He wasn't going to want to let her go.
It would be cruel of him to frighten her again. She was already so shaken up she was having nightmares.
He thought of Turtle lying on that cheap couch, wasting slowly away. Turtle, begging Wes to save his life. Surely if the choice were between frightening Taylor McCoy and losing Turtle to death, it was obvious what he had to do. The risk to Turtle was far greater. The consequences to Taylor, far less severe. What was a little fear when a man's life was at stake?
Besides, if he scared her, she'd leave. Soon. Before this horrible feeling writhing around in the pit of his stomach got any worse.
He waited until she was out of sight, and then he sneaked around the outer edge of the woods, reentering beyond her, and making his way to the cave where he'd hidden his supplies.
Taylor looked around carefully. A little niggle of fear rushed up her spine when she thought of bathing in the water hole, out in the open like this. But it was dawn. Wes would keep Kelly and Scourge from wandering down here. And that nut who wanted her to believe he was a ghost wasn't likely to show up in the daylight. He'd wait until dark to bother her.
She thought about her dream, about the way she'd felt in it. Wild and free, unfettered by shyness or fear. The way the Comanche women who'd lived their lives here had been.
Her ancestors. Surely some of their blood ran in her veins.
She blinked at that thought. It was the first time she'd consciously acknowledged that she was of the same blood. It must be this place. It was getting to her. And maybe that was part of the reason she'd reacted to Wes Brand the way she had. Just some of her long-nurtured inhibitions dissolving away.
She shouldn't be ashamed of wanting a man. It was natural. She was a healthy woman. Why shouldn't her body react to the touch of a handsome man? Why shouldn't it? It would be the same with any man she found attractive. There was nothing special with Wes. It was chemistry, pure and simple. No more than that.
She felt better having convinced herself of it. Relationships scared the hell out of her. Chemistry, she could handle. She was the one in control of her own body, after all. She could deal with it, keep it in check.
But a tiny voice in the back of her mind was telling her there was something more than the physical going on here. Something deeper. She didn't want to hear that voice, so she silenced it, refusing to even consider what it had to say. But the doubt remained. She just wished she knew for sure.
She stripped off her clothes, stepped up to the edge of the water and dipped one toe in. The chilly water embraced her skin, and she drew a harsh breath. Cold. Freezing. If she hesitated, she'd never get in, and suddenly she wanted to. She didn't know if she were trying to prove something to herself … to Wes and Turtle, who probably didn't think she was worthy of calling herself Comanche. It didn't matter. She wanted to do it.
Drawing a deep breath, backing up a few steps, Taylor ran forward and jumped into the water, sinking under the frigid surface as her warm skin screamed with shock. When she came up again, every nerve ending in her body was tingling and goose bumps crawled over her arms and legs. She felt alive. More alive than she ever had.
By the time he heard Taylor splashing in the water, Wes's face was hidden beneath layers of brilliant paint, an eagle feather was braided into his hair and he was wearing, once again, a loincloth and a string of bear claws around his neck.
He felt pretty much naked. And it wasn't as dark this time as it had been before. She'd see him a lot more clearly. Bared flanks and all. He could imagine how amused she'd be if she recognized him. His face heated, no doubt in reaction to the idea of her laughing at it. But for Turtle, he could do this. And for himself. She couldn't stay here. He could make her leave. It was just a matter of getting into character.
I am Wolf Shadow, he told himself. I'm a legendary warrior, noble, fearless, doing what's right.
Yeah, right.
Stiffening his spine and assuming a more noble, warriorlike posture, Wes stepped out of the sheltering trees and up to the water's edge. And then he realized what he should have realized sooner. She was naked, too. More naked than he was, as a matter of fact.
Why that didn't make him feel any more at ease, he could only guess. No, scratch that. It would be better not to speculate on the reasons for that clenching and tightening going on all over him.
He caught glimpses of her dark skin as she moved and played in the water and told himself to avert his eyes. But he couldn't look away. He could only stand there on the shore, in the mists of early morning, watching her as if mesmerized. She was a different woman out here. Almost childlike in her frolicking. Smiling. She was smiling. And he stood there in silence, wishing he knew everything about her, watching her and trying to figure out the change. Until finally she turned and saw him.
She went still, one hand flying to her mouth as if to catch the startled cry that squeaked out of her. Her smile died, and the fear that crept into her eyes was too much for him.
"I won't harm you," he told her, deliberately speaking in a lower than normal tone of voice. "I couldn't."
She blinked, and her brows drew together. "As if I'd believe that. Why should I trust a word you say?"
"Because I say you can."
Again her eyes narrowed. Then they traveled down his body, and lingered. She drew her gaze upward to meet his again, and now she seemed more confused or puzzled than angry. "Pretend to be a gentleman," she said. "Turn around, let me get out of here and…"
Wes turned his back to her before she could finish the sentence. And he heard the water rippling as she moved toward shore. But having his back toward her did little good. He could envision her body, gloriously naked, beaded with water and goose bumps, nipples erect and hard. He bit his lip, and turned around again. She'd wrapped a large towel around her, under her arms.
She scowled at him. "You could at least give me time to get dressed."
"What I have to say to you will not take long," he said softly. Too softly. That kind of catch in his voice wasn't going to scare her. He was supposed to be intimidating her. So he added, "Besides, I like the way you look. Dress after I'm gone."
"Bastard," she said. And she took a step toward him.
Startled, Wes took a step backward, and held up one hand like some extra in an old Western, about to say "How." Only his line was, "Stay where you are."
She frowned, tilting her head to one side. "Why?"
Uh-oh. She looked suspicious. Time to pull out the big guns. Or arrows, as the case may be. "I've warned you to stop this digging, to leave this place." He made his voice deep and scary. He hoped. "You have ignored my words. What happens to you should you ignore them again will be no one's fault but your own."
"So you came here to threaten me again?"
Wes grated his teeth. Why was it she seemed so afraid of Wolf Shadow when he wasn't around, but when he was, she stood up to him like a bulldog guarding a T-bone?
"It's no threat, Taylor McCoy. It is only the truth. A warning. I have told you the sacred place is here, on this site. That has to be enough for you. Tell the elders not to sell the land. And then leave here. Today."
There. Any minute now he ought to see the fear creeping back into those black eyes. And maybe it was mean, but it would get rid of her before his mental state deteriorated more than it already had. And it would save Turtle's life.
The fear didn't come. In fact her expression got about 360 degrees angrier. Not liking the way this was going, Wes turned to walk away. His intent was to vanish into the mists as any self-respecting noble warrior would do, and then hightail it back to his tent.
It took him completely by surprise when a small hand gripped his shoulder from behind and spun him around. Taylor stood toe-to-toe and nose-to-chest, glaring up at him. "Don't you dare walk away from me, dammit. I want to know who you are, and what the hell you really want, or I'll—"
He'd only meant to set her away from him. To get some distance between them and protect his identity
from that piercing ebony gaze. But his fingers somehow tangled in the towel, and it fell to the ground. Taylor stood in front of him naked, chest heaving, cheeks flaming. Her fists clenched at her sides as he stood there, paralyzed, unable to move or take his eyes off her incredible body. Every cell in his brain went to sleep, and every cell in the rest of his body came to screaming, aching life. Looking at her was like glimpsing heaven. And he couldn't think. He wanted…
"Damn you," she whispered, and she bent to retrieve the towel. Unfortunately, at the same moment, his knees gave out, and he dropped down onto them. She tugged at the towel, but since he was kneeling on it, it was useless. His eyes feasted on her breasts. And then she went still, and he saw the anger in her face easing, changing, and he saw something else replacing it.
He lifted his hands slowly, so slowly he was barely aware they were moving. As if they were floating upward on their own, until they closed around her small waist. She inhaled, a short, wavering gasp. But she didn't move away. Her wide eyes held his, no anger in them at all. Not anymore. There was something else. A curiosity. A question, though he wasn't sure what question.
"Never in my life," he whispered, his voice harsh, "have I seen anything I wanted to touch the way I want to touch you."
He slid his hands upward until his thumbs could run along the bottom curve of her breasts, and then higher, brushing over her nipples. A sound came from her. Not one of objection, but one of need. And when he met her eyes again, he saw the excitement burning in them, the ever so slight flare of her nostrils as the breaths rushed in and out of her.
He pulled her downward, and she dropped to her knees. And with one last look at the fire in her eyes, he lost himself. He wrapped his arms completely around her, pulling her tight to him, one hand closing on her buttocks, one threading through her hair. Her breasts touched his naked chest, and he pressed tight to her, bending her backward and lowering his mouth to hers.
Ah, God, she tasted good. Salty and sweet and warm. He ached for her. Ached in a way he never had. Her body, totally naked, utterly vulnerable to him in every way. Her mouth, parting to let him take what he wanted, her tongue responding to each caress of his. He pushed her down farther, until her nude body stretched on the ground, and he lowered his own atop it, still feeding from her succulent mouth. He wedged his knee between hers, parting her legs, and lowering himself between them. He was hard, throbbing, and he pressed himself into her and cursed the loincloth and thanked his stars it was the only thing between them. She arched her hips against him, and he thought he would die of wanting. He reached down with his hand, parting her folds and thrusting a possessive finger inside her. When she stiffened, he pushed deeper, and she was hot inside, hot and quivering and wet for him. He yanked the loincloth aside, lowered his hips to hers. The tip of him touched her and pushed the merest fraction of an inch into her hungry body.
And someone—Kelly, he thought—yelled, "Ms. McCoy! Ms. McCoy, are you there?"
She stiffened, palms flattening to his chest and shoving at him. And Wes jerked away from her, wondering just what sort of insanity had claimed him. But he shouldn't wonder. He knew. Who was it who'd said God gave man a penis and a brain, and only enough blood to flow to one of them at a time? Whoever it was had been right. He sure as hell hadn't been thinking with his brain just now.
Taylor looked bewildered. Like a sleepwalker just waking up and wondering how she'd got where she was.
Twigs snapped under approaching footfalls. Wes looked up fast to see Kelly making her way toward them at a steady pace. But she hadn't spotted them yet. Then he looked down at Taylor, lying there naked and hungry and confused, panting with reaction and wide-eyed with fear all at once. He knelt, snatched up her towel and draped it over her body. Then he turned and ran off into the mists, disappearing just the way he'd planned to do.
* * *
Chapter 6
« ^ »
She sat up, wrapping herself in the towel, scrambling backward over the prickly grass to snag her shirt and panties from where she'd left them. She tugged them on frantically and clumsily, because her hands were chilled numb and trembling.
What had she done? What had she almost done? What had come over her just now? For the past hour she'd been analyzing her attraction to Wes Brand, telling herself over and over it was only physical and meant nothing, and doubting the truth of that mantra. When Wolf Shadow touched her, when he looked at her, she'd felt the same sizzling desire she'd felt for Wes. And she'd thought … she could let him kiss her. Just once, to prove to herself that her reaction would be the same. Prove to herself it would feel no different. That any attractive man could probably elicit a response in her, now that her sleeping libido had finally decided to wake up. She was thirty-five. Didn't they say women reached their sexual peak around this age? Wasn't that the one and only reason she felt the least bit attracted to the two men who'd dropped into her life out of nowhere?
Well, she had her proof. She was right; it was physical. Because Wolf Shadow's kiss and the delicious press of his body against hers had aroused her as much as Wes's touch had done. But my God, she'd let herself get lost in it. She'd kissed him back. She'd lost her mind for a few brief seconds. If Kelly hadn't come along when she had…
"There you are!" Kelly said, hurrying forward. "I was worried about you. After that thing with that Wolf Shadow character and all, I thought you shouldn't be out here all al— Ms. McCoy? Gosh, are you all right?"
"What? Oh. Fine."
Taylor was kneeling, buttoning up her shirt, but she paused to look at the way her own hands trembled. And she wondered what her face must look like. Her eyes.
"You look scared to death," Kelly said, confirming Taylor's suspicions, as she knelt in front of her. "Did you see that ghost again? Oh, gosh, you did, didn't you?"
"I…" Taylor blinked, searched the girl's face and finally shook her head slowly. "No. Of course not. It's just the water, it's freezing. I dove in without realizing how cold it would be, and it jolted me." She hugged herself, rubbing her arms for effect. If she frightened the students with much more of this Wolf Shadow nonsense, they'd want to pull the plug and leave. Might even run out on her. And she couldn't risk that.
Kelly frowned, her big blue eyes probing, worried. She was a sweet girl, even if she was making eyes at the same guy Taylor was interested in. No. The guy she wasn't interested in. It was her body that wanted him. There was nothing else there.
And how could Taylor possibly feel even that one brief stab of jealousy, when she'd just been making out with another man?
She couldn't believe this. All through school she'd been a loner. An island. A solitary woman with more interest in dusty tomes and historical accounts than human beings. She'd avoided getting personally involved with anyone. Male or female. Sexually or otherwise. She didn't even care enough to have any real enemies.
Now she was turning into a grade-A slut. Burning up for two men, neither one of whom she knew well enough to call an acquaintance. What was the matter with her? Maybe she should see a doctor. Maybe raging hormones could be controlled with a little pill.
She gathered up her towel, and the T-shirt she hadn't put back on. Wearing her long button-down and her towel, she started back for camp. She hoped she wouldn't see Wes. Wouldn't have to explain her appearance to him. He was so sweet. And maybe interested in her. And patient when she'd explained that nothing could happen between them. What kind of woman must she be to behave this way? How would he feel about her if he knew?
Didn't make any difference, she told herself. It didn't matter how he felt about her, because she didn't have any feelings for him.
She couldn't face him. Not yet.
"Did you notice that hollow in the ground over there?" she asked, grasping at straws. Stalling for time. She had to pull herself together.
"Where?"
Pushing her hands through her wet hair, Taylor led the younger woman to a perfectly natural dip in the ground, and pretended to examine it, rattling on ab
out possible reasons for it being there while her mind raced everywhere else.
Kelly fell for it for a while, but soon she was looking at Taylor a little oddly. "Ms. McCoy, is there some reason you don't want to go back to camp?"
"What? No. What a silly thing to ask." Taylor avoided the girl's eyes.
"Oh. 'Cause I thought maybe … well, that Wes Brand…"
"What about him?" She'd asked it too quickly, her tone too sharp. Stupid.
Kelly shrugged. "I've seen the way he looks at you. That's all. But if it's him you're avoiding, you don't have to worry. He's not there."
Taylor blinked and stared at the girl blankly. "Not…"
"He left right after you wandered down here. At least, I think so. He seemed to be heading out when I glimpsed him, and I didn't see him again after that."
But he'd promised to keep everyone away while she… Oh, hell, what difference did it make? It certainly wasn't the biggest promise made to her that had ever been broken.
Taylor gave her head a shake, turned away from the girl and started back toward camp. Kelly kept pace with her. As they emerged among the tents, she saw no sign of Wes. Maybe Kelly was right and he had taken off. Thank goodness. She turned to Kelly. "Thanks for worrying about me," she said.
Kelly nodded. "You'd better dry off, or you'll catch your death." Then she glanced at the sun, a fiery ball peering up over the horizon. "Then again, it'll be sweltering here in no time anyway. Maybe you should just stay wet." She smiled and headed back toward her own tent. Scourge was sitting near the fire with a cup of coffee in his hand, and he nodded hello as Taylor passed.
Closing her eyes in relief, Taylor headed for her tent, peeling back the flap, ducking inside and sinking to the floor to lower her head to her hands.
"Doc?"
Taylor jerked her head up fast to see Wes Brand sitting on the small stool in her tent, looking genuinely concerned. His face was red, as if he'd just scrubbed it. And his hair was pulled back into its customary queue, held in place with that thong of his. He wore a ribbed tank top, with a denim shirt tossed over it, hanging unbuttoned, sleeves clumsily rolled to just below his elbows. And black jeans that fit so snugly they ought to be illegal.
Maggie Shayne - Badland's Bad Boy Page 7
