by Vella Munn
“When you got married, it was because your parents had arranged it, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Your wife—the first time you slept with her, what was it like?”
“She had been married before—her first husband died. She knew what was expected of her.”
Expected. “Did you want to sleep with her?”
“Want? I had needs. It was her role to satisfy them.”
Role. “I understand. But beyond that?”
“Beyond?”
Why had she started this? It would have been easier to simply surrender to the needs he’d spoken about. But, she believed, he’d watched lovers not because he was a voyeur, but because he realized they were experiencing something he desperately needed. “Did you love her?”
He lifted his hand as if to push away her question. “No.”
“But you lived together. You had a child together. Surely you cared—”
“It was not right for either of us to live alone. The tribe was strengthened by our marriage.”
“I understand,” she said, wondering if she ever truly could. The hot hunger she’d experienced at his touch had cooled a little, but if she didn’t guard herself against him, it might take no more than a single word. The slightest touch.
“Loka, it’s no longer like that. These days, when people marry, when they live together, it’s because they want to, not because their families or chiefs have told them they must.”
“Want to?”
“Because—” She swallowed in an attempt to free her dry throat. “Because they’re in love, or think they are. There’s physical need—that hasn’t changed. But it’s the emotional component that…” Damn it, she sounded like a psychiatrist when a studied and stilted explanation meant nothing to him. “When you were with your wife, did you feel as if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her?”
He tried to keep his features immobile. Hurting for him, she concentrated on the effort and understood a great deal about him, knowledge that found a home deep within her heart. “We did not want the same things out of life,” he said. “Our hearts did not sing the same songs.”
This was a primitive man, a man ruled by nothing more than the need to stay alive? Looking into his eyes, she joyously answered her question. Yes, concerns and hardships she couldn’t imagine had consumed his days, but he’d stared into night skies and listened to the wind and felt the same stirring in his soul that she did.
His heart needed the same things hers did.
“Did—did you ever look for someone who thought and felt like you?”
“Once.”
“Once?”
“Before I was married, before we were forced onto the reservation with the Klamaths. It was a long time ago.”
“I want to hear about it.”
He blinked, sighed. “We laughed together, shared our bodies, watched a mother rabbit with her young and spoke of children. But she was promised to another, and I did what I had to and forgot her.”
Except he hadn’t. She didn’t resent the woman from his past. Instead, she sent up a prayer of thankfulness that he’d experienced the most precious of emotions—love. “That—that’s what it’s like, what everyone looks for these days. People marry for love. They sleep together because they love each other.” It wasn’t always like that. He must know that as well as she did, but standing in front of him with his life force flowing around her, nothing except him and her and the two of them mattered.
“I want you.”
His hard words shocked her. It wasn’t until she forced herself to study him that she understood. He didn’t know what to do with what she’d told him, didn’t know how to handle his reaction to both her and the dawning understanding that there could be something precious between a man and a woman. As a consequence, he was reverting back to what his people had expected him to be—a stoic and fearless warrior. Proud and defiant, he was using words to protect himself from her.
“Take me, then.”
That made him blink. But instead of saying anything, doing anything, he simply stood, arms tense at his sides, hands fisted. He seemed to have pulled into himself. She guessed he was weighing, not what he could do with her offer, but what might happen between them if nothing except physical need drove him.
“I won’t fight you, Loka. It won’t be love, but it won’t be rape, either. Do you know what I’m saying?”
“Many of our women were raped by soldiers.”
“I know.” It was as if she could hear the women’s cries and feel their men’s helpless anger. “That still happens,” she was forced to tell him. “But it’s not part of lovemaking.” Not part of what I need from you.
“I will not be like the soldiers.”
She’d been fighting instinct too long. She had to touch him, to feel his warmth against hers. He shuddered slightly when her fingers brushed his waist. For an instant she saw the depths of this man who had slept alone too long.
I want you to feel alive again, whole. To be the woman you turn to at night. Forever.
Of course it was insane. Forever wasn’t for them, not with worlds and generations separating them. But they had today. She would cling to today.
“You weaken me,” he whispered when he held her in his arms. “I think of you and I forget everything else.”
“You’re all that matters to me,” she said from the shelter, the mountain of his chest. She heard him suck in a long and unsteady breath, but it gave her no feeling of control over him. What was it he’d said? That she weakened him? Did he have any idea how helpless, how molten she felt at this moment? She needed to tell him she was nothing without him, but if she did, she would have to think about tomorrow, and she couldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
His hands that had fought her great-great-grandfather’s army slid over her arms and back, her neck and hips, less insistent this time, more as if she were a precious jewel that had somehow come into his possession.
She felt safe with this man, and yet her heart continued to beat out of time. Her body belonged, not to her, but to him, to what he was doing to her. To the world he was taking her into. Because he already wore next to nothing, nothing stood in the way of her exploration of him, and yet she held back. She had kissed his lips and chin, wrapped her arms around his neck and held on to his powerful arm, but if she gave in to the need to trail her fingers over his hips, to stroke his thighs, to hold his weight in the palm of her hand, she might lose herself.
She was already lost, she admitted with something that might have been laughter but was probably a silent sob. Loka, who knew nothing of the nuances of lovemaking, obviously thought nothing of claiming her breasts, her belly, of drawing her leg up and around him. If he’d been anyone except who he was, she would have warned him he was going too fast, taking too many liberties. But she’d entered his world and what he wanted was right. Anything he wanted.
He managed to unbutton her jeans but knew nothing about how a zipper worked. After kicking out of her shoes, she showed him, not just because she didn’t want to see him frustrated, but because she needed to be wearing no more than he did. When he pulled her jeans down over her hips, she clung to him, moving with his hands until she stepped out of the garment. He slid his hands under her blouse and began to push it upward but stopped when his fingers grazed her belly. Leaning back, he narrowed his gaze on her under-pants. She told him what they were but could only imagine what he was thinking.
“They are useless.”
“Useless?”
“Do they keep you warm in winter? Do they protect you from injury?”
“No.” She smiled, shivered, when he slid his hand under the waistband and tested it. “But it’s no longer that kind of a world, Loka. Protection and warmth—most people take that for granted.”
“They do not fell trees and split logs for heat?”
“No,” she said, trying to imagine what it had been like for him and his people as they huddled in unheated caves.
Shadows settled in his eyes and told her he was thinking the same thing. “Don’t live in the past,” she begged. “Please. If I could change it for you, I would, but it’s behind us now. There’s only today. And the future.”
“The future?” His hold on her increased, became an unspoken demand. “Tell me about my future, Tory.”
She wouldn’t, couldn’t do that, not just because she feared what tomorrow might bring for him, but because her body was interested only in today. This moment. Him. Telling him that, not with words but with gestures, she covered his bronze breasts with her paler hands.
He looked down at her, sunlight slowly returning to his eyes. She’d never thought of herself as a particularly feminine woman. True, her body had been designed with a gentle hand, but she’d always been more interested in her brain than the physical package. Today she felt new and alive, prayed that her body would please this man, trembled at the thought of what their coming together would be like.
“You are so small,” he whispered. The top button of her blouse came free under his fingers. “Like a bird.”
“You make me think of a cougar.” She wanted to go on touching him, giving him pleasure, but soon she would be naked. She couldn’t think beyond that.
Another button. “A bird and a cougar? No, we are not that.”
“It—it’s a lovely thought.” Button number three.
“Lovely? I do not know the meaning of the word.”
“Then I’ll teach you,” she told him before her throat closed. The final button had been released. She sagged forward slightly as if protecting herself from his gaze, from his fingers. But when he touched the base of her throat and trailed his fingers downward, she straightened. Gave him permission to do what he wanted with her.
The same quizzical expression that had touched his features at the sight of her panties returned. “I have seen this garment.” He indicated her bra. “But I do not understand. Why are white women afraid of their breasts?”
“Afraid? No, it’s not that. It’s—it’s the way things are done now.”
He chuckled, then pulled a strap off her shoulder. A warm breeze skittered over her newly exposed flesh, but that wasn’t why she trembled. Although she knew he was frustrated with the workings of her bra, several minutes passed before she showed him how to release it. It shouldn’t matter; they’d gone too far to stop now. But once she was naked, nothing would remain of the woman she’d been only a few minutes ago. The lines between them would be erased, all barriers gone.
Was she ready to expose her body and heart to him? To herself?
He ran his hands down her unbelievably sensitive back. If she hadn’t been so eager for him, she might have found his fingers too rough, but she was beyond such concerns, needed his touch too much. His flesh felt warmer than it had before. It might be the sun; it might be his reaction to her. If that was it, she was happy, and if earlier he managed to keep some of himself locked off from her, she didn’t want to think about that.
Didn’t want to know.
“You are a bird. Your bones are so small.”
“No,” she protested from the void that was her mind. “I’m not—”
“I do not want to hurt you.”
Now that she understood his concern, she wanted to put his mind at ease, but how could she when he’d taken hold of her—all of her? He seemed to be everywhere at once, his hands roaming her body as if he couldn’t get his fill of her. Somehow they’d sunk to their knees, not on hard earth, but on a mat of fallen leaves and thick grass. Their knees and thighs touched. She fastened her arms around his neck and kissed him frantically, deeply, unable to do anything except respond to hands running over her belly and hips. A whimper came to life deep in her throat. She followed its upward trail, cared not at all when it escaped her.
He pulled her hands off him and pushed her away from him, staring at her with an intensity that rocked her. “You cry?”
“No. Not cry. I…” I want you so much. Although he continued to look at her, his eyes filled with passion and concern, she couldn’t make herself say the words that would expose her deepest emotions. “It’s all right,” she said when, finally, she realized he was determined to outwait her silence. “I’m all right.”
“You are afraid of me.”
“No.” She started to shake her head, but the gesture made her dizzy. I’ll never be afraid of you, she nearly said, but because that might not be the truth, she stopped herself in time. “Loka, please, can’t we just—all I want is—please, make love to me.”
“Make love?”
“Sex!” she blurted out in desperation. “I want to have sex with you.”
She was terrified he’d want a further explanation when it was all she could do to keep herself from flying apart. In an attempt to keep him silent, she lunged toward him and covered her mouth with his. His grunt of surprise nearly stripped her of her courage, but she hung on with a will she thought she’d lost, and gradually, too gradually, she sensed question and doubt seep out of him.
It was impossible. Surely she didn’t have the strength to mold this warrior to her will, but maybe—yes—he had to want this thing they were doing as much as she did.
Sex, lovemaking—what did the words matter? There was only need and hunger exploding inside her, her hands restless again, his hands bold and indiscriminate on her body. Falling onto her back beneath him, looking through glazed eyes at his muscled form covering hers, arching herself toward him, telling him she was ready for him.
Perched over her, his body hard and shaking, he held himself suspended until she thought she would scream. “Wha—”
“Sloa.”
“What?”
“You are Sloa. Wildcat.”
“No. No.”
“Wildcat.”
Maybe she was. “I can’t help what I am, Loka.” Loka. How beautiful his name sounded as it echoed inside her.
“Kiuka,” he whispered. She felt his manhood graze the inside of her thigh, arched toward him even more. “You are Kiuka.”
It didn’t matter. Nothing did except that he’d found her center, that she was moist and hot. Flying into countless pieces. Accepting him. Drawing him deep inside her. Feeling him push himself even farther, filling her, taking her—taking her away from herself.
It had happened too fast.
Careful not to let too many thoughts in at once, Tory opened her eyes just enough to assure herself that Loka hadn’t left her. He lay on his side, his slickened body quiet and magnificent. She wanted it to be like that forever, but even in the halfway world she clung to, she knew that wasn’t possible. For these precious moments he was her lover, even if he didn’t understand everything that went with the word.
Lover.
Lover.
Only when she tried to say it for the third time did she force herself to face the truth. They’d had sex, quick and hot and urgent. There’d been nothing gentle or loving about their joining, although neither of them had hurt or been hurt. While caught in the moment’s onslaught, she hadn’t wanted anything else. Or maybe the truth was there hadn’t been enough of her left over to care about anything except the volcano consuming her.
He’d satisfied her, spent his own need.
And it had happened too fast.
Shutting her eyes, she tried to turn her mind to what he looked like, the rawhide muscles, midnight eyes and sun-loving hair. She wanted to see where he lived. If she asked him, would he take her there? She knew nothing about how he obtained the food that kept him alive. Would he let her accompany him while he hunted? If she asked him, would he show her how to gather the plants that had sustained his people?
She ran with that thought, imagined herself dressed in the softest of doeskin while she picked berries to dry for winter use. He would have been off hunting, and as the day ended, he’d step into their home and take her into his arms and—
“Loka,” she heard herself say. She opened her eyes and looked over at him, started to shake all over again.
“Loka.”
For several seconds, he stared at her, his expression unreadable. “You regret what we did.”
“Not regret. Never that. But…”
“Say it, Tory. I cannot see what is in your heart.”
“What we did was because we were so hungry for each other. I—I’m not ashamed. I take full responsibility for the way I acted.” How? You nearly lost your mind. “And you’ve been alone so long.”
“Yes.”
Yes. Such a simple word to explain what he’d had to endure.
“It could be different,” she said, forcing herself not to drop her gaze. “Sweet and gentle.”
“And you want that?”
“Yes. Don’t you?”
Chapter 14
Loka rolled away from her and stood, oblivious to the fact that he was naked. She tried to hold on to what she’d just asked him, but the sight of him nearly turned her into a liar. She’d told him she wanted sweet and gentle lovemaking, but if he turned toward her with hunger and urgency in his eyes, his body hard and healthy and ready, she would respond. Simply respond.
“When we were at Spirit Mountain, it seemed that the night would never end,” he said. “I wanted to return to you, to bury myself in you. But I was afraid of the man in me. And I did not know whether I could trust you.”
“Afraid of yourself?” she whispered. She didn’t want to know what he meant by not being able to trust her, or whether that had changed.
“Of my need. It was a winter storm inside me.”
She hadn’t known that. How could she when he’d slept apart from her? “Is that why you were so quiet?”
He nodded. “That, and Owl’s message.”
She almost asked him what he was talking about before she remembered his superstition that an owl’s call foretold death or danger. Who was she to belittle anything he believed in? After all, his existence was proof that some extraordinary force was at work. “Just because an owl hoots doesn’t mean there’s danger out there.”
