CHEROKEE

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Adam looked at Sarah and noticed her arms were still crossed. She was tense, but suddenly so was he. "Let's buy something," he said, hoping to ease the tension. "You pick out a souvenir for me, and I'll choose one for you."

  "You're kidding, right?"

  "Nope." And he intended to con her into the red dress. "Come on." He led her to the other side of the store. "Find something you think I'd like."

  Baffled, Sarah wandered through the tiny boutique. She didn't know what to choose for Adam. She wasn't an experienced shopper. And the only items she collected came from the sea. She didn't buy shells; she lifted them from the sand, even broken and chipped ones.

  He smiled at her, and her stomach unleashed a flurry of wings. Beautiful butterflies, she decided. It wasn't nerves this time. It was the flutter of attraction.

  Curious about his upbringing, she wanted to ask him about his mother and why he was determined to replace her with the woman who had given him up. But she decided now wasn't the time for that sort of conversation.

  Maybe she was curious about Adam's mother because she missed her own. Sarah didn't have anything to remember her mother by, no outdated dresses, no feminine little keepsakes. Her father had burned everything. But that had been part of their culture, the old Cherokee way. A path she no longer followed.

  Sarah looked up at Adam. He watched her. Closely. Maybe too closely. Before he could ask what she had been thinking about, she returned to the business at hand. She still had to find him a souvenir.

  Scanning the shelves, she caught sight of a teapot. But not just any teapot. This one was adored with a hand-painted dragon. The serpent's body shimmered with gold, and its eyes were set with shiny red stones. Yes, she thought, a powerful creature spun from legend. A man like Adam would slay this beast, assume the role of the protective knight, the fairy-tale prince.

  She lifted it, turned it in her hand. The serpent's eyes shined back at her. The detail was exquisite. The dragon seemed alive, ready to breathe a burst of iridescent flames. She could almost feel the heat. The scorch of fire.

  "This," she said. "Do you like it?"

  Adam blinked. "It's a teapot, Sarah."

  "It has a dragon on it," she pointed out.

  "Yeah, but it's still a teapot."

  She stifled a smile. He looked as if she had just squelched his masculinity. "You drink tea, so what's wrong with a teapot?"

  "Nothing, I guess. It's just not what I figured you'd choose."

  She touched the serpent. "I think he's dangerous." Like the way Adam made her feel. Suddenly she was caught up in the moment, in the fairy tale she had created in her mind.

  Adam studied the teapot, and the winged flutter erupted in her stomach again. And when he took a small step toward her, the motion intensified.

  "Okay. I'll take the dragon," he said. "But I want you to try on that dress."

  Her heartbeat jumped. "Why?"

  "Because I want to see you in it."

  "It won't look right on me," she said, feeling suddenly foolish. "I'm not a red satin kind of girl." She wore mostly pastels, simple skirts and blouses constructed of washable fabrics. Never red. And never satin.

  "You'll never know until you try it on."

  Was he challenging her? Baiting her? Either way, she knew she had to prove him wrong. Sarah considered herself a practical woman. She had no use for such a luxurious garment. It wouldn't fit her looks or her lifestyle.

  "Fine. I'll try it on." She turned and headed toward the clothing rack, knowing Adam followed. Retrieving the dress, she darted into the fitting room without glancing back.

  She closed the curtain, removed her wedged sandals and unbuttoned her blouse. Slipping off her skirt, she eyed the dress. It looked much too bright next to her mint green ensemble. The dress zipped in back, so she peeled it open and stepped into the opening. The moment the fabric touched her skin, she shivered. It felt cool. Slick. Almost wet.

  Fighting those sensations, she forced herself to continue. She couldn't reach the zipper to close it all the way, nor could she attach the tiny hooks that fastened behind the collar. She fumbled with them, then gave up and studied herself.

  The woman in the mirror startled her. Nothing about the image seemed familiar. Her waist-length hair spilled over red satin, like onyx melting over rubies-jewels from the fairy tale she had created. Tilting her head, she ran her hands over her body. Even with the zipper partially undone, the dress molded to her curves.

  Decadent. Sensual.

  Wrong, she told herself, suddenly nervous. This wasn't her.

  With a pounding heart, she fastened her sandals and emerged from the fitting room. She would prove to Adam the dress wasn't right. She would…

  …slam into his gaze and lose her breath.

  He stood tall and handsome, watching her, his stare bewitching. The knight. The fairy-tale prince. The dragon slayer.

  "I told you it was too fancy," she said.

  "No," he countered quietly. "It's perfect. Let me buy it for you."

  She shook her head, but he persisted. "Wear it now, Sarah. Wear it for me."

  How in God's name could she refuse? Deny the husky pleasure in his voice?

  Realizing the zipper was still undone, she chewed her lip. "I … um … couldn't zip it all the way. Will you ask the saleslady to help me?"

  He smiled. "Does that mean you're going to let me buy it for you?"

  She nodded. "Yes. Thank you. I've never owned anything like this before."

  Adam moved closer. "I can zip it for you."

  No, she thought. Her heart was already thumping against her ribs. And her stomach. That wild winged flutter. "But it has these tiny hooks." She placed her hand on the back of her neck, trying to explain, trying to keep him from coming any closer.

  His smile turned boyish. "I think I can manage."

  He didn't give her a choice. He approached her, so she turned around. How many women had he dressed? she wondered. Or undressed?

  "Lift your hair," he said, his voice quiet once again.

  Decadent. Sleek Dangerous. The words spun in her head, making her dizzy.

  She pulled her hair to one side, felt him touch her. His hands were deft, steady and controlled.

  He zipped the dress, then went after the hooks, his breath brushing her nape. A shiver raced up her spine, but she wasn't cold. She was warm. Much too warm.

  "All done."

  "Thank you."

  She turned and found herself inches from him.

  He moistened his lips, and she swallowed. Was he going to kiss her? She wanted him to, yet she couldn't imagine letting it happen. Not here. Not in this tiny boutique. There were other customers, and the saleslady watched them from behind the counter.

  Sarah stepped back and lifted her arm where the price tag dangled. "This needs to be cut."

  He nodded, but didn't say anything. He was staring at her. Fixated, it seemed, on her mouth. Finally, he blinked and smiled.

  Still a little dizzy, she returned his smile, and they walked to the front counter. He paid for his purchase with a credit card. She with cash. The old woman removed the tag on the dress and packed the teapot in a sturdy box. Sarah, wrapped gloriously in red satin, accepted a shopping bag with her old clothes folded inside.

  They stepped into the night air, and she filled her lungs, chasing away the dizziness. An array of buildings surrounded them, a blend of ancient architecture and modern accents.

  "Where did you learn to speak Cantonese?" she asked Adam, as he guided her toward a secluded bench.

  "From coming here and talking to the people." He placed his package on the ground and waited for Sarah to sit. "But I only know conversational phrases. Languages aren't easy to grasp unless you use them all the time."

  She nodded. She only remembered bits and pieces of the Cherokee dialect, words her mother had spoken. But that seemed like a lifetime ago.

  They sat quietly, stars glittering in the sky, a small breeze cooling the summer air. Sarah enjoyed the
silence until Adam's gaze became too intense. She shifted a little, uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again, unsure of what to do with herself. The dizziness returned—the shaky, wild, fluttery sensation.

  She looked away, pretended to study a building, her pulse racing.

  Would sex make her feel this way? she wondered. Hot and hungry? Excited yet nervous? Sarah was a virgin—a woman who still lived in the shadow of an old-fashioned upbringing, keeping herself pure for love.

  Or was that a lie? she asked herself. Was she saving herself for the right man? Or using her virginity as an excuse to protect her heart?

  "What are you thinking about?"

  Adam's question startled her. "Nothing important," she responded, knowing she couldn't tell him where her mind had wandered.

  "I was thinking about dragons," he said.

  "What about them?"

  His voice turned quiet, a little husky. "The embroidery on your dress. I didn't realize it before, but it's a dragon."

  "It is?" She glanced down, saw the image come suddenly to life. What had looked like an intricate pattern was actually a gold serpent twining around her breasts, her tummy, her hips. And Adam's gaze followed every curve, desire flashing in his eyes.

  She couldn't stop what was happening, nor did she want to. They moved in perfect harmony. Synchronized, slow—dancers coming together at the same moment. She wet her lips. He slid his hands into her hair. She made a kittenish sound, and he kissed her.

  Pleasure caught at the back of her throat, then flowed through every vein, every cell, every muscle. She grew hot. Needy. Her flesh burned, her nipples ignited. She wanted him to caress her, slay the dragon scorching her body.

  He did. He touched, stroked, ran those clever hands over the fire. She had never felt so helpless, yet so completely alive. A smoldering kiss in public. It wasn't proper, but God help her, she didn't care.

  They were in their own world, and nothing could penetrate it but passion. His tongue swept her mouth—a mating—over and over. The motion was sexual. And that was what she wanted.

  She had needs, strong, overwhelming needs. She wouldn't lose her heart. Sex wasn't love. She could sleep with him tonight.

  Sleep with him? Was that what she wanted? To lose her virginity to a man she barely knew? A man obsessed with his newly discovered Cherokee roots? A man romanticizing the culture she'd left behind?

  Her head reeling, Sarah pulled away from Adam's kiss. He made her flesh tingle, her heartbeat accelerate, but she couldn't be with him. No matter what her mother had said, modern warriors didn't exist. And neither did dragon slayers.

  "Sarah, what's wrong?"

  "I think it's time for me to go," she responded, clasping her nervous hands in her lap. She needed to escape this moment, the spicy taste of his kiss still lingering on her tongue.

  "But why? Tell me what's wrong."

  "Nothing. I just want to go home." She stood, lifted her purse. She couldn't explain, couldn't ease his conscience. He hadn't offended her. He had aroused her, made her feel too good.

  He rose from the bench, his gaze searching hers for the answer she refused to give. "I'll walk you to your car."

  "Honestly, Adam. I'll be fine. Thank you for dinner. For the dress." Something she should have never accepted. Gathering the bag of her old clothes, she left him standing at the bench, Chinatown dazzling around him.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  A week passed, and Adam still battled his emotions. His work day had ended, but he sat in the conference room at the clinic, checking his watch. Then rechecking it. In twenty minutes, he had an appointment with Sarah. He hadn't spoken to her since their date, and he'd expected her to reschedule his facial, refer him to another esthetician. But she hadn't done that.

  Of course not. She was too professional to turn away a client, to let personal feelings interfere with her job.

  And what exactly were her feelings? he wondered. To him, their kiss had seemed so right, so naturally erotic, especially when she'd made those sexy little sounds. Like a stray kitten, he thought, mewling in satisfaction. Now that damn fantasy wouldn't go away.

  Maybe she didn't want to be the object of his desire, the woman he lusted after. Adam frowned. Had he really put his hands all over her? Yeah, he had. And even though he longed to do it again, he still owed her an apology. That kiss had been a little too wild, too hungry for public display.

  An apology would set things right. They could be friends, couldn't they? They didn't have to get romantically involved. He could lay his urges to rest, but he couldn't let Sarah go. Not completely.

  He was too caught in the mystery surrounding her. Why was she hiding from her heritage? What could have possibly happened to turn her away from her roots? Adam needed to know. Being Cherokee was their link, a bond he hoped to strengthen.

  He left the clinic and entered the salon. The blond receptionist grinned when she saw him. He returned her smile, but just as he approached the desk, he spotted Sarah coming around the corner.

  The blonde spoke up first. "Sarah, your five o'clock is here."

  "Thank you, Tina," she responded, shifting her gaze to Adam.

  He walked toward her, and she slipped her hands in her pockets. She wore a white lab coat over her clothes, but it didn't make her look clinical. Instead she looked pure—a dark-haired, dark-eyed angel.

  "Hi," he said.

  "Hi," she repeated, her voice fighting a strained note. "Go ahead and change, and I'll meet you in the treatment room."

  "Okay." He knew the receptionist was watching, and he knew it made Sarah even more uncomfortable than she already was. He should cancel the facial, let her off the hook, but he needed some quiet time with her, to apologize without an audience.

  Five minutes later, he entered the treatment room, shirt in hand. He hung it on a nearby hook and waited for Sarah to acknowledge him. She was still setting up, filling disposable containers with creams and lotions.

  She turned, and their eyes met. Silence, still and awkward, engulfed the room. Neither spoke. Adam became aware of everything—the pounding of his heart beneath the robe, the hitch in Sarah's breath, the way her hands shook.

  He had no right to put her through this. He had to ease the tension. Walking toward her, he managed a smile, even though his heart picked up speed. Being near her did that to him, he realized. And it wasn't a comforting thought, trying to calm a woman when he wasn't particularly stable himself.

  Sensuality sizzled between them. Nervous and edgy, maybe. But it was there, a thickness in the air he couldn't deny. Couldn't control.

  "Let me help," he said, reaching for one of the disposable containers.

  "No, it's okay, I can…"

  Their fingers brushed, an innocent touch that sent shock waves through his unstable heart, his yearning body.

  Sarah must have felt it, too. She pulled back, knocking over a nearby jar. It rolled onto the floor, spilling a citrus-scented lotion.

  "Damn it." Her voice shook as badly as her hands. She dashed over to the paper-towel dispenser and tore one in her haste. "I can't seem to do anything right today."

  Because of me, Adam thought. Because their attraction was so intense.

  She knelt on the floor and began soaking up the mess. He lowered himself beside her. "It was my fault," he said, talking the paper towels away from her. "I startled you."

  "It was an accident." Avoiding eye contact, she released an audible breath. "I'll get something to clean up the residue." She went to a cabinet and returned with a spray cleanser and another wad of paper towels.

  They worked side by side, concentrating on the task at hand. They didn't look at each other, didn't speak. Instead they gazed at the vinyl floor as if the patter held great importance.

  "I think we should cancel the facial," he said, when the overwhelming silence became too much to bear.

  "I think so, too." She sat back on her heels. "I'm just not myself today. I almost called in sick."


  Which said it all, he thought. She had been anxiety-ridden about seeing him, enough to make herself ill. His apology was long overdue.

  "Sarah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get carried away last week. I shouldn't have kissed you the way I did. And certainly not in public."

  She twisted a dry paper towel. "I … um … we both got carried away. It wasn't all your fault."

  "Then why don't we start over?" He stood and offered her a hand, trying to keep his voice casual, his heartbeat steady.

  She accepted his hand, but let go the moment she was on her feet. Leaning over, she picked up the soiled paper towels, then tossed them into the wastebasket. "I don't think we should go out again. I don't think it would work."

  "I meant as friends." He tried not to frown. The rejection stung, even if he had been prepared for it. "I know you're not comfortable dating me. But I think we have a lot in common, and I'd like to be friends."

  She sent him a small smile. "That's a nice thing to say."

  "Then you're willing to start over?"

  Sarah nodded, although a part of her could still taste his kiss, feel the heat of his body next to hers. Struggling with the image, she sanitized her hands, wringing them together. In spite of their attraction, friendship was best. Dating Adam was out of the question.

  Why? she asked herself. Why was she going to deprive herself of his kiss, his touch?

  Because it might lead to sex, a step she wasn't ready to take. How could she become intimate with a man obsessed with finding his Cherokee family when she had left her own behind? And then, of course, there was her virginity. She couldn't pretend that her moral upbringing didn't matter. She had made a promise to her mother. And she couldn't forget that youthful vow.

  Don't give yourself to a man unless he's special to you, unless you love him.

  But how will I know the difference?

  You'll know, sweet Sarah. You'll know.

  She could see herself sitting on the edge of a lace-draped bed, gazing at her mother, her head filled with wonder. It could have been yesterday. Or it could have been a lifetime ago. A dreamy twelve-year-old girl who had just experienced her first menstrual cycle.