Velvet Thunder

by Teresa Howard

  She dropped back on the pallet and drew deep breaths through her mouth. Marginally calm, she began planning her strategy. Mr. Diamond would soon discover that when Miss Stephanie Kay Johns put her mind to something—even seducing a reluctant lover—she did it.

  Maybe even more than once. Innocent that she was, she wondered if that was physically possible. Before the sun rose over Eden, she planned to find out.

  Renewed with determination, she paced the narrow confines of their shelter. The scratchy blanket rubbing against her naked flesh only heightened her need and frustration. It seemed like Heath had been gone an eternity when, exhausted, she sat. She drew her knees up and rested her chin on them. Second by second she became more frustrated . . . and more fatigued. Finally, just moments before Heath returned, she fell back on the pallet, slipping into a deep sleep.

  She awakened to a very pleasant sensation. The blanket had fallen away from her naked form. In his sleep Heath’s strong, hot body had taken its place.

  She smiled instantly; that was the easiest seduction she had ever performed—’course, it was the only one.

  Her smile disappeared as lips—soft, moist, searching—covered hers. Callused hands—caressing, teasing, exciting—spread over her, seeming to touch everywhere at once.

  The reality of lovemaking was much better than a dream, she decided. One of Heath’s expertly tutored appendages made the sensual journey from her shoulder, down her torso, slipping between her thighs, seeking the core of her femininity. She gasped sharply as maddeningly, tenderly, he caressed her inside and out.

  She could feel his rapid, uneven breathing on her cheek. Her head fell back over his arm; her eyes, dark with desire, opened slowly. A low, guttural moan slipped past her lips. “Oh, Lucky.”

  He made no verbal response.

  She raised her head slightly. “Lucky?” Awareness swept over her like a tidal wave. The rutting boar was asleep. He didn’t know who she was. He was just acting on instinct.

  She started to pull away from the exquisite torture, then hesitated. Wasn’t this what she wanted? Sex—impersonal, temporary? No! Not like this. It was too degrading. If she were going to surrender her innocence, the lucky recipient was going to know what he was being given, and by whom. She placed her hand on his bare shoulder and squeezed. “Lucky.”

  His only response was to stroke her more aggressively. What he was doing felt so good, she could barely think. She bit down on her lower lip to keep from moaning. Her hips strained toward his touch of their own accord.

  Something velvety, hot, hard, and slightly wet connected with the inside of her thigh. She was momentarily distracted. Wide-eyed, she lowered her gaze. The muted light of the fire revealed a most provocative sight. His deep-bronzed hand was buried in the pale curls that hid her womanhood; his erect manhood brushed against her inner thigh with each instinctive movement of his hips.

  She shook his shoulder harder. “Lucky, please wake up,” she rasped.

  Instinctively, he dropped a kiss to her lips. When she responded, he deepened the kiss and continued his bold stroking.

  She reached out and touched him as he was touching her. He jerked his hips and came fully awake in an instant. His eyes wide, glazed with desire, found hers. He made to pull away. “Sugar, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  She cut off his throaty denial by pulling his head down to hers for a long, satisfying kiss. Voracious, she sucked his tongue between her parted lips and drew on his lower lip, running her teeth lightly along its surface.

  He hesitated for a moment, then groaned surrender. Capturing her head in his hands, he tilted it and fit his mouth over hers. As if he were starving, he put every pent-up desire he had experienced since meeting her in that one kiss.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice cautioned him to halt. But she tasted so good, felt so good. Where the admonition had once been a roar, it was now little more than a whisper, easily ignored, drowned out by desire’s velvet thunder booming in his ears.

  Twenty-three

  Crushing her to him, he devoured her with his kisses.

  The world beyond the circle of their arms ceased to exist. Passion, hot and pulsing, melded them together, heart to heart, soul to soul. They were both beyond rational thought, acting purely on instinct.

  His searching fingers found one firm globe. Its dusky tip crested at his caress. He drew the pebbled tip into his mouth. As a babe at her breast, he suckled. All the while, his hands roamed intimately, expertly, from shoulder to ankle, stoking the fires of her desire.

  An inferno, she writhed against him, moving sinuously, white-hot flames licking at his heated flesh. Tremors of arousal shook them both.

  Shallow, rapid breaths escaped her lips, merging with his ragged moans. His conscience was burned away in the flame of her passionate response. Her desire for him overrode rational thought, maidenly modesty, and any semblance of control. All that mattered was that they become one.

  Of their own accord, her thighs separated and circled his waist. She kissed his manhood with the core of her being. Lifting her hips, she ground against him. He uttered something that sounded quite primitive when she reached between their bodies and positioned his throbbing member at the portal of her femininity.

  She whispered encouragement, first in English, then Comanche. “Now,” she breathed. “Please.”

  Wrapping her slight body in his steellike embrace, he thrust into her, splitting the barrier that proclaimed her pure, capturing her brief cry of discomfort in his mouth. When he halted to ease her pain, she bucked against him. He plunged into her then, over and over, almost violently. Their mating was as wild, as out of control as the storm raging in the heavens. He cushioned her bottom in his hands and rode her as he would a bucking bronc. Rising and falling, she met him thrust for thrust.

  It was over too soon. In a shattering crescendo Stevie reached her peak. Heath plunged over the edge a heartbeat later. With one last violent blast, the passionate storm consumed them.

  Panting, she shifted slightly. He hardened inside her again. The seductive look in his sapphire gaze quickened the muscles in her belly and thighs, like a match striking stone, desire flared between her legs, flamed bright, burned hot.

  When he slid from her honeyed warmth, she moaned her disappointment. His smile was masculine, hot. “This time I intend to take my time, sweetheart. And love every inch of you.”

  Slowly, patiently, he paid homage to her body, worshipping her with his hands and mouth. She was writhing beneath his maddening ministrations when his lips trailed over her stomach, lower. “Open wider, angel,” he whispered against her silken curls, gently pushing her thighs farther apart.

  “Lucky,” she gasped, burying her hands in his hair.

  His sexy chuckle vibrated against her core. “I’m more than lucky, sugar,” he murmured, loving her with his tongue as he had with his immense maleness.

  Had she not been overcome with desire, she would have been shocked at his action. This was an aspect of lovemaking she knew nothing about. But her attention was riveted solely to the part of her that was throbbing uncontrollably, to the sensitive nub that he was adoring with his mouth.

  When she was certain she could take no more, he rejoined their bodies. He made love to her again, long and hard, guiding her on a sensual journey, where lovers go, always together, never alone.

  Sated, their breathing slowed, their heart rates returned to normal. Sliding to her side, he pulled her against his body.

  She still tingled from head to toe. “You’re incredible,” she said honestly. “Is it always like that?”

  “Never.”

  Both in awe of what had passed between them, they fell into a deep sleep, safe in each other’s arms.

  Without their awareness the violent wind and torrential rain ceased. The clouds continued their journey across the vault of heaven until the sun’s rays burst through, bringing morning to their mountain abode. A rainbow appeared in the sky, like a beautiful awning. Heady scen
ts of freshly bathed grass and trees wafted across the valley on a light breeze. Peace reigned.

  Stevie came awake slowly. Sliding out of Heath’s embrace, she wrapped a blanket around her nude body and moved to the entrance of their hideaway.

  For the first time in her life she felt whole. She leaned her head against the rock wall and silently thanked her white father’s Christian God and her Comanche mother’s Great Spirit for the serenity Lucky’s loving had brought to her heart. He had touched her in a way that she would never be touched again. Now she knew what it was to be a woman. And she owed the wondrous discovery to a man she knew simply as Lucky Diamond.

  He had awakened her and taken her on that sensual journey once again during the night, the last time more precious, more tender, than the ones before. Wrapped in each other’s arms, they had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

  “Come back to bed,” a deep, sexy rumble caressed her ears.

  She turned and found him smiling at her from their love nest. His ebony hair was tousled, a hint of a shadow on his strong jaw. Just the sight of him caused her knees to go weak.

  Smiling, she hurried to his side. The morning air was cool on her bare skin as she dropped the blanket to pool around her feet. He lifted the cover and she slipped in beside him. He wrapped her in his embrace.

  “Mmmm, you’re warm.” She snuggled against him. Hooking one leg over his hip, she slid her foot up and down the back of his thigh. The contrast of their bodies felt delicious. Where she was soft and smooth, he was firm and hair-covered. Kissing his lips lightly, she trailed her fingers down his stomach and drew provocative patterns below his waist.

  “Witch.” The husky word sounded like an endearment.

  When she wrapped her slender fingers around him and touched his lower lip with her tongue, he kissed her roughly and pulled her under him.

  Once more he loved her with his body. But she noticed a new element to his lovemaking. More than passionate, he seemed respectful, almost restrained. She wondered at the difference. “Lucky?” was all she said after they shared a satisfying completion.

  He offered her a gentle smile. “I have a confession.”

  She raised a brow, inviting him to continue.

  “My name isn’t Lucky Diamond.”

  She feigned surprise. “You don’t say.”

  He chuckled, touching her cheek. “I do say. Name’s Heath Turner, ma’am. I’d stand and bow properly, but since I’m naked, I doubt I’d look very impressive.”

  She grinned impishly and dropped her gaze below his waist. “I beg to differ.”

  He almost blushed. “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you,” she whispered.

  “Me? What for?”

  “For making me a woman.”

  “About that, honey, we need to talk.”

  She didn’t like the chagrined look on his face. It told her that this was a conversation she did not want to have. “I’d say we communicate a whole lot better when we don’t speak.”

  He was tempted to agree, but withstood the temptation. He had taken her virginity and that carried certain responsibilities . . . to a gentleman. The sooner he informed Stevie that he intended to live up to those responsibilities, the better. But he was a bit unsure of her response. She wasn’t always predictable. “Maybe I can do this better with my pants on,” he uttered to himself, rolling to his feet and shimmying into his trousers. They had grown cold and stiff during the night. Considering how much he wanted to make love to Stevie again, they were just what he needed. He looked down at the fetching sight she presented. “Aren’t you going to dress?”

  She stretched, the wool blankets feeling decidedly sensual against her bare skin. “No thanks. I’m fine, just like I am.”

  That was an understatement. Gorgeous, sexy, devastating, were the words that came to Heath’s mind. But fine?

  Turning his back to her, he stoked the smoldering embers of the fire. When his heated blood cooled somewhat, he joined her on the blankets, careful to maintain a respectable distance. A taunting voice told him it was too late for that, but he squelched it . . . and the accompanying guilt.

  “Honey, about last night. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” He gestured vaguely at the rumpled blankets. Closing his eyes, he searched for the words to explain why he had assured her he would not take advantage of her and then proceeded to do just that. “When I got back from checking the horses, I was soaked clean through. I took off my wet clothes and wrapped up in a blanket. I planned to lie by the fire while my pants dried. Somehow, I ended up sharing your bed.” He smiled weakly. “You know the rest.”

  It was apparent that Heath regretted making love to her. The most wonderful experience of her life, and he was apologizing for it. Her earlier joy evaporated, but she wouldn’t let him see how much it meant to her. “We’re both adults: You didn’t exactly force me. There was no harm done. So let’s just forget it.”

  He stared at her, openmouthed. She was so damned nonchalant about the whole thing. If he didn’t have firsthand knowledge that she was a virgin, he would wonder at her virtue. “No harm done? I took your innocence. And I intend to do the right thing. We’ll be married as soon as we reach Adobe Wells.”

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  He fought to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “We’re discussing your loss, Stevie. You lost your virginity to me and I feel honor bound to do the right thing.”

  “So I took your virginity too?”

  Clearly, he found such a thought ludicrous, if not insulting. “Of course not.”

  “Well, do you marry every woman you’ve made love to? If so, I regret to inform you that there’s a law against that sort of thing . . . having more than one wife. If there isn’t, there should be.”

  “I’m not really certain what you’re babbling about. And you needn’t lecture me about the law.” He produced his U.S. marshal’s badge and brandished it in front of her face.

  She jerked to a sitting position, the hem of the blanket crushed in her fists, pressed against her collarbone, hiding all the charms he had enjoyed during the night. “You’re a lawman? And you let me think you were a gambler, a no-account drifter? Who I had to beg to help me deal with a crook?”

  “Stevie, we’re hell and gone from our original topic. Which was that I intend to do my duty by you. I ruined you, now I will marry you.”

  Her jaw tensed. “You have forgotten two very important facts, Mr. Turner.”

  “Pray tell, Miss Johns, enlighten me.”

  His calm in face of her anger made matters worse. “One, I do not intend to marry. Not you. Not now. Not ever. Two, you did not take my innocence. I surrendered it. Now, if you will take your pompous, overbearing, ignorant self out of here, I will dress and we can be on our way.”

  What was she so mad at? He was offering to do the right thing and she was throwing his chivalry back in his face. It wasn’t as if he were dying to get married. He had a good many years left before he had planned to become leg shackled. Couldn’t she see that he was making a monumental sacrifice . . . willingly? “I’m not ignorant! Maybe pompous and overbearing, but not ignorant. Furthermore, we’re not leaving today,” he informed her, slamming his hat on his head, grabbing his shirt, socks, and boots and stomping out into the beautiful morning.

  The birds chirped gaily in the trees. He turned turbulent sapphire eyes on them. “Shut up!”

  Twenty-four

  Huddled deep in the blankets, Stevie withdrew into herself. Like the final note of a song, she turned off her mind; emotion reigned supreme, a myriad of emotions; regret—that she had given so freely of herself, love—for a man she couldn’t have, and fear—that the loss of him would eventually destroy her.

  Fear? The uncharacteristic emotion tasted like bitter ashes in her mouth. Stevie Johns, fearless hellion who needed no one to make her complete, had discovered the other half of herself in a valley nestled in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. No. Not in a valley, but in the cradle of a man’s arms
—the man she loved now, the man she would love until she drew her last breath on this earth, the man she would cheerfully strangle at the moment.

  And he wanted to marry her. Not because he loved her, but because he had ruined her. How could he not know that a forced proposal would insult any woman’s pride?

  Suddenly, she threw the cover off and surged to her feet. No good would come of lying in the dark, licking her wounds. She would face this latest challenge as she had all others in her life—head—on. Dressed, she emerged from the shelter to find Heath awaiting her.

  “Can we talk?” he asked.

  She regarded him warily, but followed him to a log by the fire and took a seat.

  “Coffee?”

  “Thank you.” When she accepted the cup, their hands brushed.

  Her sharp intake of breath restored a measure of his masculine pride. “I’m sorry if I came on too strong, Stevie.”

  She couldn’t quite meet his eyes, but she relaxed marginally. “And I apologize for losing my temper. I’m not exactly world famous for my sweet temperament.”

  His soft chuckle raised the hair on her arms. “Oh I don’t know. I think you’re awfully sweet.”

  She colored furiously. “Awful anyway.”

  “Not hardly.” He slid along the log until they were hip to hip.

  She trembled at his nearness. Coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup, soaking into the jeans covering his muscular thigh.

  “Here. Let me take that.” He placed the cup on the ground beside his feet, cradled her cheeks in his palms, and lifted her face. She met his eyes then. Something in his heart broke free at the open, adoring, yet incredibly vulnerable look in her gaze.

  The kiss he bestowed upon her opened the floodgates of passion and shut off the lifelong inhibitions their doting parents had nurtured. Lifting her high, he returned to their hideaway and loved her as if it were the first time, as if they hadn’t been screeching at each other just moments before.