15
W orn out, but more emotionally despondent than physically, Ben returned to his home shortly after dawn the next morning.
The night’s battle with the Skinwalkers had seemed particularly brutal to him. Perhaps it was because when his eyes went blind, his other senses became so much more acute. Distant cries of anguish and pain rang in his ears. The smell of death clung to his clothes and skin. The flavor of blood sent metallic tastes to sour his stomach.
He had so hoped that no one would be injured, and that the Brotherhood would be able to take a Skinwalker warrior alive. Instead, it was just another bad joke on them all. They had actually captured one of the evil ones. They took Coach Singleton alive in his human form, though the other young men witches had slipped away into the night.
But before any of the Brotherhood could finish saying the chants that would weaken the coach enough to ask their questions, he’d turned himself into a vulture and attacked with his superhuman strength.
He’d given them no choice but to shoot down the bird.
Ben had said prayers over the remains of the unearthly being. And while he did, he’d prayed as he had many times before that the Brotherhood would somehow uncover an ancient chant or potion that would paralyze a Skinwalker. He longed to be able to turn them forever away from the dark wind so they could return to the living and their clans and families.
There were old rumors and whispers that such magical chants and potions had existed once in Dinetah. The elder hataaliis all told tales of how a single good medicine man with the right chant had been the one to bring down the original Skinwalker after his thousand-year reign of terror.
Ben knew his cousin Michael Ayze was spending all his spare hours searching ancient ruins and hidden archeological sites for any sign of such a chant or potion. If a thing like that had ever existed in Dinetah, they must find it again. Or the Skinwalker power would eventually overwhelm them all.
With his heart heavy and his vision nearly clear in the growing daylight, Ben climbed the stairs to his front deck. Before he went inside, it occurred to him that Tory might still be sleeping on his sofa in the front room. He turned and walked around the side of the house toward the medicine hogan, hoping not to disturb her.
But when he rounded the last corner of the house, he stopped in his tracks and stared at the old cottonwood tree that stood at the edge of his garden and partially shaded the front of the medicine hogan. He beheld a sight that put a zing back in his body and erased the black spirits from his mind.
There, on a double-wide swing that had never existed before, sat the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Tory, with her blond hair streaming down her back, her long cotton T-shirt blowing in the breeze and her bare feet and legs pumping her higher and higher into the air.
Had she built the swing all on her own? Or perhaps a Skinwalker had conjured it up to tempt him.
His feet propelled him toward the vision. “Good morning,” he said softly in English. “Where’d you get the swing?”
She looked over at him and for a split second he caught emotions hiding in her gray-blue eyes that he didn’t recognize. But then…the mere sight of her began to caress his spirits, sending his libido into a spin and liquefying his granite heart.
Masking whatever feelings had been in her eyes, Tory smiled at him. Using her feet as brakes, she brought the wide-seated swing to a stop.
“Shirley Nez brought it and I helped her set it up yesterday afternoon,” she told him with a sad smile in her voice. “She just left, by the way. Said to tell you the swing is to keep your youngest patients occupied while they wait to see you.”
“May I join you?” His heart was pounding at the thought of sitting next to her, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice and laugh at him.
“Sure,” she said as she scooted over. “It’s so peaceful out here at this early hour. I just love being able to look over the entire garden. It seems like you can watch the plants growing.”
The juxtaposition of last night’s horror contrasted sharply with the sweetness of Tory’s smile. It made him catch his breath. The tender sight of her sent him rolling backward into urgent longings he had tried to bury.
The only thing he wanted now, would ever want, was to lose himself with her. To forget everything else—wars, vows, traditions, blindness—everything.
He sat beside her, but not touching. “Let’s just sit and enjoy the quiet for a few minutes. I don’t think I’m quite ready for swinging.”
She murmured her agreement, and the sound was low and sensual in her throat. Ben gripped the swing’s rope and gritted his teeth, struggling hard for control.
Every night since she’d been staying with him, he’d lain awake in bed and ached for her. Ached to walk the few feet out to his great-room sofa. Ached to take her in his arms.
His big, comfortable bed had never seemed so lonely.
There were so many bad reasons for the two of them to come together physically. And so many good reasons for them not to.
But this celibate thing had gone way too far. Kody Long had been every bit as virile and strong in last night’s battle as any of the bachelor members of the Brotherhood who swore they were remaining celibate and sticking with their vows. Yet Kody got to go home to climb into a warm bed with his beautiful wife last night, the same as he did every night.
Ben remembered he hadn’t felt the least bit…underpowered after his one night with Tory. If anything, he had been stronger and sharper than ever before.
No. He would tell the Brotherhood that they need not keep their vows any longer. He didn’t intend to himself. Perhaps the old legends had been just old wives’ tales, anyway.
Tory fidgeted quietly next to him.
“What’s that you have on?” he asked, afraid to really turn his attention to her and find out.
“This?” She looked down at herself and apparently just then realized what she was wearing. “Oh. Well, this is what I wear for a nightshirt. You aren’t supposed to see me in this old T-shirt thing. I thought I’d get a chance to shower and change before you came home.”
“Sorry. But I’m not blind. Not at the moment, at least.” But actually, he wished he was. Seeing her in the ultrasoft cotton shirt that probably stopped at midthigh was a temptation he could’ve done without.
And now he couldn’t do anything except wonder what the hell she had on under it.
She sighed, and her chest raised and lowered with the deep breath. It made him want to chant, to pray, to do anything to get his mind off the fact that she obviously didn’t have on a bra.
He needed her. Not just for sex, though that was a big part of it. And not just for help with his practice, though he couldn’t have gone this far without her.
It was more along the lines that he just—needed her close. In a primal, fundamental kind of way. The exact way that Changing Woman had taught a man and a woman should be joined.
Barely caring at all anymore how long they had left to be together, Ben wondered if perhaps he should spend the rest of the day trying to explain his change of heart. Would she listen? Would she bless him by coming to his bed?
After all, he was sure that she wanted him—actually, it was more that she needed him as he needed her. That was what he’d seen in her eyes a minute ago.
Ben refused to allow himself to think of the other emotions he’d also seen there. The more tender, life-altering emotions he couldn’t name and didn’t want to accept.
Tory fidgeted beside him again, and he turned to see if he was crowding her.
Both of her hands were raised to the back of her head, which only succeeded in pushing her breasts even higher and more forward than they were before. The blood stopped running to his brain and time stood on its head as he held his breath.
“What’s…” he croaked. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “What are you doing with your hair?”
“It’s a wreck. I hadn’t realized how long it had gotten in the time I’ve been working out here with
you. I’m trying to put it up into a ponytail, just to get it off my neck.”
The world tilted out of balance, and he knew the Yei had given him another chance to have what he so desired. To put back the balance between them.
“I’m pretty good when it comes to braiding hair. May I help?”
He saw her holding her breath, too, as she slowly turned to stare up at him. There it was again, buried in those mesmerizing gray-blues. The need. The desire.
He thanked whatever god had smiled on him for giving him the opportunity to see those eyes and feel that warm emotion one more time.
“Please do,” she said hesitantly.
He didn’t have to be asked twice. Scooping her up by the waist, he dragged her hips over his thigh and settled her bottom in between his legs with her back to him.
She hiccupped her surprise at his quick movements, but then steadied herself by grabbing hold of his knees and nesting her bottom between them to be more comfortable. The chance to fill his hands with her hair, with her, made his whole body shake in anticipation.
Finally, he wiped the sweat from his palms on his pants leg, picked up a few sunshine-colored strands and let them slide slowly through his fingers. Spun gold. Satin temptation.
The sudden adrenaline surge nearly blew the top off his head, as testosterone splashed through his veins. For a few seconds he just sat there, with both his hands fisted in her hair, and experienced the tension as it built in his every nerve ending.
He let his eyes take in the gentle curve of her neck, the fine strands below her hairline. Desperate to remember all of the senses of her, he focused on the color, the texture.
Unable to resist, he bent his head and placed his lips against the tender skin on the side of her neck. Sweet and salty, his tongue delighted in the experience of Tory.
She took a breath, then leaned back against his chest with a moan. He dropped his hands and ran them lightly up and down her arms, loving how she felt as she trembled beneath his fingers.
But his hands seemed to be developing a mind of their own and came to the decision that they needed more. More of the feel of her. Something more to remember on all those lonely dark nights without her to come.
Sliding his hands around her rib cage, he gave his palms permission to fill themselves with her breasts. As they did, she made a funny little noise in the back of her throat. He felt her nipples harden beneath his hands, peaking and straining against the soft material.
Tory couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand all the tension coiling inside her. She had to touch. Had to see.
She took a breath, slid out from under his hands and flipped her body around, tucking her knees beside his thick, masculine thighs. When she looked into his eyes, she found them filled with promise—and confusion. Those emotions had been what she’d longed to see. He did want her, even though he was still conflicted by his own blatant sexual urges.
Good. So was she.
An early-morning breeze caught the ends of her hair and blew a few strands over her shoulders. It made her flash back to their one erotic night and the sensual pleasure of his long, loose hair floating across her neck, arms and chest as he moved down her body.
She tried to soak up his current image as he continued to watch her intently. That he could see her at all was more than thrilling. Something to savor in the long lonely years ahead without him.
All the while, as they sat there silently gazing at one another, soft cedar-scented gusts whispered at her back. The obvious hunger in those treacherous eyes of his was compelling. What woman wouldn’t melt when the man she loved beyond redemption looked at her as though he might die if he couldn’t touch, or couldn’t watch her reactions as he did.
His hair was falling loose from its leather tether, and she reached up to brush a strand off his cheek. He never blinked at her movement. But when he shifted those deep sexy brown eyes to her neck and then lower, the skin under his glance began to flame.
Using the pad of his thumb, he gently stroked her skin directly above where she’d felt the fire. But that only succeeded in stoking the heat and driving it lower. In an instant she felt fully aroused.
If he didn’t want to finish this, right here—right now—it would kill her. For it was far too late to stop. She tipped her head back and held his gaze, until she realized she’d been holding her breath.
As she filled her lungs with the crisp mountain air, she moved her own thumb over his strong, jutting chin. Letting her hands glide downward from there, she ran them over his Adam’s apple and down to the base of his neck. Her body ached, felt as though fire ants crawled in her veins. Every tightly strung nerve begged her to go faster.
Smoothing her hands down his chest, she let them race across his shirt as they moved lower still. Pausing only long enough to flip open buttons with her nail, she was headed toward the belt buckle of his jeans.
Ben gritted his teeth and sat perfectly still. It had been quite stunning, that flush of hunger on his beloved’s face as she stared up into his eyes. Her lips had parted as she watched him—and wanted.
Unwilling to resist the heated female invitation in her eyes, he cupped his hand behind her neck and pulled her sweet mouth into a kiss. She stroked his bottom lip with her tongue and his brain went south.
He took possession of her mouth. Slow and teasing at first, their kiss soon became deeper, ravenous and stunningly intense. As their tongues telegraphed sexual intent, his every nerve ending focused on her taste. Spun honey and spring sage.
Wet and carnal now, she was wild—and unbearably beautiful. He fought back a sheen of tears and let her take the lead.
It took a lot of well-focused Navajo endurance for him to sit there, continuing to kiss her as she ran her hand down to his jeans. When she laid a heavy palm over the hard ridge of his flesh beneath the zipper, he had to break their lips apart slightly to let out a gasp.
She hummed, licked her lips and dropped her chin to watch where her fingers where leading. He let her explore and nearly bit his tongue in two as she slowly, carefully undid the zipper and slipped her hands inside.
Making a low guttural hiss, the sound of both frustration and pleasure, he ripped the T-shirt up over her head and let his own hands roam freely across her naked body. He hadn’t meant for things to go so far while they were still exposed and outside this way.
But their ragged breaths, as each gulped in air, told him there would be no backing down now.
With slow, tantalizing care, she released his erection from the prison of his jeans. He ground his mouth hard against hers, hungrily demanding the world—the whole world of her—while she calmly, coolly, flicked her finger over his moist tip straining between them.
When she curled her hand around his full length and stroked upward, his whole body jerked. No more control left, he grabbed her wrist and removed her hand from his pulsing flesh.
“Watch my eyes,” he urged her. “Watch your own reflection there. You’re so beautiful. Stay focused on me—with me.”
Her eyes, glazed and dilated, locked to his.
In seconds, their breathing turned even more erratic. Both their pupils were wide and black with erotic intent, but still they remained frozen and stared into each other’s eyes.
A desperate tinge at last moved into hers. She gripped his forearms, but continued trying to hold his gaze.
She shifted ever so slightly and he took the opportunity to slip his hands under her buttocks. Filling his hands with soft flesh, he helped as she lifted up and eased him right inside her body. She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched her back, driving him to the hilt.
He thrust against her once, on a long, shaky breath. With one sharp gasp, she arched again and he felt himself go even deeper.
They met each other then, movement for movement. With impeccable timing and perfectly in tune.
He held her, tight and secure, as the swing began to sway under their movements and each drive sent shattering splinters of desire to the base of his spin
e. Every sway brought both of them to the very brink of release. They climbed and crawled as one, moving through suspended time toward that edge. But before they could reach the peak, the swing would go back the other way, sending them spiraling out of control on an outgoing tide of erotic sensation.
It was an exquisite strain, holding himself steady inside her body’s tight, wet embrace. They both made incoherent sounds, swearing into the morning breeze—savage, feral notes, they were the music of man and woman mating.
Still, as her body finally closed around him and pulsed her orgasm into them both, the blinding sensation of losing himself to her felt like coming home. A home that felt so right, yet seemed so foreign, it drove the air right out of his lungs. He was left feeling only the hot, molten lava of release, flowing through his arteries.
She collapsed against his chest, and he felt a rush of tenderness quite unlike anything he’d experienced before.
Running his hand up and down her back, he held himself immobile and listened to their combined heartbeats, stamping together to a savage drumbeat. He curled his fingers in her hair and hung on.
Body to body. Heat to heat. Heart to heart.
Tory wasn’t sure she would ever be able to catch her breath again. Being with him this way was more…more than she could’ve hoped. More than she thought she could successfully handle and still live through, if and when he turned her away and backed off again.
How had she let herself in for so much more pain? Her first marriage was the better way to go as far as she was concerned. No pain. And definitely no strain when they parted.
How could she let herself forget what he thought of them? That she was an uptight Anglo who would leave the rez as soon as her contract was up, while he was a Navajo crystal gazer who was out to save his People by following old traditions.
But they fit. Damn it. Couldn’t he tell how well they fit?
“You okay?” he whispered into her hair.
She pushed against his biceps and leaned back. It shocked her to see how his expression was showing his every emotion. The man was usually so staid.
Books by Linda Conrad Page 51
