Tallchief: The Hunter

by Cait London

  When the door was closed again, Adam shook his head and placed his free hand over her kiss. It had shaken him more than any wharf bully’s fist. Life wasn’t so bad when a man had a kiss in one hand and a jar of jam from his lady love in the other, he decided, inhaling the fragrant June night. He sat on the porch’s old oak chair, the jam on his knee, and wondered about the caring kiss she’d given him.

  Liam drove by; he reversed and stopped in front of Jillian’s house. Adam held up the jar of jam like a trophy, and Liam came to sit on the steps. Jillian came out of the house, glanced at Adam, and handed Liam a jar of jam with the stern order, “Talk and listen.”

  When she moved to sit in the chair next to Adam, he placed the jam on the floor and tugged her into his lap. He hadn’t needed anyone in his adult lifetime, and now he desperately needed Jillian. “Stay.”

  Struggling to survive, he’d never fully grieved for Sarah, and with Jillian on his lap, smoothing his hair, the love he felt for Sarah came more easily into the night.

  Old and sweet, the memories came back to him and he gave them to Liam—how Sarah packed them into a car to go camping, because the other boys were camping with their fathers. “She didn’t know how, but she had studied manuals and books for weeks. She was like that, giving me everything no matter the cost to her. She was always right there, in the front row of the audience at any of my school activities. I knew she would always listen.”

  Once started, Adam’s Sarah-stories came easily, as if they had been waiting to be released and shared with Liam. Adam gave them carefully, one by one, the treasures of his heart, and ended slowly saying, “We always had chocolate cake for special occasions because she knew it was my favorite. And that’s how she was—loving and giving.”

  When his throat tightened, Jillian leaned her head against his and smoothed his cheek. “I know, Adam. You loved her very much and you were so hurt by the cruelties to her. But she’s in you, right there in your heart.”

  Adam held her hand over his heart, unable to speak. He felt as if a tight knot inside him had just unfurled. Liam stood slowly and spoke quietly. “It must have been very hard for you, and for her. I can understand better why she wanted to insure that some part of our parents stayed with her, a part of her sister and the man she loved all that time. You’re right, she should be remembered well. I’ll try to think of her without the anger now—because she loved you.”

  When he’d gone, Adam sighed and placed his face against Jillian’s throat, needing her softness and comfort. Later, he might return to withholding his emotions, but just now he needed her. The light caress of her hand on his hair soothed the remaining pain inside him now. “I’ve never told anyone those stories, or how I felt. I didn’t realize until tonight how much of it has been locked in me—I’d better go.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not,” she whispered, then her lips were against his, sweet and soft and enticing. Adam could do little but lift her in his arms and carry her inside.

  Ten

  “Jillian…” In her house, Adam slowly eased her to her feet, fearing that in his need, he would touch her too roughly. The need to hold her close and make love with her was more than sexual, it was to bond his life with his love’s.

  “Adam…”

  She framed his face with her hands, and Adam held very still as her light kisses circled his face, his brow, his eyelids, his cheeks. His hands rested on that slight waist, lightly, so lightly, as he held back his impulse to hold her tight. His restraint served him well; the magic of her touch healed and softened and shared. With her arms around his waist, she rested her head on his shoulder, and Adam held his breath with the tenderness enveloping him. Turning her lips to his throat, Jillian nuzzled against him as though she were coming home.

  He swallowed heavily, bound by tender new emotions, fearing to speak, taking every touch, every caress into him to hoard.

  When Jillian eased away, Adam knew it was her right to choose. He stood still, aching for her, unable to move, to speak. She circled the room, locked the door, turned off the lights and walked slowly into the small bedroom and began undressing in the dim light. Her body swayed, the movements graceful as she folded back the old quilt, and slid between the sheets.

  “Come to bed, Adam,” she whispered as he stood, locked in place, unable to move.

  He moved to the bedroom doorway, bound by the sight of Jillian’s hair spread across the white pillowcase, the curve of her body beneath the sheets. “If this is because—”

  “This is for me, Adam. I need to know if what happened between us was real…if you really held me so tenderly, became a part of me, so deeply that I’ll never forget.”

  “I want you,” he said, and realized how blunt and ragged the words sounded, echoing in the feminine bedroom.

  “Come to me, Adam,” she repeated softly.

  He undressed slowly, methodically, folding his clothes and placing them on a small fragile chair. He paused by her dresser, the strand of her grandmother’s pearls running beneath a picture of them at the high school prom. The beaded headband blended with the pearls as if Jillian had been holding them both, thinking of what they meant to her.

  She lifted the sheet as he lay down beside her, her breast warm and soft against his arm. He intended for her to set the mood, but just that touch turned him to her, bending over her. He smoothed back her hair and wondered how she could look so serene and so warm and inviting at the same time.

  Her hand caressed his face, while the other moved slowly upon his chest, his back. “Oh, it happened all right,” she whispered while he tried to restrain his hunger, his hand already at her breast, treasuring it.

  One touch, a gentle sweep over her body and lower, that soft cry and arch of her body told him that he was not alone in his driving need to be one with her. Suddenly, Jillian tensed and placed her hands on his chest, easing him away and to his back. She moved over him, and Adam thought he would never forget the sight, the intensity of her face, the warm pulse enclosing him.

  She began to move more quickly and Adam forgot his good intentions, his mouth seeking hers, his hands on her hips, the flow of her body against his, taking and giving and tightening—

  Her cry, that gentle constriction set off his own and Adam lost control, flying with her into that hot, pulsing starburst. He held her close, fearing that she was only the dream, not the woman. Jillian rested over him, her legs tangled with his, her uneven breath cruising across his throat, her body trembling in the aftershocks of their passion.

  He rested with her, dazzled by the sensations, the scents, the heat of her body. He smoothed that sleek hair back from her damp cheek and found that soft, warm mouth, treasuring the taste and the lingering pleasure of holding her. Then Jillian was kissing him, seeking him again, her body restless and flowing against his, and Adam forgot everything but loving her.

  Turning her suddenly, surging into her, Adam tried to be gentle and slow. Deep in the pounding pulse, wrapped in her scents, her arms and legs, her body flowing against his, Adam fought the desperation to take her too quickly. The need was primitive, arising sharply to claim her.

  But her teeth nipped his shoulder, his ear, setting him off, and the jolt shot through him like electricity. Jillian arched, taking him deeper and Adam flew with her, his kiss perhaps too savage, but met by her own hunger. He reveled in her sounds, the pleasured deep purrs that spoke of hunger and need and the intensity of their lovemaking.

  He shifted slightly, stroking that long slender thigh and enjoying the quiver of soft hot flesh, the ragged groan erupting from her, those dark sultry eyes watching him. She panted softly, as they paused in the pleasure, storing it, anticipating what would come.

  No words were needed as Adam bent to cherish her breast, taking it in his lips, biting gently, suckling, before moving to the other. Jillian held very still, her hands holding him to her, her body lifting and leaping to his pleasure. “Take me now,” she whispered with just the desperate tone that matched his own.

&n
bsp; They were one, coming together, fighting for the ultimate release, no gentle emotion, but the truth between them. Bound by heat and the tempest and need, they crested, gave and took and slowly eased.

  When Adam could lift his head, Jillian stared blankly at him, her heart racing beneath his hand. She smoothed his cheek and smiled slowly, gently, sleepily. “Don’t leave me, Adam,” she whispered as she drifted into a deep sleep, curled next to him.

  Adam dozed and at the first light, eased from Jillian’s bed. She turned to him sleepily, then as though realizing what had passed, her eyes widened as Adam pulled the blanket over her bare breasts. In the predawn shadows, her blush was beautiful, her eyes easing from his. “Stop grinning. I know exactly what I did. You caused it, Adam Tallchief.”

  “Well, so I did. Equal opportunity, isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “I was…ravenous. Not ladylike at all. What you must think of me—”

  Adam couldn’t resist sweeping away the quilt and bending to kiss her breasts.

  “I can’t think when you do that,” she whispered unsteadily.

  “Keep that in mind,” he said as he began dressing. “I don’t want the whole town talking about my pickup parked in front of your house all night.”

  He ducked the pillow she threw at him, and the sight of her sitting up, holding her knees, almost pulled him back to her. The memory would keep his body humming and hungry all day.

  Jillian hadn’t hunted a lover before, and unable to concentrate later that day, she found Adam at the Tallchief Cattle Ranch. She saw him easing down on a horse that hadn’t been fully broken, and terror held her immobile. The horse hit the side of the corral, spun and kicked, and still Adam held tight, his expression grim and determined.

  Her hands rested over her wildly pounding heart, her throat dry as he swung down from the horse and walked to talk to Duncan. Then Adam saw her, and the hard lock of his eyes riveted her. That stark expression said that he was a part of her and she was a part of him, and that he would be coming for her. His gaze moved slowly, possessively, down her body as if he wanted her then. As if he could carry her off, or if the scene were private, have her where he caught her. Adam didn’t look away when Duncan spoke, but started to walk toward her.

  The fierce hot need shot at her through the distance, Adam’s gray eyes unwavering. The sunlight gleamed almost blue-black on his hair, the wind catching it. The planes and angles of his face were that of a man now, more muscle in the throat and in the breadth of his shoulders, but still those narrow hips, those long legs. In a faded cotton shirt and worn jeans with a tear at the thigh, he was just perfect for a woman to tend. Or take. Striding in the sunlight, he was magnificent, strong, the confident, conquering male, taking away her breath. She blended the image with another one, the boy, carrying his football helmet after a winning game, walking toward her.

  There was just that bit of swagger, of arrogance to challenge her now, to test her as a woman, to excite her in a different way.

  Standing in front of her, he hooked his thumbs in his belt and tilted his head, studying her. She’d never blushed before Adam and the warm upward sweep of color startled her. She felt exposed, hot, rosy and—very, very ripe for loving. “I’m new at this,” she managed. “Please don’t ever ride like that again.”

  “I’m new at it, too. I missed you and the horse seemed like a good distraction. Otherwise I would have come back and—” He tugged her into his arms, and Jillian stood on tiptoe to meet his kiss, her hands tethering that wild black shaggy mane she loved.

  “Let’s take a ride,” he said abruptly, and lifted her in his arms. He carried her to his pickup and tugged her close to him as he drove.

  When he stopped in a secluded cove of pine trees, he turned to her. Jillian trembled, anticipating what would come, eager for his body, to have him hold her in that sweet, hungry way. Adam’s smoky eyes warmed as they took in her body, ready for him.

  “Jillian,” he whispered unevenly, and now just the warmth of color darkened his cheeks. Just as she wanted, he scooped her close to him, his lips already upon hers, his hands busy with their clothing. A strap of her bra tore free, and as Jillian pulled on his shirt, wanting him against her, his buttonhole tore.

  He trembled when he came to her, and just there was the reverence in his touch, that slight pause that told her that he tempered his strength, fearing to hurt her.

  Then the tempest began, body against body, heat and hunger mixed. Desperate for him, Jillian framed his jaw with her hands, locking that beautiful, exciting mouth to hers as Adam made love with her, moving as one.

  When Jillian surfaced, she lay beneath Adam, a bird peering through the windshield at them. She’d never been so content, smoothing Adam’s shoulders, his back, drifting in the sweet lingering of his breath and slow kisses against her throat. His lips curved against her skin. “This pickup seat is too short and I think I got a bruise or two from the gearshift. Are you all right?”

  She stretched luxuriously. “Better than all right. I’m perfect. Show me your bruises and I’ll kiss them.”

  Adam lifted his head to look down at her. “Don’t start anything we can’t finish. I’m supposed to ask you to have dinner at Duncan’s.”

  She tried to rise and Adam gently pushed her down on the seat. “Adam, I’ve got to go home and change.”

  That dark smoky gaze lingered on her face, touched her swollen lips, and eased down the length of her body, a bra strap caught on her shoulder, the blouse still on one arm. “You look fine to me and there’s no time.”

  “I can’t go—”

  “Sure, you can,” Adam said as he pulled her upright and started to dress her. From the dashboard, he took a safety pin and fastened the torn strap to her bra, bending to kiss her there and to find her sensitive nipples beneath the lace. She held her breath as another aftershock of their lovemaking hit her.

  “You’ll come then?” he asked, carefully fastening another safety pin beneath her blouse where the button was missing.

  She looked down at her wrinkled cotton print blouse, her wrinkled slacks, and gave the only answer she could. “Love to.”

  When they stood in front of the old Tallchief homestead, the entire family was relaxing on the front porch, children running across the yard, playing tag. Another Jillian would have been perfectly groomed, calm and controlled, socially adept at meeting any situation. Images of how she had looked at other family gatherings—dressed expensively, wearing heels and pearls and gold, and a stiff, false smile came to her mind. Instead of a limousine parked in the driveway, she’d ridden in an old truck, snuggled close to Adam, teasing him with kisses as he drove. With the Tallchiefs, she wouldn’t need to make meaningless conversation or to conceal her bruised heart with a smile.

  As she stood in the sunlight, Jillian’s legs were weak from lovemaking, her body sated and heavy, and she felt wonderful. The best she could manage as she stood there in wrinkled clothes, safety pins and her blush, was an uncertain smile.

  Adam put his arm around her waist and tugged her close, protectively. She glanced at him for reassurance, noted his torn buttonhole and the narrowed, steely look he gave the Tallchiefs. Though they wouldn’t remark on the lovers’ appearances, Adam’s expression, the tense lock of his body, said that she was his; that he would fight to keep her.

  The afternoon flew by, with Adam holding her hand, with her feeding him a tidbit. The gestures were small, but thrilling and Adam’s deep rumbling laughter stunned her. Once while he was lying on the floor, playing with Sam the Truck, she passed and he reached out to circle her ankle with his hand. The long, lazy, smoldering look he gave her, said that he was thinking of making love.

  He caught her in the kitchen, eased her into a dark closet, and kissed her again, just as hungrily, his hands moving over her, caressing and heating. When they emerged, Jillian couldn’t think about anything but Adam. She smoothed her hair and her clothes as she leaned against the wall for strength. “I’m not certain this is normal
for people our age,” she managed to say huskily, her lips sensitive from his kisses. “I think I’m going home now. It’s been quite a day.”

  “We’ve got some catching up to do. I can’t keep my hands off you, and I’m starting to wonder if I ever will.” Adam’s hands rested on the wall beside her head; his gaze lingered on the lips she had just licked with her tongue. He toyed with a strand of her hair. “Come see me tonight at the bar. I’m working.”

  She almost said that she hadn’t ever been to a tavern, but in the end, with Adam looking down at her, she nodded. “I’d be happy to. What’s the appropriate dress?”

  He chuckled at that. “I’d rather you didn’t wear anything at all and that we were alone.”

  At noon the next day, Jillian gripped another jar of jam and walked toward the old farmhouse. Her body ached, from the night’s loving and from the anticipated confrontation with Adam. The day was bright and blue and perfect with spring sunshine—perfect for her mission.

  Country taverns weren’t so bad, not when you’re wearing pearls and a nice sweater and slacks set—and Adam was holding her as they danced. He’d held her much tighter at her house, their lovemaking sweet and long, each touch more lovely than the previous.

  Adam had slipped away before dawn. Sated and exhausted, Jillian had barely felt his kiss. She’d awakened late, lying amid the tangle of sheets. She’d nuzzled his pillow and tugged it close against her, aching for Adam. She’d taken her time, drawing her bath and sipping her morning tea while resting in the soothing herbal scents. Jillian wondered what to do with a man who would leave her alone in the morning-after.

  She shook her head and glanced at the milk cows in the pasture, the rusty old tractor and Adam’s battered pickup truck. The two-story, white farmhouse needed tending, the former elderly residents unable to meet its needs. The barn was in worse shape, the sheds and outbuildings slanted with age.