by Cait London
This was home and where she had to find herself. Fiona let herself into the greenhouse, needing the fresh earth scents and the cool ferns brushing at her hot cheeks. Abe and George, lizards that kept her greenhouse free of insect pests, hurried along the cool tile floor, peering up at her.
Fiona shivered, sweeping the flat of her hand along the heather starts as she moved through the darkness. In the spring she and Elspeth would plant the starts on Tallchief Mountain where their parents could enjoy them. At one o’clock in the morning she wanted Joel Palladin’s lean and muscular, slightly hairy, warm and desirable body curled around her. “Without a stitch between us,” Fiona added her thought aloud.
Perhaps she had inherited her wild needs from Tallchief, the need to claim Joel Palladin humming through her like a taut, hot wire that wouldn’t let her rest.
She reached the showcase, surveyed the flowers and selected tiny, white, tea rosebuds, braiding them with baby’s breath and ferns and placing the delicate coronet on top of her head. Years ago her mother used to braid sweetgrass and wildflowers and—Fiona sighed heavily, tiredly, accepting the sleepless hours ahead of her until the shop opened in the morning. Because she needed more soothing, Fiona scooped up the display of lush red roses and buried her face in their fragrance.
She’d been obsessed by her investigation of Joel’s life, and now that it was over, she was even more fascinated with him than before. She’d made him angry, his body tense and his face angular, hard, eyes riveting hers while Mozart framed their duel with music.
Fiona tiredly tugged off her boots, dropping them on her way to the staircase leading to her room. She tossed the roses onto her bed, because she intended to wallow in them for comfort, saving the thorns for one Joel Palladin. She shd off her sweater, eased off her bra and shimmied out of her jeans and panties.
The shower water, sluicing over her, did little to calm her. “He’s stubborn, arrogant, overbearing and spoiled. I wouldn’t have him on a platter, if I were dying of hunger. I’d like to—”
She impatiently toweled her hair, finger combing it, and on impulse, placed the coronet on her head. She strolled out of the bathroom into the shadows of her bedroom.
Una’s chest lay waiting on a doily, brass gleaming. While Fiona was brooding about Joel Palladin, she might as well wear Una’s treasures. Fiona understood perfectly now, why Una had written so passionately about Tallchief, how his arrogance couldn’t go unpunished, how she wanted revenge and yet she wanted the beauty of his kiss.
Fiona lifted the lid, sifted through the contents and chose a sky blue and white beaded necklace. She tied the leather thong behind her neck, drawing the triple-strand necklace close against her throat; she rummaged to find the heavy, barbaric, Celtic bracelet and slipped it on her wrist. The brass gleamed now since she’d earlier spent her anger polishing it. She touched the light doeskin shift that had belonged to Una, treasured and worn at the Tallchiefs’ weddings. Blue beads depicting Tallchief Mountain warmed beneath her palm. Now the shift was hers, waiting for her to wear as a bride. “I don’t need a bridal tepee. But if I had one, Joel Palladin wouldn’t be sharing it. I’d want a nice, sweet man.”
Taking care, Fiona lifted the flower coronet from her hair and eased the soft doeskin shift over her, the fringes sliding enticingly along her arms and legs. The coronet completed the picture of a bride as Fiona folded her arms in front of her and frowned. She studied herself in the mirror. She would wallow in her roses and plan how to demolish Joel—
Joel Palladin’s face loomed behind her, his image and hers trapped in the shadows of the mirror, ferns quivering between them.
“You!” She pivoted to him, heart leaping and fringes flying.
“It took you long enough to get here,” he said. “I don’t want you running over dangerous mountain trails at night again, dear heart. See that you don’t.” Joel rose out of the chair in the shadowed corner of the room, walking slowly to her. He reminded her of a warrior—broad-shouldered, grimly determined—carefully picking his way through a delicate potted jungle of fuchsia flowers and ferns. “Are you done crashing through the place, muttering to yourself about how despicable I am and how you wouldn’t have me on a platter if you were dying of hunger?” he asked, his voice too soft and mild.
“The reckoning” Una had called it. A wild pleasure skittered over Fiona’s skin. The hunter had come calling for her. She saw it in the angle of his head, the muscle contracting and releasing in his jaw and the dark, impatient narrowing of his eyes.
“I don’t like rules about what I do, or don’t do,” she stated carefully. “I’m used to running at night. Palladin. I do what I want.”
This was her reckoning, this night with Joel, and she would have him. She refused to move, locking her feet to the carpet as the shadows and the heat of Joel’s body swirled around her. She knew how to stand and fight and she would, bracing herself. He’d showered, dressed in a black sweater and jeans, his hair damp and gleaming. The scent of soap and male caught her.
“Get out,” she ordered in a tone she hoped was cool and in control. The order was automatic, a thrust sent to test him. She’d ordered other men from her, if he left now, she would have to rethink, recircle Joel and waylay him on her terms, not his. “You have no right to be here.”
“I think I do. You’re furious, Fiona, and trembling, all decked out in your Scots and Tallchief dowry. I wonder why?” Joel’s finger strolled down her cheek, his gaze locked with hers. “It suits you...no other woman could wear this outfit and still look breathtaking...the wild, high pride, savage mix of Scots and Sioux, of seer and shaman magic, Una’s gray eyes and Tallchief’s darker skin, his black glossy hair.”
His fingertip rested in the hollow of her throat, her pulse racing against the light touch. “Do you know how enticing, enchanting you are, Princess? How your eyes flash like steel or darken into night smoke when you toss out a challenge? How you soften and flow in my hands like warm, living silk?”
His fingertip lifted her chin, his gaze shadowed and intent, roaming her face, seeing too much.
“What do you want?” she asked, her heart leaping higher, gearing into overdrive.
His fingers feathered through her cropped hair. “For two years I’ve dreamed about that shining black silk swirling around you from the time you stalked into my office. Then, it almost touched your waist,” he remarked mildly, his hands coming up to spear through her hair, drawing her mouth close to his.
Could she give him her body and not her heart?
Then Joel lifted her against his chest. His first kiss was so light, she held his head, urging his mouth to hers, slanting it, fusing them with the hunger burning her. “You know that I can’t resist a good challenge,” she whispered.
“Sweetheart, the novelty of being pursued by you is fascinating,” Joel returned, easing down into the chair with her on his lap.
She leaned back on those shoulders that were meant for cradling her head. As he settled her closer against him, she looked up at him and placed her palm over his heart. She needed the solid beat to steady her leaping fears. With her hand, she traced the angle of his shoulder, the taut muscle in his upper arm. This would be her first time with a lover, sharing herself. She feared the doors this reckoning would open, revealing her tenderness for Joel Palladin. She wouldn’t let him close her away in that quick, hard way of his, not now.
His hand opened on her stomach, smoothing it, and Fiona tensed, unused to caresses. “I’m not your daughter, nor your sister. Admit it, Palladin. You’re a cuddler.”
“What if I am?” he asked with a growling edge that told her she’d pinned the truth. Joel liked sheltering his edges, but his desire licked at her like a flame, unbidden and bold.
Fiona placed her hand over his, and the tremor sweeping through him pleased her. He’d come for her, to hold her close and nuzzle her cheek with his. She’d chosen a sensual man, a toucher, and one who enjoyed women. Watching him, she slowly lifted his hand to her doeskin-covered
breast.
“Is this an experiment?” Joel shot at her harshly, even though his palm cupped her, his thumb lightly caressing the tip of her breast.
“This is a seduction. Tonight you are mine, Joel Palladin,” she whispered, giving way to the song moving within her. Her hum crossed her lips in a soft melody, and Joel’s body tensed as she began to sing “Greensleeves.”
He angled his head away from her hand, from the exploration of fingertips and palm fitted along his jaw. She sang to him, wooing him in an old-fashioned way that seemed perfect, this strange, tender, wary man with emerald eyes and dark skin heating, burning to her touch. Yet his heart raced beneath her breast, his hands firm and trembling upon her body.
She smoothed the lines on his forehead, circled his ear and nibbled on it in passing. His heartbeat pounded against her lips when she brushed them over his throat and on to the cleft in his chin.
When she had finished singing, Joel sat very still beneath her, trembling once as though held by an invisible bond. His body was hard; she recognized the desire she had raised in him, tempting his control. Oh, she would have no controlled man as her lover, but one that gave her the truth of his desire. His lips barely moved as she nibbled them. “I could hurt you, Fiona. I—”
“You won’t. I’ve chosen you as my lover, Joel Palladin. You’ll take no more of me than I would give.” She eased from his lap and stood in the square of moonlight coming from the window as he rose to his feet, towering over her.
Amid her ferns, lacy curtains, doilies, hand-fashioned quilts and feminine clutter, Joel’s size and angular body looked huge, alien and terrifying.
Fear skittered through her, causing her hands to tremble as she lifted the shift over her head. She folded it as gently as Una must have, so long ago, and turned slowly to Joel. She stood very straight, shy of him and of herself, as his gaze strolled down her body, touching, heating, lingering. “Undress,” she whispered, uncertain of the hows and the whys and the mystery that he would give her.
Joel moved too slowly, easing away his sweater and tossing it to the floor. His chest fascinated her, all angular and gleaming and lightly dusted with hair. His worn boots were kicked aside, and then he stepped free of his jeans to reveal silk shorts. She couldn’t resist placing the flower coronet on his head, for she would have her mark upon him when the reckoning came.
“Shy?” she challenged him, hungry for him as she moved to her bed. She should leave him now, be sensible and keep herself safe. If he removed the braided wreath, her claim to him, the magic would fly away into the moonlight—
“There is something you should know, Princess. My parents weren’t married when I was born. Mamie didn’t know anything about her bastard grandson until my mother showed up on her doorstep with a year-and-a-half-old child. She made her playboy son marry my mother. He resented it and blamed me.” The words came curling bitterly out of him, born by pain. Fiona knew instinctively that he’d never told anyone. She wanted to hold him and whisper comfort, but Joel looked too proud, as she would have been.
“If you think that bit of irrelevant news can save you from my clutches, you’re mistaken,” she whispered unevenly, trying to keep a light note to ease his darkness.
“Get in the bed,” he murmured pleasantly, standing on the other side, his body outlined by silvery moonlight.
She could order him away; he’d just handed her an excuse. She could leave. She could sleep by his side and listen to him breathe as she had at the ranch. She could hold Joel close and safe and warm. She could take what ran strong and heated between them. This was her reckoning....
Fiona lifted the old quilt and slid beneath it, smoothing it with her hands as she settled back to watch Joel. All angles and corded muscles and gleaming moonlit skin, Joel’s body was rigid, his hands curled into fists.
“I won’t hurt you,” she said, patting the empty place beside her. “Come to Fiona.”
“You look like a bride.” The words seemed torn from him, his deep murmur raw and uneven.
“Come to bed. Come hold me, Joel,” she whispered, aching for him. She held the bouquet of roses to him, a small gift to show him that she treasured the coming reckoning.
For a time, he studied the red petals, dusting his fingers across the delicate edges. She knew she would remember his expression forever—an almost shy, boyish pleasure. He almost glows, she thought, and she knew she had captured some small endearing part of him to hold close in later years.
He came to her slowly, the small bed dipping with his weight, the air cooling as he lifted the covers to slide beside her and study the length of her body. His fingertip touched her breast, and she almost cried out with the pleasure jolting through her. His mouth brushed hers, slanted, fused and dived into her heat.
“Fiona,” he whispered urgently against her throat, his kisses flowing lower, heating, until his mouth covered her breast. She hadn’t expected the exquisite pleasure as he suckled her, the gentle sensual tugging, drawing from her, giving her an intimate, moist warmth that his fingers found and stroked.
The flick of his tongue caught her unaware, tipping her hunger. She couldn’t wait, hunger storming through her, her hands locking to his head, drawing him up to kiss her. She opened her eyes for a moment when he lifted his head; he was what she wanted, all angles and desire for her, heat melding his body to hers. Her hands skimmed down his sides, tracing the hard length of his body, from wide shoulders to narrow waist, to the tight backside she adored.
He was who she wanted, she thought, hurrying through her emotions because she knew that soon she would not be able to think. She had chosen him as her first lover.
Joel eased himself over her, never breaking the kiss that began lightly and stepped into a fiery hunger. This is what I want, Fiona thought as his body lay heavy and intimate upon hers. He’s wearing my mark, the braided flowers serving as a temporary wedding band...because she’d just discovered that she couldn’t dismiss tradition, not with Joel. “You’re a lovely man, Joel Palladin, but if you don’t have me soon, I’ll die,” she whispered before biting his lip.
“How would you know?” he asked, humor in his deep, uneven voice.
“Don’t let me frighten you from your task, Palladin,” she whispered just as raggedly, breathing hard as his hands went beneath her, cupping her bottom and lifting her higher.
He came into her slowly, like smooth, hot steel seeking a proper sheath, a warm home to nestle and love. She tensed, pain she hadn’t expected shafting through her the moment he touched the barrier. Joel shuddered, one hand lifting to stroke back her damp hair, his thumb sliding across her lips. It was then that she saw his dragon, flexing in the moonlight, and reached out to claim his arm.
“You’re mine,” she whispered, arching for his kiss, meeting his tongue with hers, her fingertips digging into his shoulders, for he was not leaving her now.
Joel’s body shuddered as she arched against him, bringing him deeper. While Fiona’s body adjusted to the gentle invasion, she studied his expression as he stilled for a moment and shared her pillow. Desire warred with another fierce emotion she did not understand. To soothe him, she kissed him lightly. “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
The smile that came slowly curling to his lips pleased her more than roses. Reaching toward the bouquet on the bedside table, she took three roses. She tore the petals free and let them fall upon his head, spilling onto her. She would give him roses or wildflowers, bluebells from the meadows on Tallchief Mountain. She would hold him close and play with him until he gave her that boyish grin, the one he hid so well.
“You’re full of yourself, Tallchief,” Joel noted unevenly, pleasantly.
“Rather, you’re providing the full part,” she whispered back, shy with him now, this man who shared her body, her very heartbeat, whose tender expression had caused her tears, not the pain. She buried her hot cheeks in the safe cove of his shoulder and throat. “Yes, I’ve got tears in my eyes, and don’t let them terrify you. They
are because this is so lovely.”
“It is...lovely.” His teeth nibbled gently on her shoulder, then kissed it. “Better?”
“Much better.” Fiona arched up to him, snaring him with her arms and dragging him close to her, chest to breast, stomach to stomach, hips and thighs locked perfectly, completely. She luxuriated in the feel of his body, angular and rough, against her own, in the strength surrounding her, caressing her, in the beautiful mouth claiming hers and tasting of her own hunger.
She hadn’t expected the pounding of her desire, the burst of pleasure that circled her body, clenching it fiercely, driving it out of her control. She hadn’t expected the fiery circles to come flashing behind her lids, nor the vision of a dragon, tamed and nestling in mountain wildflowers, nor her body flying into sunshine. The sensual impact jarred her and tossed her upon a warm, mellow, golden cloud, too filled with pleasure to move. When she managed to lift her lids, Joel was smiling tenderly down at her. “Having fun?”
She should have been angry because he appeared in control, while she had as much control as melting butter. But in her warm fuzzy cloud, anger wasn’t possible. Joel looked too appealing and unexplored. Flexing intimate muscles she had just discovered, Fiona caught him deeper and enjoyed his quick confusion and delight. “You can come with me, this time, Palladin,” she whispered, locking herself fiercely to him.
This time the fury hit her, Joel’s body thundering over hers, their tempo matching beat for beat, and suddenly the riveting pleasure coursed into another tempo, a faster stream bearing them upward, higher, and in that heartbeat, Fiona felt absolute freedom, like an arrow shooting into the sunlight and falling gently into a field of wildflowers—
