by Heidi Betts
"Notsa?ka?.” With one fist at his hip holding the sheet in place, he used his other hand to grab her elbow and try to calm her frantic movements.
"It's all right, it's over now. You were amazing."
"Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. Did you hear me? Did you see him? Did you hear what I said?” Her hummingbird movements were slowing, but she still bounced on the balls of her stockinged feet, fingernails digging tiny half-moons into his forearms.
"I heard you.” And he still didn't know whether to be furious or amused. “You were wonderful. You saved our lives."
"I sounded like a trollop. A real, honest-to-goodness hurdy-gurdy girl. I've never been so petrified in my life."
This time, he did chuckle. Her eyes were too bright and she looked too pleased with herself not to. “You were great. I believed every word you said. Are you all right now?"
She nodded, and even though her entire body was still vibrating with unspent energy, he believed her.
Releasing her arm, he rounded the end of the bed and leaned down to help his sister to her feet. “You can come out now, too, ara?,” he called out to his nephew.
Little Bear shimmied out from beneath the bed, glancing anxiously around the room before moving to his mother's side.
"How are you two doing?” Walker asked.
They both nodded and looked infinitely relieved at having escaped Lynch's clutches . . . until a knock sounded on the other side of the door.
Walker's wasn't the only face that blanched, and he didn't give his nudity a single thought as he waved Bright Eyes and Little Bear back under the bed with one hand and reached for his pistol with the other.
But before they had a chance to do much of anything, the door opened a crack and Cora stuck her head in. “It's just me,” she singsonged. “I thought you might like to know your friends are gone. Finished searching the place and rode out of town a few minutes ago."
She flicked a wrist at Walker, who stood on the other side of the bed, the sheet in a forgotten puddle at his feet. “You might want to put on some pants there. It doesn't bother me, mind you, but your lady friend appears about to swoon."
Walker glanced toward Hannah to see that she was, indeed, quite wan. She was staring at him, her eyes round as flapjacks and locked on a very low portion of his rather private anatomy.
"Jesus,” he grumbled and made a grab for the sheet.
Any other time, he'd welcome a perusal like that from Hannah. He would even be encouraged by where it might lead. But with three other people standing around, watching them, he could only think to cover himself before they noticed the reaction her reaction had on him. Which he did by draping the bunched-up material around his torso and holding it there in a vice like grip.
"Thanks for keeping an eye out for us, Cora. It's much appreciated."
"Think nothing of it, honey. You paid me well for the trouble.” She opened the door behind her once again and gave them all a friendly smile. “I'll leave y'all alone now, but if you need anything else, just give a whistle."
After she disappeared, Walker turned to his sister, his knuckles still tightly wrapped about a hunk of sheet to keep it in place.
"You feeling okay?” he asked.
She nodded, absently running a palm over her growing stomach.
Turning his attention to Little Bear, he said, “Do you think you can take your mother back over to the cabin? I want to stay here with Hannah until she's changed clothes and calmed down a little more. Would that be all right with you two?"
Both agreed and started out of the room.
As they passed Hannah, Bright Eyes paused and reached out a hand to squeeze her arm. “Ura,” she whispered. Thank you.
Hannah inclined her head, though Walker wasn't sure she understood his sister.
Bright Eyes moved slowly as she and Little Bear continued on their way, but she was doing much better now that she'd had some time to recover from Lynch's brutal treatment.
Again, thanks to Hannah. The woman was a wonder. An angel from heaven sent down to earth.
The thought was a bit saccharine for Walker's tastes, but he almost didn't care. What he did care about was the woman standing before him, still wearing that out-of-her-element dress and looking positively stunned at what had occurred over the past half hour.
He wanted to go to her, draw her into his arms, and kiss her senseless. He wanted to drop the sheet from his waist, tear the rest of that purple gown from her body, and lay her down on the worn carpeting at their feet. And when they were finished on the floor, he wanted to carry her to the bed and start pleasuring her all over again.
But if he did any of those things, made so much as a move toward her to carry out his erotic fantasies, he would regret it.
Well, maybe not. He could never bemoan making love to Hannah when it was all he'd wanted for nearly a decade.
But she would regret it. When she woke up and realized she'd given her virginity to an Indian. When she started to understand that if anyone else ever found out, they'd look at and treat her differently for ever letting a half-breed touch her. She was bound to be ostracized if the people of Purgatory learned she'd been lying with him, no matter what they thought of their sweet-spoken schoolmarm.
No. Making love with Hannah might fulfill every wish his heart had ever held, but it would make her life a living hell.
He wouldn't do that to her, not even to quell the desire throbbing so blatantly beneath the crumpled sheet.
He cleared his throat and hiked the protective covering even higher over his abdomen. “Would you . . . urn, hand me my pants, please?” He gestured toward the chair where he'd thrown the trousers, swallowing hard when his voice came out sounding like a plow blade dragging across granite.
"Actually. . .” Her gaze swept over the chair back, but she made no move to retrieve his clothing.
Meeting his eyes, she slowly licked her lips, sending that evil, sexual pulse pounding double-time in his groin.
I was wondering if it might not be better for you to leave them off a while longer."
She said the words in a great rush, and Walker lowered a brow, wondering what kind of game she was playing.
"Is there some . . . reason you don't want me to put my pants back on?” he ventured.
Two bright flags of color filled her cheeks, but she plodded ahead. “Well, it is my understanding that these things are more easily done when both parties are . . . without clothing, shall we say."
He wasn't sure if his lungs had ceased working or he was swallowing his own tongue, but suddenly he couldn't breathe and a horrible strangling sound worked its way up from his throat.
She rushed forward to pat him on the back, concern etching her expression.
The last thing he needed was her hands on his bare flesh, weakening his resolve, so he stepped away.
"You don't know what you're saying, Hannah. I think it would be better if we both put our clothes back on and headed for the cabin."
"I do know what I'm saying,” she emphasized, stepping forward once again to place a small, feminine hand on his well-muscled arm.
"You told me we'd finish things later. This is later"—her fingers stroked upward—"and we're certainly both dressed for it."
Chapter Fourteen
The dark, hair-dappled male skin beneath her fingertips quivered, almost causing her to retreat. Her nerves were dancing on a tightrope of uncertainty, her stomach doing flips only a circus performer could appreciate.
She'd never been so frightened in her life. The words coming out of her mouth were completely foreign to her. For a moment, she even wondered if the purple gown she wore was haunted and a loose-moraled entity had taken over her sensibilities.
But she soon realized the voice she heard was her own. As was the hand resting on David's bare forearm.
She shouldn't be surprised. Hadn't she been working up to this for a while now? Hadn't she told David that night behind the cabin when he'd kissed her so thoroughly that it wasn't over between
them? That they would only have to wait for the right moment to pick up where they'd left off?
She'd meant it then and she was pretty sure she meant it now. David was like a fever in her blood. Heating her skin and pickling her brain. Making her think and feel things she'd never experienced before.
Well, that wasn't quite true. She'd had similar reactions before . . . every time she was within ten feet of David Walker.
Surely that fact alone indicated her feelings were far more than a shallow, passing fancy, but something much deeper and abiding. If it didn't scare her so much, she might even venture to call it love.
Love was such a terrifying word, though. Yes, she loved David; she'd loved him since childhood. But did she love him that way? Did she love him madly, passionately, devotedly? Did she love him as a woman loves a man, with all those little minister-inspired dictums tacked on? In sickness and in health, till death do they part.
The answer was . . . probably. Probably she did love him in every single one of those ways. What kept her from admitting to anything more definite, however, was her uncertainty about David's feelings.
He'd made it clear on several occasions that he didn't think he had the right to touch her, that his Comanche blood made a difference to him. It didn't make a difference to her.
Perhaps it should. She knew full well what people thought of half-breeds, how they treated them. But she'd never thought of David as part-Indian; she'd only ever thought of him as . . . David.
He was the boy she'd met when she'd first been brought to the Purgatory Home for Unwanted Children after her parents’ deaths. The boy who chased the monsters away in the middle of the night. The young man who'd come back to visit even after he'd been adopted and moved away from the Home. And the man she'd dreamed of in a very adult fashion for the past several years, despite the fact that she'd hardly seen him once he'd started spending more time at his mother's village outside of town.
He was just David to her, and any blood other than white that pumped through his veins only aided in making him the man he was today. How could she be sorry about that when there were so many things about him she admired?
It wasn't that she had a problem with his Indian blood, she realized suddenly, but that he did.
She turned her face up to his, took in his strong jaw and soft lips, the dark arches of his brows over deep brown eyes. With two fingers of the hand that wasn't still covering the top of his arm, she traced the outline of his mouth.
Feeling how tense he'd gone beneath her touch, she was surprised he didn't pull away. But he didn't, and she let her thumb trail over his cheek, into the sleek fall of his jet black hair.
"You promised,” she whispered softly. “And we're finally together with no one else around."
Her caress alone he might have been strong enough to resist. He was rock hard beneath the inadequate covering of the white sheet and the blood was pounding in his ears, but still he could have walked away. If only she hadn't spoken.
He wasn't sure if it was her words, or the soft, throaty tone she murmured them in, but the second they reached his ears, he was lost.
Without another thought for right or wrong or how much she might regret this in the morning, he grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her against him, his mouth crashing down on hers. She tasted like springtime and innocence and . . . forever. Too much for Walker to wish for, but enough for him to enjoy, just for a little while.
He kissed her like he'd never let her go. Showing her with his mouth and hands how much she meant to him.
The sheet pooled at his feet, forgotten. His fingers stroked the supple flesh of her shoulders and upper arms, dancing down to her shoulder blades and back up to caress her collarbone. His hands explored every inch after inch of skin left bare by the skimpy purple gown.
Step by step, he backed Hannah toward the wide four-poster bed. When her legs came in contact with the mattress, they crumpled, and she sat with a heavy thump. He didn't break contact at the abrupt change of position but leaned over her, bracing his body against the soft feather ticking with one arm.
His lips brushed over her own, gently sucking and biting. He teased her mouth open and their tongues swirled together, making him groan.
When her hands, with their slim fingers and sharp, delicate nails began to explore his chest and abdomen, Walker raised his head and stared down at her. This beautiful woman he'd loved since she was a girl gazed at him so trustingly. Her long blond hair mussed. Her blue eyes slightly cloudy and unfocused.
She wanted to make love with him.
The knowledge almost brought him to his knees.
Reaching out, he brushed a few strands of baby-fine hair away from her face, tucking them behind one ear.
"You're a very beautiful woman, notsa?ka?. You grew up well."
Her eyes—against her will, he thought, and before she could catch herself—darted below his waist, causing his already burgeoning manhood to pulse even more relentlessly.
As soon as she realized what she was doing, Hannah yanked her gaze away from his privates and back to his face. Bright circles of pink filled her cheeks.
"So did you,” she said in a strained voice. “You're so much . . . bigger than I remember."
At that, he laughed. “I sure as hell hope you weren't looking at me there way back then. If I'd known, I might have done something that would have seriously decreased my chances of making it to the age I am now."
The rose of her blush turned scarlet. “No,” she denied, mortified. “I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant,” he interrupted softly, reassuring her that he was only teasing. He ran the backs of his knuckles over the smoothness of her jaw. “You don't know how happy I am to hear you noticed. That you thought of me at all back then."
"I noticed,” she told him, leaning into his touch. “And I thought about you every day, even after you left Purgatory."
Walker's eyes drooped closed, the muscles in his legs quivering so badly, he had trouble remaining on his feet. Her words humbled him. And heated something deep in his gut, something he was afraid to contemplate too closely.
He decided to ignore it and just be grateful they'd arrived at this moment together at all.
Hannah reclined before him, waiting, without a hint of trepidation visible in her expression. It made him not care how many years he'd spent pining for her from afar, or how many years after this he would spend castigating himself for being weak. But it would take a force of nature—a flood of epic proportions or a mammoth tornado—to tear him away from her now. And he didn't ask if she was sure this time because he didn't want to know. It would kill him if she backed away now.
Instead, he pressed a kiss to her brow, buying himself some time to calm his raging emotions, then leaned back on his heels and said, “I want to see you."
He hoped she didn't notice the slight trembling of his hands as he slipped his fingers into the open vee of her bodice to finish unhooking the tiny clasps he'd begun to loosen earlier. One fastening at a time, the stiff material parted until it fell open altogether. Hannah gave her shoulders a little shake to help the straps down her arms, and then the entire contraption was gone, leaving her blessedly naked from the waist up.
Not for the first time, he noticed how light her skin was, like fresh cream. Flawless, with tiny breasts that would just fill his palms.
He ran the side of his thumb along one plum-colored areola no bigger than a silver dollar and was rewarded with the tight beading of her pearl-size nipple. He gifted her other breast with the same treatment until both were taut and swollen with desire. And then, locking his gaze with hers, he lowered his mouth to swipe his tongue over one distended tip.
Hannah sucked in a shocked breath. She'd expected to feel pleasure and never-before-experienced sensations, but she'd never expected this. Just being with David, alone in this room, was enough. It was half of her dream fulfilled. But she'd never imagined he would touch her this way or look so magnificent in the nude.
She'd never seen a man in the altogether before. Not even as a small child in the orphanage; the nuns had been diligent about keeping the boys and girl separated, especially at bath time and while dressing. David's midnight visits were the exception, but he'd been so skilled at slipping in and out of the girls’ sleeping quarters without detection that the sisters had never even suspected.
But now here he was, an adult male, standing before her without a stitch of clothing on. Not even the sheet he'd been so careful to cover himself with earlier. Rather than being aghast, however, she was mesmerized.
He was amazing. Tall and virile and—dare she think it?—mouthwatering.
His glorious mane of straight black hair, parted naturally in the middle, flowed down his back and over his shoulders. Dark skin the color of an amber sky stretched over thick mounds of muscle and the narrow planes of his abdomen. And lower, where she'd glanced for only a fraction of a second, was the part of him that she'd . . . wondered about. At least upon occasion, very late at night when she was feeling particularly fragile and lonely.
It was nothing like she'd envisioned, and yet awe-inspiring all the same. Surrounded by a dark nest of springy black hair, his member jutted out at what looked to be a painful angle. Almost parallel with his body and straight as an arrow. (She hadn't thought man-parts looked like that at all. She'd assumed they . . . hung down, as on various forms of livestock.) It was also much larger than she'd expected, both in length—or height, as the case seemed to be—and width.
She'd assimilated quite a lot in such a short span of time, she realized. Then again, she'd been waiting for this moment for a long time. She had a right to explore. And memorize. And enjoy.
David's tongue—that wicked, wicked appendage—swept over her other nipple and sent a shiver of pure ecstasy from that spot all the way to her toes. Her breath caught and she curled her fingers into his shoulders like claws in an effort to maintain her balance.
She thought she should feel embarrassed by what he was doing. By being exposed this way, half-naked while a man caressed and touched and licked her skin.
