by Connie Mason
“We’ve both been married before, we’ve both experienced love,” Storm began slowly. “Even you can see this won’t work. We come from different backgrounds. You’re Indian. I’ve not heard you say one kind thing about the white race since I’ve known you. Why do you hold all whites in contempt? Wouldn’t you be happier living on the reservation with your son?”
Grady glowered at her and turned away. “You know nothing about me. My father is a half-breed Lakota Sioux. His mother was the daughter of a chief. My mother is the daughter of a southern planter. That makes me only one-quarter Indian. I’m proud of my Indian heritage and the fact that I so closely resemble my father. As for the white race, except for my mother and her family, I know few of them who are worth one hair on Summer Sky’s head, yet they killed her.”
His words left her confused. Exactly how had Summer Sky died? “I’m white,” Storm reminded him.
“I’m fully aware of that,” Grady commented dryly. Suddenly he was on his feet, dragging her from her chair and pulling her against the hard wall of his chest. “But it doesn’t make the inexplicable pleasure I feel when you’re in my arms any less. I never wanted it to be like this between us, but it is. At least something can be gained from this marriage if you agree to it. A lot can be said for sexual gratification.”
He lowered his head and tasted the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat, sliding slowly, tantalizingly upward to brush a lingering kiss against her lips. Raising his mouth from hers, he gazed into her eyes. “The choice is yours, sweetheart. Will we marry or do you need more persuasion?”
Storm’s thoughts scattered like leaves before the wind. With Grady’s hard body in intimate contact with hers, coherent speech was impossible. Grady chuckled indulgently as he nuzzled her ear. She smelled so good. The scent she used to rinse her hair lingered like the odor of dried crushed flowers after their summer blossoms were gone. And she tasted just as sweet, Grady thought as he placed gentle, nibbling kisses along her cheekbone.
Then, sudden, urgent need made the game seem like innocent child’s play. He was no longer satisfied to merely kiss and taste; he wanted more, much more. Through the confusion of her thoughts, Storm knew the exact moment Grady’s teasing kisses turned into raw, grinding need. His hands grew bold, seeking her breasts, kneading the tender mounds and massaging her nipples through the material of her dress. When they tired of that sport they drifted downward over her hips to grasp her buttocks, pulling her against the swollen hardness of his groin. Storm gasped and squirmed, trying to escape. She realized her mistake too late.
“Oh, lady, you do know how to drive a man crazy.”
“No, I didn’t mean—You must let me go. I don’t want this. I want—”
“I know exactly what you want, lady, and I’m going to give it to you. When we marry you can have it every day.”
“Marrying you would be sheer madness,” Storm managed to say between the kisses he was pressing against her lips.
With practiced ease her coat was stripped from her and tossed to the floor. When his nimble fingers undid the fastenings on the front of her dress, loosened the strings of her corset and stroked her naked breasts, Storm began to tremble. “Your body doesn’t lie,” Grady said with a note of triumph when her nipples tautened beneath his caresses. Then his mouth closed over a rosy peak and suckled roughly. Storm jerked convulsively, the hot warmth of his mouth creating a sweet melting inside her.
Storm wanted to cry out in protest, wanted to make Grady stop. She knew from her past experience with the magnificent savage that his loving was too soul-destroying, too intense for it to be lasting. Lust, pure and simple. When the unaccountable attraction between them cooled nothing would remain. Grady didn’t love her; he felt pity and a certain responsibility for her—and he needed a mother for his son.
“No!”
“Yes.”
He eased her down on the makeshift bed of furs and blankets and sat back on his haunches, staring at her through narrowed lids. The fire in the hearth was blazing brightly; the room had grown quite warm, but it paled in comparison to the white-hot flame devouring Grady.
He slid her dress over her shoulders and down her arms. The corset quickly followed, then her shift. “Never will I understand why white women wear so many clothes,” Grady said as he slid the stockings down her legs and removed her shoes. “Indian women are too practical to force their bodies into instruments of torture.”
“I’m not an Indian,” Storm managed to say.
“No, you’re not. Your skin is too soft and pale.”
A thick brown finger stretched out to draw a shaky line down one breast to its pink nipple. Gently, his hand outlined the circle of her breast. The gentle massage sent currents of electricity through her body. Broadening his scope, his hands slid over her silken belly to her thighs, spreading and lifting them to press moist kisses on the smooth insides. Then his mouth grew bold, sliding upward to nuzzle the nest of blonde curls nestled between her legs. When his tongue darted into the moist crevice of her womanhood Storm cried out in dismay.
“You can’t! No, please!”
Grady lifted his head. “Did your husband never love you in this manner?”
“Buddy would never do such a perverted thing like that. It isn’t right. It isn’t … Oh …”
Ignoring her protest, Grady lowered his head, grasping her hips and holding her in place while he continued pressing warm, wet kisses on that most intimate part of her. Though every nerve in her body fought against this ultimate intimacy, Storm arched against his caress, seeking more of those heady sensations he was creating within her.
“Please stop, I can’t stand it!”
“You’re close, sweetheart,” Grady murmured hoarsely. “Don’t hold back. I’ll stay with you until the end.”
The tender torment of his relentless mouth drove Storm to the very brink of madness, and the delicious agony of his lashing tongue turned madness into ecstasy. She dangled at the edge of eternity for several breathless moments, until Grady’s finger found a place so sensitive Storm screamed out in sweet surrender.
When Storm’s heart slowed to a dull pounding, she opened her eyes and saw Grady towering above her, removing the last of his clothing. Tossing his breechclout aside, he stood poised beside her, magnificently nude, gloriously male, every splendid inch of him cast in bronze.
My God, I want him! she thought with fearful clarity. The undeniable and dreadful fact that no other man had the power to move her in the same earth-shattering way as Grady frightened her. She stared at him with her astonishing level gaze. His manhood was large and heavy, thrusting aggressively out of a nest of curling black hair, and a languid, drugging warmth uncoiled inside her. His face was strained with the harsh fever of desire, dark and striking.
“Do I please you, Storm?” His question startled her.
“I—yes,” she said, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. She knew it was useless to lie when her eyes gave her away.
“You please me very much. When I put my body inside yours I am as close to Paradise as I will ever come in this life.”
She moaned softly as he lowered himself full length atop her. Instinctively, her body arched toward him. “Now it’s my turn, sweetheart,” he whispered against her neck. “Spread your legs.”
Storm let her legs fall open, amazed that she had obeyed Grady’s command without the slightest protest. He didn’t enter her immediately, wringing an agonized groan from Storm. Didn’t he know how she ached to feel the hard thrust of his strength inside her? Instead he inserted his hand between their bodies, locating the tender bud nestled between her thighs, and massaged in slow, erotic circles. At the same time his lips toyed with her sensitive, swollen nipples. He suckled her breasts as his fingers grew bolder, searching for the pleasure points he seemed to know by instinct.
Suddenly he reversed their positions, bringing Storm atop him. For a moment Storm looked confused. Grady chuckled, delighted that he was the first to teach her ne
w ways to love.
“What are you doing?”
“I told you there are many ways to love. You and your husband must have been innocent babes when it came to loving. It will give me enormous pleasure to teach you all I know. It will probably take me a very long time.” Storm’s eyes grew round as saucers as she considered his mind-boggling statement.
“Put me inside you.” His voice was harsh. By now his control was hanging by a thin thread.
“No.” Storm had no idea why she was fighting the issue. She knew he’d soon have her begging him to take her. The man was a devil. He showed no mercy, demanding more than she was prepared to surrender. He wanted her soul.
Grady gave her an enigmatic smile as he raised his head and began suckling her nipple, while with the soft pad of his thumb he manipulated the tiny bud of her desire until it was swollen and throbbing.
“Put me inside you,” Grady repeated in a strangled voice. This time she obeyed instantly.
A groan of unholy torment erupted from his lips as she grasped his swollen staff and brought it against her moist crevice. Erupting in a frenzy of unrestrained passion, he grasped her hips and raised her slightly above him, thrusting upward as he brought her down to meet the rigid length of his manhood. His hardness electrified her and the sweet agony of impalement exploded upon her like a thousand tiny bursts of pleasure.
“Grady! Oh, Grady!”
“Do you like it this way, sweet? Ride me, Storm, ride me.”
Grady’s strokes grew harder, stronger. It was magnificent. It was sweet agony. It was mind-numbing bliss, yet so profound an experience she wasn’t certain she’d survive. While he was merely enjoying a moment of physical desire, her soul was being ripped apart.
And then the involuntary tremors of fulfillment began, making her oblivious to all but the searing need Grady had built inside her. A moan of ecstasy slipped through her lips, and hearing her, Grady’s thrusts grew more frenzied, freeing her in a bursting of raw sensation. Before the last cries left her throat, his own climax sent him spinning after her. It was several minutes before Storm could move or speak. Her words brought Grady abruptly from a state of euphoria to a rude awakening.
“You bastard!”
“What!”
“You heard me. Let me go!” She tried to slide off him, but Grady held her so tightly his male appendage was still wedged deeply inside her.
“Why are you so angry?”
“Because you took unfair advantage of me. I can’t think straight when you—you—”
“—Make love to you?”
Her chin rose several notches in the air. “Seduce me.”
“What’s wrong with that? It’s what we both wanted.”
“It’s what you wanted. I had no choice in the matter.” She began pounding her fists against his chest, making no impression at all.
“Dammit, Storm, stop that. Do you intend to beat me every time we make love?”
“There won’t be another time. I can’t think straight when you—when you’re—”
“—Making love to you?”
“Forcing yourself on me.”
He laughed harshly. “Are you trying to say you didn’t enjoy what we just did?”
“Yes.” Her lids fluttered downward to conceal the blatant untruth of her statement.
“You’re a terrible liar. Do you think I’m so inexperienced that I don’t recognize real pleasure?”
“That’s the trouble,” Storm said sullenly. “You’re too experienced. You know just where to touch me to make me feel things I never felt with Buddy. It’s not right. Buddy was my legal husband. I loved him.”
“Is that why you’re angry with me? Because you resent how I make you feel when we make love?”
“That’s part of it.”
Abruptly he lifted her off of him, setting her down beside him. She scrambled for a blanket to cover her nakedness. “You’re a coward, Storm Kennedy. You’re afraid of your own sexuality. It’s too powerful to cope with so you compensate by accusing me of seducing you. If it salves your conscience, then by all means think of me as a ravisher of innocent women.”
Storm flushed, realizing Grady had come too close to the truth for comfort. “It isn’t right to feel so—so—”
“—Wonderful?”
“Shameful,” she contradicted. “It shouldn’t happen like this. Buddy hasn’t been dead very long. What kind of woman am I to allow myself to be seduced so easily?”
“A passionate woman who has never been fulfilled until now. I’m not tarnishing your husband’s memory. He was obviously young and inexperienced, but dammit, Storm, he’s dead. You’re a true pioneer. Not many women could accomplish what you did on your own. You can remain stubborn and lose everything you’ve won or accept my proposal of marriage and lose nothing.”
“Except my soul.” Grady recognized the pain in her voice and was puzzled by it.
“I don’t want your soul, Storm Kennedy. What I want from you is much simpler.” Even as he spoke the words he realized he wasn’t being truthful. Was it really pity or responsibility he felt for the young widow? Or was it another, more complicated reason that had nothing to do with her husband’s death? “I want my son with me. He’s still young and impressionable and needs a woman’s influence. That’s where you come in.”
Storm’s thoughts raced in every direction, finally returning to one inescapable fact. Grady didn’t want her for herself and she damn sure didn’t want a man who had no room in his barren heart for love. He gave her too much of everything but himself. Yet, what choice did she have? Losing her homestead would devastate her. But being a wife to Grady in every sense of the word would be even more devastating. He’d proved his mastery over her twice and was likely to do so again, stripping her of her pride, her identity—her soul. Was there no way to keep their relationship less intense without surrendering everything to him? she wondered dismally. When it came the answer was a stroke of genius, and she smiled at the simple solution.
“You want me to make a home for your son,” Storm repeated, making certain she knew exactly where she stood with Grady. “And at the same time you’ll be giving me a home and salving your conscience where I’m concerned.”
“Yes,” Grady said.
“Then I see no reason to share a bed if we marry.”
“What!”
“I said—”
“I heard what you said, dammit! Are you crazy? How can you ask that of me after what we just experienced together?”
“Easy. I don’t want to be forced into something I’m not ready for. I’m newly widowed. Let me mourn my husband for a decent interval before accepting another man in my bed.”
“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” Grady said with mocking arrogance.
“It’s never too late to mend one’s ways. Have you never been assailed by guilt, or felt the crushing weight of having done something you’re not exactly proud of?”
Grady sent her a sharp look, wondering if she was trying to make him feel as guilt-ridden as she was. What man or woman alive hasn’t done things they’re not proud of? He thought about his parents and how he had hurt them by taking himself and Little Buffalo from their home and not writing or communicating with them in over five years. Since he’d been separated from his son he’d had a glimpse of the pain and distress he had caused his own parents. And they certainly must have heard about Thunder, the renegade Sioux who led daring raids against those who did harm to the People.
“Each of us must atone for his sins in his own way,” he said cryptically. “If you do not wish to share my bed, then so be it. There are any number of women willing to lie with me. I do not need you for that purpose. All I ask is that you be a mother to my son.”
Grady’s easy acquiescence stunned Storm. She had expected an argument, or at least a few bitter accusations. What she hadn’t expected was his bold statement that he would find another woman to accommodate him in bed. What was she getting herself into? she wondered dismally. But it
was too late to back down now. She had made her bed and she must lie in it.
“I love children, so caring for Little Buffalo will prove no hardship.”
Satisfied, Grady nodded, the harsh lines of his face softening into a reluctant smile. “We will marry when you are rested and over the shock of your loss. I won’t have a hollow-eyed bride by my side when we say the words. Go to sleep, Storm. It’s nearly dawn and you’ve earned your rest.”
“You won’t—”
“You have my word. A Lakota warrior does not lie. I will not make love to you until you ask it of me.”
He lay down, wondering how he could survive living in the same house with Storm yet not touching her. He was strong, but not that strong. He had practiced celibacy in his life and not been harmed by it, but Storm was so great a temptation his strength would be tested to the limits. Even now, after just having loved Storm, his loins ached with need for her. He could always ease himself with another woman, he reasoned, but somehow that thought appalled him. How could another woman satisfy him when it was Storm he wanted?
Thunder and Storm.
The day would come, he predicted, when Thunder and Storm would make the heavens ring with the fury of their dueling souls.
The next day was Sunday, and Storm slept late. When she awoke Grady was gone. She busied herself around the house, mentally listing all the things that were needed to make his cabin more homey. He returned at dusk with the wagon and horses, which had survived the fire, and a few odds and ends rescued from the ashes. One was a framed wedding picture of her and Buddy taken from a twisted metal trunk. It was a memento Storm would treasure forever. Unfortunately, none of Storm’s clothing survived the fire, and she was forced to wear the same dress for her wedding that she had worn at the dance.
They drove the wagon to Guthrie Monday morning. Storm was solemn-faced and stiff, Grady pensive as they huddled against the biting wind. December had swept across the land with a vengeance. The skies were gray and a light dusting of snow covered the hard-packed earth. They rode in a silence broken by an occasional comment, each contemplating an uncertain future with a barely known partner. Yet both were willing to admit, at least to themselves, that an attraction existed between them that was hot enough to singe the air around them.
