WARRIOR'S BABY

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  He glanced down at the black and red design. "It reminded me of you. Of that art work you're designing for The Bandit."

  Her heart swelled. He couldn't have paid her a nicer compliment. The fact she had influenced his taste was a good sign. "I'm almost done with the new design. I'll show it to you later."

  A light glittered in his dark eyes. "Okay."

  He started unpacking the paper bags, and she stepped into the kitchen to make the tea. The knowing look in his gaze had made her a little dizzy. Her artwork wouldn't be the only thing she would be showing him tonight. Their forthcoming sexual encounter billowed between them like a sheer cloth, tangible yet transparent. A secret neither dared whisper.

  The food cartons were scattered on the tabletop when she returned with the tea. She poured the steaming brew into their cups and placed the floral-painted pot on a cloth napkin.

  "You must be hungry," she said, eyeing the amount of food he'd provided.

  He laughed and scooted onto the bench seat across from her. "I wasn't sure what sweet-and-sour anything was." He flipped open several cartons and peered inside. "So I got everything sweet-and-sour they had."

  Melanie, warmed by his concern to please her, took a small sample of each sweet-and-sour entrée and reached for her fork.

  He held up two paper-wrapped packages that obviously contained chopsticks. "Do you know how to use these?"

  She took one of the packages and tore it open. "Yes, but I'm not an expert."

  He opened the other one and grinned. "That doesn't matter. Just eat with them so I can see how it's done. I've always wanted to learn."

  She prayed her hand wouldn't shake. "All right. You hold them kind of like a pencil, but you only move your index finger." She demonstrated and lifted a piece of shrimp from her plate. "The top stick does all the work. See?" The shrimp made it to her mouth without incident. No apparent nervousness.

  He gave it a try and missed. The chow mein slipped back onto his plate, and they both laughed. "Maybe I should try something bigger, like you did." He went after a slice of lemon chicken, lost it and tried again, only to have the breaded fowl land on the table. Colt retrieved it quickly with his fingers, then stuffed it in his mouth. "You didn't see that." He teased her with a heart-stopping wink.

  She marveled at his boyishness. Colt Raintree had many facets to his personality, and this was the side that attracted children to the otherwise roguish-looking cowboy. Gloria's kids were still singing his praises.

  "You're trying to use both sticks. Just move the top one," Melanie said, demonstrating her skill once again. She nibbled another shrimp, then looked up to find him staring.

  "Come over here and show me."

  She continued swallowing long after the shrimp had slid down her throat. Clearly, he was looking for an excuse to be near her. "I'm not sure if I'm teaching you correctly," she said, slipping onto the bench seat beside him. "But I'll do my best."

  She placed her hand over his, and he turned toward her. Their eyes met.

  "Like this." Melanie quivered a little as she helped him grasp a chicken slice.

  They raised it together. It touched his lips and he bit off a piece, then offered it to her. After she ate what was left, he freed his hand from beneath hers, touched her hair and leaned in close.

  His warm breath tickled her ear. "I've had fantasies about your mouth," he whispered, caressing her hair. "About how it would feel against my skin."

  His erotic admission sent shivers through her body, tingling areas she dared not acknowledge. When she reciprocated with a voice that sounded too husky to be her own, she heard his breath catch. "I think about you, too, Colt."

  "At night, when you're alone?" he asked.

  She closed her eyes. Tight. "Yes."

  He nibbled her earlobe. "Were you naked when you thought about me, Melanie?"

  Every inch of her heated and most likely flushed, but she found herself answering his forbidden question. "Sometimes." He occupied her mind day and night, her body clothed and unclothed.

  The raw hunger he evoked frightened her. She had a desperate urge to rip his shirt open and cover his warm flesh with her mouth, scrape it with her teeth. Melanie opened her eyes and stared down at her trembling hands. "You make me feel things … want to do things…"

  He lifted her chin with his index finger, beckoning her to meet his gaze. "What things?"

  Her eyelids fluttered. "I can't…"

  "I've embarrassed you."

  She struggled to keep eye contact. "A little." A lot. She had never engaged in sensual secrets or even imagined disclosing carnal fantasies to a man.

  He placed his hands over hers, and she knew he tried to ease her nervousness.

  "How can you be so sexy, yet so innocent?"

  What a loaded question. How could she tell him that she had learned to look like an enchantress without actually being one? That she wanted men to notice her, but shied away from their advances? That deep down, Melanie was still Gertrude.

  Melanie nibbled her bottom lip. She didn't know how to tell him about her virginity without telling him she'd been saving herself for the right man. An admission like that might make Colt think twice. Now wasn't the time to confess. She would just have to deal with some sort of explanation after they made love.

  Melanie glanced over at the scattered white canons, choosing to avoid the subject of her sexual innocence. "The food's probably cold."

  "I'm not all that hungry, are you?"

  She scooted out of the seat and began closing canons. "Not really." Not for food, anyway. Knowing what came next had her torn between excitement and fear. As unsettling as her virginity was, she wanted him. Desperately.

  Colt appeared to notice her quaking hands. "I'll help."

  They put the leftovers in the refrigerator, rinsed and stacked the dishes then wiped the table. As she emptied the teapot, Colt came up behind her, swept her hair away from her neck and whispered in her ear, "Melanie, I think we need to talk."

  She set the teapot in the sink and turned to face him. He looked troubled. "Is something wrong?"

  He searched her gaze. "Wrong? Not really, no. It's just that you seem so shy about this. About you and me."

  She wasn't sure how to respond so she just stared at him, nibbling her bottom lip again—a habit that had replaced nail biting.

  He touched her cheek as if to offer comfort. "I want to do right by you, make tonight special, but—"

  "But what?" Was he backing away? Had he changed his mind?

  "It's just that I don't want to embarrass you or make you uncomfortable, but I don't know if I'll be able to stop myself from saying the things I feel. I've never been this sexually attracted to someone before." He expelled a heavy breath. "Good God, woman, I fantasize about you. Want you so bad, I ache."

  Melanie's heartbeat tripled. "Then touch me," she whispered, moving into his arms. "Take what you need. Say and feel what you want. Make me yours."

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  He led her to the living room, to the Navaho rug in front of the stone hearth, then stepped back to gaze at her. "I want to undress you with my eyes first. And whenever you come through the front door, I want you to remember this moment, this room and us being in it."

  She shivered, not from a chill but from warmth. She had never felt so much a woman before, and no man had ever admired her to such an emotional degree. Colt's gaze was sparked with more than just passion. He wasn't just undressing her with his eyes. His soul was involved. She could feel it.

  Colt stood, riveted to the floor, his voice vibrating with barely controlled hunger. "So many times I've imagined how you would look without your clothes. How you would feel." A small smile tilted his lips. "Taste."

  Melanie drew a deep breath. "I've thought the same thing about you." Her gaze swept over him, at the strength of his jaw, the river of black satin flowing over his shoulders, the way his jeans hugged his masculinity. "I've wondered how your hair would
feel when it touched me."

  He moved closer. "Where, Melanie? When it touched you where?"

  She steadied herself and pushed away the wave of shyness threatening to inhibit her. The concept of foreplay, of touching and teasing was common knowledge, but stimulation through words had never occurred to her. Yet her body had reacted to his confession, just as his had to hers. The permission she had given him to speak freely was a prelude to something wondrous.

  Melanie raised her hands to her dress and brushed her fingers across her distended nipples. "Here," she whispered. "When it touched me here."

  He came toward her and stopped when they were but inches apart. The air between them appeared to be steaming, heat rising from their bodies.

  "What do you have on under your dress?" he asked. "What did you wear for me?"

  The fact that he knew she had chosen undergarments with his pleasure in mind caused another shiver. "Black silk."

  "Oh, God." A groan rose from his throat. "What does it feel like to have silk against your body?"

  Her response was immediate. "The way I've imagined your hair would feel."

  That appeared to be his undoing. Without warning, he grabbed her, then crushed his mouth against hers. As her heart thudded in a thick, aroused beat, his tongue drew her into a seduction so powerful she trembled. He was as thirst-quenching as raindrops on a summer day, as clean as freshly fallen snow. He was the earth, the sky and the stars. Everything vital to her. Everything beautiful.

  They fused greedily, pressed their bodies close and shifted their hips. He bent his knees and she raised on her toes, both desperately trying to feel the other's heat, make it part of their own.

  He ended the kiss only to bury his face in her hair. "I want to take you like this," he said, the words as grinding as the rhythm of his hips. "And I will, but not tonight."

  She understood what he meant. There would be another time, a frantic union when he would free himself, push her dress up and tear away the hindrance of an undergarment. But tonight, he would make love to her, as slowly and carefully as he could endure.

  She held him close and stroked his back, allowing him time to rein in his appetite, steady eager hands and a rapid pulse. Finally he raised his head and touched her cheek. "Can I undress you?"

  She nodded and swallowed.

  He reached around and found the zipper on her dress. "I just want to touch you. We won't make love until we're in your bed."

  As he opened the zipper and slid the black garment from her shoulders, she fixed her gaze on his hair, on the luster, the midnight sheen. Though she wanted to capture it and let it flow through her fingers, she remained still. This was his moment to explore, to undress her, not just with his eyes, but with his hands. His capable, work-roughened hands.

  When the dress pooled at her feet, he touched, just as he said he would. "So beautiful," he marveled, slipping his fingers inside her bra. "And so responsive."

  A moment later the silk bra was deftly unhooked and Melanie felt it being removed. Colt leaned forward and kissed one nipple, then the other before flicking a playful tongue across them. And then, as though catering to her fantasy, he buried his face in her cleavage and caressed her with the length of his hair.

  Melanie seized his scalp. If the sighs filling the room were hers, she didn't notice; she was much too captivated by the feathery strokes of his hair and the liquid sensation rushing through her veins.

  When his mouth covered one nipple and drew on it as would a nursing babe, her womb reacted and the purpose for their loving flooded her with maternal joy. But the suckling was only a sample, a quick tease of what was yet to come. Colt raised his head and lowered his hands to the silk panties and caressed the fabric before pulling them down over her hips. After Melanie discarded them, she kicked her sandals away. Aside from the gold anklet, she was bare. Naked just for him.

  He took her hands and placed them against his chest, silently asking her to disrobe him. The Western-style shirt had snaps, so she delighted in pulling it open with one swift motion. But before she could proceed further, he removed his boots and sent them hurtling toward the fireplace.

  Melanie waited for him to resume his stance, kissed each flat brown nipple, then grazed his bronzed flesh with her teeth. Tight, corded stomach muscles jumped as she slid her fingers over them, pursuing the thin line of black hair disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. She traced it lovingly with a fingernail, scratching just enough to provoke primitive sounds from Colt.

  As soon as she unbuttoned his jeans, he sprang forward, thick and fully aroused. She didn't even stop to think that he wasn't wearing briefs or even boxers; his masculine strength took her breath away.

  Like mirror images, they reached for each other and held tight, luxuriating in human warmth and sensual need.

  "I want to kiss you here," he said, sliding his hand down between her thighs. "Will you let me taste you?"

  Unable to deny his erotic plea, she nodded, and Colt dropped to his knees. The first tender kiss tickled, the second teased and the third swept her into an inferno of desire. The tip of his tongue flicked out like a fiery dart before delving deeply. He sipped and laved the bud of her femininity, kissing the tender flesh as skillfully as he had her mouth. Tentatively, she touched the top of his head, feeling compelled, yet apprehensive to participate.

  He slid his mouth to her thigh, nibbled the skin, then looked up, dark eyes blazing. "Do you want more?" he asked thickly.

  Melanie thought to look away but didn't. Instead she held his gaze, willing herself to accept the craving his loving had evoked. "Yes."

  "Then don't be shy about showing me."

  It was difficult not to feel shy about something so intimate, but she realized how much she wanted to succumb to the passion, to be completely immersed. When Melanie reached down to touch his mouth, explore the source of pleasure, he nipped her finger then suckled it, urging her aggression.

  As she pushed her hands through his hair and found herself aroused by her own actions, by the need to press herself against him and demand more, he drove her toward the edge. Helpless to Colt's ministrations, she closed her eyes. Ripples of excitement rapidly accelerated to a whirling crest. When the climactic peak finally ripped through her body, she grasped handfuls of his hair and held tight as wave after shuddering wave rocked her.

  The sensation of being pulled to the floor ended with her sitting on Colt's lap, her knees bent on either side of him, his mouth covering hers. They kissed and kissed, then kissed some more until finally separating for air.

  They stared at each other and smiled. Melanie put her head against his shoulder and he caressed her back. I love you, she wanted to say. With every fiber of my being, I love you.

  "Colt?"

  "Hmm?"

  She dropped her hand between their bodies and stroked his erection. "Take me to bed."

  * * *

  The sheets were dusky pink, her skin a golden tan, eyes an enticing shade of blue. Colt couldn't remember ever seeing a woman so soft and full of color, so passionate yet so innocent.

  The intent of their union was procreation, but somewhere in the recesses of his mind he feared she had bewitched him. Braced above her, he admired her beauty, filling his flaring nostrils with her scent. Peach and woman. Honey and cream. Human salt and sex.

  She looked up at him and he wondered how long he could hold off. Desire roared through his blood and pounded in his ears, yet he wanted to absorb her essence before he buried himself in it. The glow from a pale amber lamp highlighted the fiery streaks in her hair and bathed the coral tips of her breasts in warmth. As he flicked his tongue over one cresting tip, she arched and sighed; he knew he was lost.

  An image of his child tasting her milk and suckling her sweetness threatened his senses. Although the romantic notion was one he dared not dwell upon, he couldn't stop the words that spilled from him. "Will you nurse my baby, Melanie?"

  She stroked his hair and drew his head closer. "Yes."

&n
bsp; A hunger like no other engulfed him. Colt closed his mouth over her and feasted, rolled his tongue and tasted and suckled and listened to her soft cry of pleasure. As he stirred against her leg, he rubbed her slender limb like a lusty youth struggling for relief.

  She responded in kind, rubbing back at him, holding his head to her breast and encouraging him to sate his appetite. He raised his head and feasted on her other nipple, then rolled it gently between his teeth.

  Unable to control his desire a moment longer, Colt tore his mouth away and rose above her. Melanie shifted her hips and parted her thighs, but when he entered her with an urgent thrust, her painful gasp stunned his senses, stilling him.

  She stared up at him, her blue eyes wide. Innocent.

  A virgin.

  Colt swallowed. Good God. He'd just rammed into her without the slightest care. He should have picked up on the signs. No wonder she'd been so nervous.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't know … I—"

  "Shhh." She pressed her finger against his lips. "Just love me, Colt. I want to feel you move inside me."

  He kissed her gently then rocked his hips in a slow yet erotic motion, giving her body time to adjust to his. He watched her, studied her expression, waited for the discomfort etched on her features to fade.

  When she smiled at him with a smile so pure, so genuine, he knew it was an offering. She had given herself to him. Her body and, God forbid, maybe even part of her soul.

  Lord help him, for the first time ever, he was making love. Not having sex, but making love. Making a baby, preparing through every satisfying stroke to fill her with his seed.

  Together they increased the tempo, just enough to crave each other's mouths, to match tongue thrusts with hip thrusts. To scratch and claw and revel in wicked splendor—in the eroticism of fantasy, the pleasure of reality.

  Her legs, lean and strong, gripped him as her hands, slender and delicate, traced his jaw, the line of his nose, the indentations below his cheekbones, the arch of each dark eyebrow. "I'm memorizing you with my fingers." She raised her hips, taking him deeper. "And my body."