are you going to undress or not?"

  * * *

  Was her swimsuit top white or silver? Between the lantern's amber haze and the moon's soft glow, he couldn't tell. What he could attest to was the shape and size of her breasts. And the condition. Her nipples were hard, flawless pearls reflecting light.

  Colt dropped onto his haunches and watched her undress. He'd never watched a woman strip before. Not like this. The sand, the breeze, the smell of saltwater—it was all so erotic.

  She slipped her boots off and then stood to remove her pants, just as he had done earlier. She discarded the snug leggings with such feminine grace he shuddered, a chill tingling his spine. Mesmerized, his gaze followed her hands down her body.

  When the task was done, she weaved a little as though intoxicated by his hungry stare. Although he had admired her delicate figure through the slim-fitting fashions she wore, his imagination had done her a disservice. How could he ever have thought this woman too small? You need to put some meat on those tiny bones of yours, he'd told her. Well, he had been wrong.

  Her slender curves boasted perfection: high, round breasts; a trim waist; flared hips; legs toned and taut; thighs smooth enough to caress a man yet strong enough to urge him to completion.

  This bikini-clad female could have been spawned from the ocean, an auburn-haired sea nymph, a sensuous creature with whom to share the elements.

  "Come on!" He shot up, grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward the shore.

  The water caressed him like cool fingers. He released her hand and let the swell crash over him. It lapped his legs, his waist, his chest. Colt reveled in the brisk cleansing, in the salt, the foam, the wet sand between his toes. For him, it felt like a baptism of sorts. Years of sin being washed away.

  When the wave receded, Colt turned toward Melanie, expecting to see her expression resembling his.

  What he saw disturbed him. She stood in her little bikini, shivering, her big blue eyes blinking away droplets of water. He'd been wrong about her not being fragile.

  "I'm freezing," she said, teeth chattering.

  Colt cursed himself. He should have predicted as much. She'd been away from the snow and sleet and crisp Montana winds far too long. A nocturnal California sea hardly compared, but to most it would seem cold.

  Guilt washed over him. He should be protecting Melanie, not dragging her into the ocean at midnight. This woman had offered to host his seed, to cradle his baby in the warmth of her womb.

  "I'm taking you home."

  "No," she protested through chattering teeth. "I'll be fine once I dry off."

  "Damn it, Melanie—"

  His argument was quickly silenced by her "Oh, my God." Neither had noticed an enormous wave rising behind them until it started to descend. Immediately, Colt grabbed hold of Melanie and pulled her into his arms. Since she was at least a foot smaller than he, Colt struggled to keep her from being completely immersed in the vicious onslaught.

  When the crisis ended and the water began moving away, catastrophe struck again. Melanie, still visibly shaken, stumbled against him and they both lost their footing and landed in the wet sand. Breaths caught and limbs tangled as they rolled and fell.

  "Oh, my God," she said again, gripping his forearms. "That scared me."

  "Yeah." Her proximity scared him more. She was on top of him, eye-to-eye, breast to chest, hip to hip.

  They were both covered in wet sand and seaweed. This wasn't quite what he'd had in mind when he longed to become a part of the ocean. "We better go before another one comes."

  Melanie righted herself, at least partially. Straddling his lap for balance, her body rocked intimately against his. Colt swallowed a frustrated groan.

  "Something grabbed my foot," she said. "That's why I fell."

  "What do you think it was?" he asked, barely grinding out the simple words, struggling to retain a modicum of dignity.

  "I'm not really sure. Maybe an eel or an octopus. It felt slimy."

  Colt noticed her teeth had quit chattering. "Seaweed probably. It's all over your legs."

  "Oh."

  Her smile made his groin throb even harder. She looked gorgeous in the moonlight, seaweed, sand and all. "Let's go." He pushed himself up and took her with him. Another wave was on its way.

  He spied the faint, flickering light from their lantern and carried her toward it. Her legs were wrapped around his middle, her arms clinging to his neck.

  "Where are you taking me?" she asked when he reached the campsite, grabbed a couple towels from the backpack and kept going.

  "To the nearest shower."

  She started shivering again but allowed him to turn on the outside shower along the cement walk that bordered the sand. The streetlights provided an incandescent glow so he held her just as she was, against his flesh, and let the water sluice over them. Soon he found himself running his hands through her hair, rinsing the sand out. When she returned the favor and released his debris-encrusted ponytail, he ducked his head under the cool water and sighed. They were like desperate lovers, wrapped in a tight embrace, their bodies humming with desire.

  Colt gazed into Melanie's passion-glazed eyes. It would be so easy to kiss her. His tongue would seek entrance and they would devour each other with moist, carnal thrusts. Their tongues would imitate what their bodies craved.

  Kissing her would be so damn easy. Yet so damn hard.

  If he did it, their relationship would change, and that was a risk he wasn't prepared to take. Spontaneous sex had brought him nothing but trouble in the past. Women always seemed to want more. And he didn't have it to give. He didn't want t
o be the object of someone's misguided affection. Not ever again.

  Colt eased Melanie to the ground, out of his arms. It was a painful separation. Her body had grazed his all the way down. Quickly he tossed her one of the towels he'd hitched over a bench.

  They dried vigorously, looked at each other and sputtered into nervous laughter. It seemed to be the only way to ease the sexual tension.

  "How does a warm, bubbly whirlpool sound?" she asked, wrapping the towel around herself.

  "Like a good idea." He needed to get her stubborn little hide out of the cold, and if he didn't go with her, he knew she'd protest. Melanie's health was of grave importance. Soon his child would be taking nourishment from her. Once she conceived, he told himself for the upteenth time, this man-woman, hungry-for-each-other thing would pass. There would be no denying her role in his life then. She'd be his surrogate. A vehicle for his baby. Nothing more.

  * * *

  Melanie sank into the hot tub, luxuriating in the warmth while desperately trying to rationalize Colt's sudden aloofness. On the beach, he had handled her with such gentleness, such infinite care that she had felt like a precious gem from the sea—protected and treasured—admired beyond comprehension.

  And that shower. Melanie knew Colt had contemplated kissing her. The way he'd moistened his own lips and stared at hers—there was no doubt in her mind how badly he wanted to sample her tongue, taste what would have brought them both such pleasure.

  God help her, she wanted to taste him too, every virile, salty, ocean-dampened inch. His body had felt so right against hers, hard where hers was soft, narrow where hers flared. When she'd released Colt's ponytail and smoothed his tangled mane, he'd closed his eyes, allowing her an unobtrusive view of his body, of the water funneling from his hair onto his chest. It had traveled like mist from a waterfall, rippling between contracting abdominal muscles only to disappear into the cove that joined their hips.

  Melanie stilled her thoughts and glanced over at Colt. He, too, was immersed in the steaming hot tub, and although his eyes were closed, his features were stoic. Where passion had once been so beautifully etched, apathy remained.

  Damn him, she thought. One step forward. Two steps back. The man was exasperating. "Are you hungry?" she asked, slipping out of the tub. "I made some snacks for the beach. We may as well nibble on them now."