“Summer…” He swallowed against the hoarseness of his throat and began again. “Can I take down your hair?”
The quiet question startled her. She hadn’t expected him to ask her permission for anything. She had simply expected him to take. She nodded slowly.
She felt his hard fingers, cautious and gentle, in her hair, searching for the pins that held her snood in place. He could have dropped them on the floor, but he handed them to her one by one—and she was grateful. It gave her something to do, something to cling to. She was aware of how smooth the carved wood felt against her palm, how soothing his fingers felt against her scalp as he slowly raked the knot at her nape, loosing the tangled tresses.
Again Lance said nothing; he was too caught up in the wonder of what he was doing to try to speak. He hadn’t remembered her hair right. How it glowed dark and lustrous as a sable pelt. How it shimmered with red and gold highlights. How silky and soft it felt against his fingertips. It was more beautiful than any memory he’d held on to. And her skin…so soft and white and silky…
His hand was shaking as he raised it to stroke her bare shoulder; all his senses felt sharp and hungry and raw. Slowly, so he wouldn’t scare her, he moved his hand around her shoulder and downward…to cover her right breast, cupping it with his palm.
He waited for the panic, the rejection, but Summer sat frozen, completely rigid. He moved his hand slowly, cupping, stroking, trying to tell her with his quiet touch that she didn’t have to be afraid of him. He wanted to bury his face in her breasts, to suck so hard on her nipples that she cried out in pleasure and pain, begging him to suck her elsewhere. But if it took every ounce of willpower he had, he would force himself to hold back. She had been his dream for as long as he could recall, and he wasn’t going to destroy this chance. He would prove to her he wasn’t the savage she feared.
At his gentleness, Summer closed her eyes in wonder. The lean, callused hand was so hard, so very strong. Frighteningly strong. Shouldn’t I be afraid? she thought with bewilderment. But there was nothing startling about Lance’s touch. Instead, the heat of his palm against her flesh was stirring, arousing, exciting. Her budded nipple throbbed almost painfully. She wanted to press her breast into his hand, to offer him more of herself.
As if he could read her mind, Lance brought his other arm around her body, to fondle her left nipple. Summer gave a soft, involuntary murmur of approval. She could hear his breath in her ear, as shallow and rapid as her own, feel the pulse of his heart against her back, the scalding heat of his bare chest against her skin. The quiet heat affected her strangely. Slowly, moment by moment, she felt her tense, rigid muscles soften, grow weak.
With a breath of a sigh, she relaxed back against him. She was so tired…so tired of fighting, of being strong. But she had someone to lean on now. She closed her eyes.
When, a moment later, through a daze, she heard Lance say in a husky half whisper, “Lie down, princess,” she didn’t protest. Obediently she did as he wanted.
Lance shifted so that he was wedged against the wall, giving her room on the narrow cot, and gently turned Summer to lie full length on her back. Her naked body was fully open to his gaze, his for the taking.
Slowly, though, carefully, he stretched out on the cot beside her. He was half-afraid to do more for fear he’d attack her. The way he was feeling right now—his body throbbing, his erection stiff as a poker and on fire for her—he was liable to explode. God, he wanted her. But he had to go slow, he had to force himself to wait.
Lassoing his control, he searched her upturned face. Her eyes were green and questioning, her lips soft and parted and vulnerable. He’d had so little softness and warmth and beauty in his life, he didn’t know what to do with it now. He didn’t know how to show a woman tenderness…
If Summer had been a mare, he would know how to act. He knew how to gentle a wild mare. In taming a mustang, a Comanche would breathe into her nostrils, make her learn his breath in order to claim mastery. He could make Summer learn his breath, accept his touch.
With quiet determination, Lance bent his head and covered her mouth with his. When his tongue slid between her lips, he felt her stiffen for the barest instant, but then she parted for him, letting him thrust deeper.
He kissed her for a while, letting her grow accustomed to the taste of him, letting her feel the press of his body now and then, the caress of his palm as he kneaded her breast. In a while, when he finally felt she was ready, he moved his lips from her mouth to her chin, the slim column of her throat, the delicate line of her collarbone, and lower.
She made a gasping sound deep in her throat when his mouth claimed her nipple, but she didn’t try to pull away. He set to work suckling her, first gently, then harder…then soft again, changing the rhythm, the method of torment…drawing back to blow on the wet, glistening bud, raking the pebbled peak lightly with his teeth, his tongue licking and soothing where he’d hurt. She was breathing hard by the time he let his hand move down her silky body, to cup between her legs.
Her sharp gasp made him raise his head and whisper against her lips, “No, don’t tense up. I’m just going to touch you.... This’ll make it easier for you to take me.”
She seemed to relax against her will, and lay there passively as he stroked the feminine cleft between her thighs. In a minute, though, he could feel the sexual tension begin to grow in her body.
He kept up his tender assault, readying her for him…probing her secrets gently…thrusting his middle finger slowly inside her, deeper, deeper…then withdrawing, only to thrust again…wetting his finger with her pearly dew and letting it glide over the aching center of her womanhood…rubbing the hard little nub with exquisite concentration. After a few moments the hairpins in Summer’s grasp slipped unheeded from her fingers, and she raised her hands to clutch his shoulders.
When finally he heard her soft whimper of pleasure, Lance felt a surge of desire so powerful, he thought he might shatter. He shifted his weight then, moving his denim-covered knee to ride intimately between her thighs, pressing hard against her crotch. As he’d wanted, her hips began to thrust erratically against the pressure.
“Lance…?” Her voice was a whisper of confusion. “What…are you doing to me? I’m so hot…”
“That’s okay, princess,” he said hoarsely. “What you’re feeling is good. Move against my leg…ride me.”
Summer closed her eyes against the fierce heat flaring within her, consuming her, against the fierce, unbearable ache between her trembling thighs. She felt so feverish, so wild. She had to get closer to him or she would die—and Lance seemed to know it. He had gripped her squirming hips in his powerful hands, forcing her to accept the hard pressure of his rocking thigh, the rasping friction that was driving her mad.
Suddenly, helplessly, her entire body went rigid. Desperately she clutched at the muscles of his sleek shoulders and let out a strangled cry at the brutal rush of feeling, the savage fire that streaked through her, but she was powerless against the fierce sensations, the passion that seemed to be tearing her apart. Frantically she arched against Lance as her body shuddered violently.
“Easy…” she heard him whisper roughly in her ear. “Easy, princess.”
She couldn’t possibly have responded; her breath rasped in her throat as she tried to draw in air.
Lance didn’t say a word; he only held her, his damp forehead pressed against hers as he waited for the explosion of ecstasy to pass.
Eventually, when she regained awareness and could feel again, she realized his lips were feathering over hers, across her cheekbones, her eyes, her temple. All the while he was murmuring to her in a strange tongue, whispering to her softly. It had to be Comanche. She might not understand the words, but she couldn’t mistake the tone…his voice tender and caressing as a lover, not the cold, heartless stranger she had feared.
Still dazed, she felt his hard body shift as he reached down and unbuttoned his pants and drawers. Felt the thick pulsing heat of him as
his rigid flesh sprang free of the confining denim and knitted cotton.
Summer knew a moment of panic as that swollen granite shaft brushed against her bare thigh, but then she realized Lance was looking at her, demanding in a hoarse voice that she look at him.
“Summer?” His hot, dark eyes holding her gaze, he ran his fingers slowly, deliberately, over her lips, dipping in between, making her taste her own essence. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No…” She could barely get the rasped reply past the dryness in her throat.
“You know we’re not finished?”
Mutely she wet her parched lips with her tongue and nodded.
“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
Slowly she shook her head. She was less frightened of Lance than of the intense pleasure he had made her feel. And more than a little confused by her own wild response, the devastating way he had shattered her control. “No…I… I’m not afraid of you.”
“That’s good. A wife shouldn’t be afraid of her husband.”
Wife. She was Lance’s wife now. Summer tensed involuntarily at the reminder, and yet Lance seemed to understand her unease.
He was still watching her, his obsidian gaze smoldering and intense as he began whispering to her again in that strange lover’s tongue. And then he began stroking her again with his hands—his unexpectedly, wonderfully gentle hands—arousing her taut nipples, moving over her belly, her naked thighs, making fresh desire kindle inside her.
Surrendering helplessly, Summer closed her eyes and let her head fall back. When his fingers tangled in the thatch of her woman’s mound, her legs parted wide to give his searching fingers access. He meant to do it again…make her come apart in his arms. And she wanted him to.
The fevered throbbing between her thighs grew in intensity, till it seemed like unbearable fire licking at her womb, along her limbs, through her veins. Summer whimpered mindlessly, caught up again in the same storm of passion that had swept her away only moments before. She clung to Lance, hardly aware of what she was doing, what he was doing.
The flow of foreign words had stopped, that much she knew. He was kissing her while his fingers worked their magic. She could feel his mouth grinding against hers, his tongue thrusting deep as she writhed against him in a frenzied attempt for deliverance.
A score of pounding heartbeats later, her frenzy erupted in a shattering explosion.
The long moments afterward were filled with her rasping breaths, with her violent tremors.
Keeping himself still, Lance held Summer as she quieted, savoring her response…her shaking body, her naked skin sheened with sweat, the erotic scent of feminine arousal mingling with the aroma of coffee. His own desire was like a firestorm raging inside him, but he was willing to accept the delay. Just now it was enough to have Summer clinging to him in the aftermath of passion—the fulfillment of one of his cherished dreams.
After a while, though, when she remained unmoving, Lance shifted his weight to his elbow and raised his head. Her face was flushed, her lips slightly parted and still, her eyes shut.
Her eyelids fluttered open even as he watched, and he caught his breath, seeing the emerald depths shimmering with tears.
“You okay?”
Vaguely Summer returned his gaze, nodding mutely. She didn’t want to talk; if she did, she might break down completely. She closed her eyes, suddenly assaulted by a tremendous weariness. She was so tired, so tired of being afraid, tired of being alone, of being proud.
She drew a deep, shaky breath that incredibly, helplessly, turned into a sob; she couldn’t stop it. She felt a loosening, a melting inside her, and suddenly the tears were running down her cheeks.
“Summer?” His voice was rough with alarm.
“I’m fine…” She shook her head, trying to swallow, trying to smile through her tears. “I don’t know why I’m crying… It’s just the last two days have been so hard. I’m just tired…”
Lance felt his thudding heart settle down a notch. Tenderly he gathered Summer in his arms, pulling her close against him. He thought he knew what had happened. She wasn’t playing games with him this time. She was simply exhausted after the strain she’d been under, and the powerful sexual climax she’d just experienced had sparked a physical release of tension, like a dam letting loose.
He needed badly to feel the same kind of release… needed to feel the hostility, the resentment, the fierce anger, draining out of him as he poured himself into her. And yet somehow he needed more to offer her comfort.
Gently he pressed his lips against her temple. “We’ll find her,” Lance said softly, in understanding. “We’ll find your sister.”
Summer swallowed hard, gulping back her sobs, and buried her face in his throat. That was what she’d needed to hear. She needed to believe she wasn’t alone. That Lance would ease her burden of fear.
“Go to sleep,” he said, regretting the words but knowing he had no choice. He couldn’t take her now. Not with her weeping for her sister. Not when she was so utterly vulnerable.
“Yes,” she murmured shakily, and closed her eyes.
It was several moments, though, before her convulsive sobs lessened. Sometime later, Lance felt her quivering body relax, heard her breathing grow slow and even. He lay there, her forehead tucked under his chin, cursing his nobility while primal feelings of desire and hunger and protectiveness swirled through him.
He hadn’t taken her, and yet he was almost glad. He didn’t want Summer to think of him as a brute, didn’t want to force her or leave her afraid of him.
Hell, if it weren’t for the circumstances, he would have been willing to give her time to grow accustomed to being his wife, instead of demanding she sleep with him tonight. He wasn’t a savage—even if he felt like it at the moment. His groin was ready to burst, but he could live with the pain.
If for a single instant he considered easing himself between her thighs, sinking his shaft deep within her shivering warmth and taking her while she slept, he ruthlessly crushed the notion. Even if he had to lie there and ache all night as punishment for having scruples, he wouldn’t claim his right like that. Not when Summer might hate him for it in the morning.
Lance tightened his hold on her—and suddenly realized how cool her skin had grown. He frowned at the ceiling. He ought to let go of her long enough to cover her with the blanket. He needed to put out the lantern, too. Needed to get up and take the coffee off the stove so the pot wouldn’t boil dry.
But he needed more to hold Summer in his arms and savor the feel of her body, soft and willing and helpless, against his. Needed time to get used to the idea that she was really lying here with him, innocent and trusting. To grow accustomed to the wash of tender emotion, alien and strong, that was lodged like a pain in his chest.
He couldn’t believe all this. He’d spent years yearning for what he couldn’t have. And now, suddenly, incredibly, it had come true.
Summer was his woman. His wife. His fantasy.
Well, maybe not entirely. She wasn’t fully his wife yet. Not until they consummated their vows—and even then he couldn’t count on her keeping her word. He could still lose her at any moment. Especially if he failed to find her sister. Or even if he managed to bring Amelia back alive. Either way, there would be nothing to tie Summer to him then.
Deliberately Lance forced himself to let out the breath he’d unconsciously been holding. He wouldn’t let his fear get the better of him.
Summer was his for the moment.
And he would fight to his last breath against anything or anyone—including Summer herself—in order to keep her.
Chapter 4
Summer awoke alone and disoriented. Wincing at the bright sunlight streaming through the chinks of the shutters, she lifted her head slowly from the pillow. Lance. This was Lance’s home. His livery stable. His office. His bed.
A powerful rush of awareness assaulted her. She was naked, wrapped in only a blanket, lying on the hard cot where she’d b
een introduced to passion by the ruthless stranger who was now her husband. The scent of him clung to her skin, more powerful even than the smell of fresh coffee that permeated the small room.
With a silent groan, Summer buried her face in the pillow, yet she couldn’t shut out the insistent images that shimmered darkly behind her eyes. Lance making her undress for him. Lance initiating her to pleasure and bringing her to ecstasy. Lance holding her in his hard arms while she sobbed in fear and weariness.
He hadn’t claimed his rights as her husband, and yet what he had done seemed somehow worse. He had bonded them together with intimacy, at the same time proving his mastery over her. He had seduced her, using tenderness and passion as weapons instead of threats of rape and physical coercion.
The realization left Summer in a welter of confusion. Lance had threatened to take her by force, but he had shown her nothing but gentleness…and incredible, incredible pleasure.
The sharp memory streaked through her, sending warmth pooling between her thighs. She hadn’t known what lovemaking would be like. She’d never imagined any feelings could be that…intense, that overwhelming. She had never expected to respond so strongly to any man, even Lance, who’d always had the power to stir her blood with merely a look.
She’d always known he was dangerous, but last night had actually frightened her. She knew she couldn’t control him the way she could her other beaux, but never before had she lost control of herself.
When Amelia had once warned her of the possibility, she had scoffed. She could almost hear her sister’s voice scolding her in exasperation at one of her flirtations. Mark my words, young lady, one of these days you’ll meet your match. And then you’ll see how much it hurts to have your affections toyed with.
Was this what Amelia meant? Had she met her match in Lance?
The Savage Page 8
