IRONHEART

by Rachel Lee

  "Good God!" Sara stared at him in complete astonishment. "Who called you that?"

  He went utterly still, shocked by what he had just revealed. Briefly he closed his eyes, seeking internal stability before he continued with the issue at hand. Then he glared down at her. "Quit changing the subject."

  "I didn't change the subject. You said something horrible, and I want to know who called you that."

  "Just answer the question, damn it!"

  "What am I doing here?" Loving you, she wanted to say, loving you with my whole heart. "Making love with you. Or I thought I was."

  "But nice girls don't," he reminded her.

  "So? So maybe I'm not so nice anymore," she said hotly, her temper flaring again. "Maybe I don't want to die a nice virgin. Maybe I want to find out what it's all about. Maybe you just turn me on so damn much that all I can think about is—" She broke off. "Gideon Ironheart, if you stop now, I'm going to get my .45 and … and…"

  A little trickle of amusement ran down his spine. Just a tiny trickle, but it washed the anger right out of him. She was as mad as a wet kitten, he thought, studying her flushed face and sparkling eyes. Mad and frustrated, and who the hell was he to argue if she wanted to get rid of her virginity? It was her decision, not his. And he was still hot for her, still heavy and hard.

  "And what, Mouse?" he asked, one corner of his mouth hitching up. "Force me at gunpoint? Damn, that's kinky. I think I could learn to like it, though. With you."

  She caught her breath, and all the harshness of anger slipped out of her face, leaving her looking soft. In an instant she was throbbing from head to toe again, acutely aware of the tip of him just barely inside her.

  "You should have told me, Sara," he said huskily. "I don't want to hurt you. I might have, by going too fast."

  "You're killing me by not going fast enough," she said raggedly. "Damn you, Gideon, don't do this to me."

  "Tell me you're sure." Even as he spoke, he pressed just a little deeper into her. Impulses were zinging through his body, every one of them zeroing in on his hips, trying to drive him into making one great thrust. "Tell me."

  "I'm sure. Damn it, I'm sure."

  "Why, Mouse? Why?"

  "I want you." She was almost sobbing. Reaching up, she grabbed his hair and tugged. "Every time I look at you I ache. I need so badly for you to touch me, fill me, take me…"

  And he needed so badly to know it. He took her then, with one long, smooth thrust that transformed her, and he never once took his eyes from hers. He saw the flash of pain and felt it in his heart. He heard her caught breath and felt it in his soul. And he saw pain slowly transformed into revived passion as he moved again, just a little. In and out.

  And then her hands slipped down and grabbed his hips, pulling him closer, urging his pace to quicken. Reassured, he gave her all he had and moments later listened to her keening cry as she crested the peak. An instant later, in an explosion so violent he heard it in his brain, he followed her over.

  * * *

  She didn't want to let go of him, so he took care of necessary matters with one hand and then pulled her over him like a warm, soft blanket. The light was still on, and he debated a moment whether to turn it off and let them both fall asleep, or to wait a little and make sure that Sara was all right. He'd never made love to a virgin before, but he suspected this was a momentous event for her that she wouldn't want to let pass without a little talk.

  Nor did he, he realized. He wanted to hear her sexy, husky voice, wanted to see her smile and wanted to look into her warm brown eyes to be sure she wasn't regretting this. Man, how he hoped she didn't regret this.

  "Mmm…" Sighing, she stretched a little, rubbing against him as if she thoroughly enjoyed the sensation.

  "Feel good?" he asked her huskily.

  "Mmm." She lifted her head and smiled down at him, a lazy contented smile. "I feel fabulous." Then the shadow of doubt flickered across her face. "You?"

  He spared a moment to imagine kicking George Cumberland's butt, then reached up to sweep Sara's tousled hair back from her face. "I feel like somebody just made me king. I feel … special. Very, very special."

  "You are special." Bending, she kissed his chest. "I wouldn't be here otherwise."

  His throat tightened, and he found himself wondering why it seemed that she was reassuring him, when he should be reassuring her. When he should be telling her just how special she was.

  "And I should be getting back," she said shyly, not wanting to put him in an awkward position. Now that they'd made love, he probably didn't want her hanging around. "You need your sleep, and I—"

  He silenced her with a deep, almost savage kiss. "You're not going anywhere. I want you right here. I want to wrap myself around you while you sleep in my arms. I want to open my eyes at dawn and find you right beside me."

  A soft, warm glow came to her face, telling him how good he had just made her feel. And he was sure in trouble now, because he'd never wanted a woman to spend the night in his bed. In fact, he always went to their beds so he could leave when he was ready.

  But Sara was different, he admitted. Wry different. Sooner or later she would want more than he could give, and that would be the end of it. But for now, right now, he wanted everything she could give, and he wanted to give her anything he had to offer in return.

  Reaching down, he tugged her legs to one side and then sat up with her still on his chest.

  Sara drew her head back and stared at him. "I don't believe you just did that."

  "Just a sit-up."

  "With about a hundred pounds of me on your chest."

  "Stomach muscles," he said with a shrug.

  She looked down and saw that he did indeed have a washboard belly. And farther down… Quickly she snapped her gaze to his face. He was grinning, damn him. "All this from connecting?"

  "Yep." In one easy movement he stood with her in his arms. "You don't weigh anything compared to a beam or a header, babe." He headed down the hall toward the bathroom, liking the way she looped her arms around his neck and pressed her face to his shoulder.

  "You smell good," she said, sighing.

  "You too." Reaching the bathroom, he set her gently on her feet and bent to turn on the water in the tub.

  "What's this?" she asked.

  He smiled over his shoulder at her. "A warm, soothing shower. I get to wash you, and you get to wash me."

  That was when she saw the blood on him. Her blood. Just a little. And when she looked down at herself, she closed her eyes. "Oh my!" Her voice sounded thin.

  "Now, don't be embarrassed, Mouse," he said, tugging her under the spray with him. "It's just one of those things that can't be avoided the first time. Besides, you're supposed to be proud of it, not ashamed."

  Her eyes snapped open. "Next you'll want to hang the sheets over the balcony."

  He tipped back his head and laughed, then shook his head. "Oh, no," he said lowering his voice. "That's our special secret."

  Then he put the soap in her hand and, taking her by the wrist, guided her hand all over him, making it clear that there were no more barriers between them, no more boundaries that couldn't be crossed. That she was free to explore, touch and look however she wanted.

  She wanted. Oh, how she wanted. When his hand fell from her wrist finally, she never noticed. She was too absorbed in the incredible male beauty of Gideon Ironheart. His chest was broad and smooth, powerful with muscle, sleek without hair. The twin points of his dark nipples fascinated her, drew her like magnets. When at last she licked one with her tongue, he shuddered and groaned softly.

  He liked that, she realized, recognizing other changes in his body as well. Standing back a little, she looked down. Oh my, but he was magnificent!

  Gideon chuckled at the way she smiled. He recognized female satisfaction when he saw it. "See what you do to me?" he asked. It was important for her to know that. She needed to know it, and he didn't mind at all that she did.

  He would have loved
to let her continue, but he figured the hot water couldn't last forever. Taking the soap from her, he treated her to the same slick caresses and exploration she had given him.

  Nor did he spare her modesty. While she had washed him, she had forgotten herself, but now she grew painfully aware of her nakedness and her every imagined flaw. Gideon hushed her broken protests and brushed aside her whispered apologies. He touched her everywhere and did it with his eyes wide open. He told her how she excited him, how pretty she was, how sleek, how slender, how perfect…

  Until with a growl he shut off the water and grabbed a towel. She could barely stand on her own legs, but he didn't mind. Excitement had made her weak, but it had made him strong.

  And that was exactly how it was supposed to be.

  * * *

  The first pink fingers of dawn found their way through a crack in the curtains of Gideon's east-facing bedroom window. They trailed across Sara, who was awake, and Gideon, who slept soundly.

  Her head propped on her hand, Sara watched him slumber. Sometime during the night he had kicked the quilt away, and now he sprawled in magnificent nakedness. He was, she thought, beautiful.

  She ought to leave, to spare herself and him any morning-after awkwardness. She didn't know the protocol, after all—what to say, what to do. What if he opened his eyes and she saw regret?

  And if she slipped away now, no one would know she had been here. But as soon as she thought that, she knew better. Joey wouldn't know, because Joey never stirred until someone made him. Zeke would know, though, because Zeke somehow knew everything. She sometimes thought the wind whispered tales in his ear.

  She stayed, facing the possible awkwardness that would come with Gideon's awakening, because she couldn't bear to leave before she absolutely had to. Because she hoped, wildly, that he would draw her to him one more time. Because she needed another kiss, another touch, another smile.

  God, she had it bad. She was like a thirsty woman faced with water. Her eyes drank him in, and she felt that she would never get enough. And if he ever suspected such a thing, he would be gone before she could say "scat."

  A naked half-breed savage. Someone must have called him that at one time or another. Those weren't words most people would apply to themselves. Nor were they words Gideon would have taken to heart if they had been hurled at him by some drunk in a bar. No, he probably heard crap like that all the time from idiots who'd had one too many.

  Someone else had spoken those words, had made them so hurtful that they had come out of him in a moment of intimacy and anger. Just the memory of them made her want to cry for all the hurts he must have suffered. Why, she wondered for the umpteenth time, were people so cruel to one another?

  Almost unconsciously, she reached out and rested her hand on his chest. She was so pale against the beautiful copper of his skin. Her father's Irish heritage had run true in her, giving her a fair, milky color with an undertone of roses, a smattering of freckles everywhere and a sensitivity to the sun that kept her in broad-brimmed cowboy hats and long-sleeved shirts most of the summer.

  Why, she wondered, would anyone object to a skin as beautiful as Gideon's? To hair so black and beautiful? How could anyone call a man who was more civilized than most a savage?

  Oh, yes, she really had it bad.

  Suddenly a prickle of awareness penetrated her preoccupation. Looking up, she found Gideon watching her study him. She felt her cheeks heat as she realized he had caught her gawking like a star-struck kid.

  "You're beautiful in the morning," he said roughly. "Beautiful."

  Before she could do more than register his words, he tugged her gently toward him and kissed her deeply. Relief caught her and then gave way to sheer erotic bliss, to a warm feeling of being wanted, being needed. To the deep satisfaction of Gideon's arms around her, holding her tightly.

  "Ah, babe, don't do that," he whispered when her hands began to roam. "Don't, Mouse. It's too soon for you…"

  Understanding poured through her like warm, golden honey. He had kept her with him because he had wanted her there, not because he expected to make love again this morning. Slowly she lifted her head and looked him right in the eye.

  "Gideon Ironheart," she said huskily, "you are one in a billion."

  For an instant, just an instant, he looked embarrassed. Then his face stiffened and he said, "You don't want to start thinking that way, Mouse. I'm just another one of a billion tumbleweeds, is all."

  "Right," she said. Right, she thought as she let her cheek come to rest on his smooth, powerful shoulder. Absolutely. "I hear you." She did, too.

  But damned if she could make herself believe it.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  Zeke was in the kitchen pouring coffee when Sara entered. The early morning light filled the room with the clarity of a day just beginning and seemed to etch the moment in glass. Her grandfather looked at her, intently, she thought. She had the uneasy feeling that he could read every thought in her head. Then, giving a small, almost imperceptible nod, he turned and reached for another mug.

  "It's going to be a beautiful day," he remarked.

  "Yes. Yes, it is."

  He handed her the freshly filled mug. "Take it up with you while you change"

  Well, Sara thought, he'd said all he was going to say on the subject, and she didn't know whether to be surprised or not. Zeke had always been extremely protective of her. But he had also allowed her to grow up and take risks that many grandfathers or fathers would certainly have objected to. He had let her become a deputy, after all, without a word of argument.

  "You do what you must, Sarey," he had told her. He had told her essentially the same thing just now.

  Dressed in fresh clothes, still too high to feel the lack of sleep, she knocked on Joey's door and told him to hop to. "We're late getting the garden in," she called through the door. "Come on. I want it done today."

  A muffled curse answered her, but she ignored it and headed downstairs. Joey had just started tilling the acre on which she raised vegetables before he'd had to go to jail. If they delayed planting much longer, they would run out of growing season for some of the things she liked most.

  Downstairs, she found the kitchen empty. Beyond the windows, she saw Zeke and Gideon standing in the yard, talking, and almost in spite of herself she stopped and watched them. They talked a lot, those two, each of them seeming to have found in the other a good friend. It pleased her to see them together, to know that there was genuine liking there.

  That was when she remembered that Gideon had wanted to meet Micah Parish, another Cherokee half-breed. They might have a lot in common, Sara thought, watching the way the sunlight seemed to disappear in the absolute black of Gideon's hair. Micah's work on Zeke's assault case had brought the two of them together, but not in the kind of capacity that would allow them to become friends. And that, Sara thought now, was probably what Gideon would have liked. And if he had friends around here, perhaps he wouldn't be so quick to leave.

  Well, it would be easy enough to ask Micah and his wife and daughter to dinner. She'd entertained them once before, just after Micah's marriage, and had really liked Faith. And perhaps she should ask Gage and Emma Dalton, too.

  A little chill touched her heart as she realized what she was doing, that she was in fact going to present this man to her friends in the hopes that they would like him. She was setting herself up to be played for a fool again.

  But almost as soon as she had the thought, she dismissed it. No, she was doing this because Gideon had asked her to, no more, no less. As for asking her dear friend Emma and her new husband, well, that was just because more people would make the situation less awkward. Because Micah and Gage appeared to be good friends. Because she thought Gideon would like Gage, too.

  Certainly not because she wanted her friends to like him. Certainly not.

  Joey came down and ate his breakfast in a silence so sullen that Sara's palm itched with the wish to
turn him over her knee.

  "I'll come help with the tilling," she said.

  That got his attention. "No."

  Sara stared down at him, torn between wanting to shake him and begging him to tell her what she had done wrong. Finally, aching, she turned her back. "Fine. Do it by yourself. But get it done, or the vegetables I have to buy are going to come out of your paycheck."

  Unable to stand another minute in the same room with the boy without losing her temper, she went outside to join Zeke and Gideon.

  "You have to send a sacred pipe and tobacco," Zeke was saying to Gideon. "That's the proper way to ask a holy man to perform a ritual for you."

  "But if the vision quest is done alone, why do I need the holy man?"

  "You need to purify yourself first. He'll hold a sweat for you, cleanse you. Then you're ready."

  "And the pipe? Where do you get a sacred pipe?"

  "You carve it yourself."

  Sara looked at Gideon, wishing she could touch him, but not certain how he might react. "You're going to seek a vision?"

  Gideon shook his head. "I don't know. Not yet. I was just asking about it. Like most kids, I never listened to my grandfather when I had the chance. Now I'm bugging Zeke about it."

  "It is different from tribe to tribe," Zeke said. "The way of your people may be different."

  "Well, I don't know a whole hell of a lot about it," Gideon said. "One way is as good as another from where I stand. I never listened and never participated in anything my grandfather did. I wasted a lot."

  They all turned as the kitchen door slammed and Joey came out of the house. The boy said nothing, merely scuffing his way across the yard to the barn. A few minutes later he returned, pushing the tiller ahead of him. When he reached the battered 1963 pickup, Gideon went over to him.

  "Let me help with that, Joe."

  Joey didn't answer immediately. He fiddled a moment with the gas cap and tightened down a screw with his thumbnail. At last, though, he nodded. "Thanks," he said.