Capture the Sun (Cheyenne Series) Page 20

  Hawk had walked briefly after dinner and then returned to the lonely solitude of his room. After an hour of feverish tossing, he had slipped on a pair of buckskin pants and padded outside for another attempt to cool off in the night air. Lord knew there would be no sleep. However, the quiet starry night offered him no peace, and he once more retraced his steps toward his room with leaden feet. Strange, he could have sworn he heard his name, softly called on the night air.

  As he rounded the corner of the house near the back stairs, he saw Carrie silhouetted beside the pine tree. Her white silk robe and dark fiery hair gleamed in the moonlight. She looked so rapturously lovely, so delicate and vulnerable, sitting alone on the cold iron bench. Then he saw the convulsive shuddering of her whole body, and knew why she had called his name.

  Carrie did not know he was beside her until he touched her softly, caressing the cascade of shining hair that tumbled from her shoulders down her back. Wordlessly, she raised her head and reached out for the comfort of his embrace as he sat next to her on the narrow bench.

  As he held her securely in his arms, her sobbing stilled and she nestled against him, her hand clutching at the silver medallion nestled in the thick black mat of hair on his chest. Suddenly she realized he was clad only in soft leather pants. His scanty attire served to remind her of the thinness of her silk peignoir.

  Nervously she looked up into his face, her hands still lightly clasped around the hard contours of his biceps. She composed herself. “I—I had to get out of that stifling room.” She could see by the look in his eyes that he knew why, and it had nothing to do with a need for fresh air. Unable to meet his piercing black gaze, she looked over his shoulder at the night sky, spread with dazzling stars, like a spilled bucket of diamonds. “It's so beautiful, as if you could reach out and touch it, walk into its solitude and find peace.”

  “That's what the Cheyenne believe,” he said, turning to look up at the brilliance of the Milky Way, pulling her along in his embrace as he shifted positions on the bench. “They say after death each soul goes to find its rest up there by climbing the hanging road to the sky.”

  ‘‘If it takes death, maybe—”

  “Shh. Never say it!” He interrupted her fiercely. “You're alive, lovely, aflame like the sun, not cold like the dead.”

  “My soul is dead, Hawk, or it soon will be.”

  “No. Don't let him win, Carrie. Don't—” He could not finish his admonition once he fastened his gaze on her face. When she looked up into his eyes, her own were jewel-bright in wonder and entreaty. His mouth touched hers. He could not stop himself from taking the kiss. Slowly, forcing himself to be gentle, he prolonged the tender joining, tasting the silky insides of her mouth, twining their tongues together, fusing their lips.

  With ever-growing ardor, she returned his kiss, so fierce yet so sweet. Her soft little fingertips crept across his shoulders, then up his neck, to stroke the bristling whiskers on his jawline. Delicate and featherlight, her hands caressed the harsh angular planes of his face.

  He growled softly and buried his face in her hair, clasping her against his pounding heart while his hands burned through the thin silk on her back and thigh.

  Carrie arched against him, pressing her breasts to his bare chest, lacing her fingers together behind his neck and pulling his lips to hers once more. Some mindless well of primitive instinct seemed to guide her. And she wanted never to stop, or be stopped.

  Finally, Hawk broke the magic of the kiss and pressed her face to his chest, holding her still in his arms. His breathing was as labored and wild as his heartbeat. He could feel the rise and fall of her firm young breasts and hear her gasp for air. Never in his sundered life had he been this torn, never had he wanted a woman this much, or known so certainly that he should not take her.

  Carrie pressed her hands against him and raised her head so that she could look into his eyes. Her palms trembled on his chest and she swallowed hard, working up her courage to speak. He knew what she was going to say.

  Her dilated bright-green eyes locked with his liquid black ones as she ran one trembling hand across his cheek and down his jaw. “Please, Hawk. Just once in my life, I want to be. loved, not used.” Timidly then, for the plea had taken all her courage, she lay her head back against his chest and was still.

  If his conscience warred within him, it did not do so for long. Silently he rose, never letting go of her but taking her up into his arms and carrying her through the calm, silver beauty of the moonlight toward the back stairs and his isolated room. Noiselessly his bare feet trod the wooden risers and glided across the veranda to his door.

  The room was large and cluttered, but Carrie did not notice as he carried her inside. He stopped to push the door shut with one foot, then padded silently to the big brass bed and gently placed her beside it. As her feet touched the floor, she held on to his shoulders and leaned against him, nervous and uncertain of what to do. His hands showed her as they roamed sensuously up and down her sides, gliding slowly up to cup her breasts, then downward to stroke her hips and back up, tracing the delicate curve of her spine. All the while, he rained soft, brushing kisses over her face, neck, and hair.

  Carrie returned the kisses and let her hands trace the hard ridges of his biceps and shoulder muscles; then she ran her fingers through the hair on his chest, pushing the heavy silver necklace out of the way. She could feel his heart pound as she circled her arms behind him and felt his back muscles tighten. Every inch of him was hard and sinuous, sleek and pleasing to touch.

  Hawk reached up and gently untied the silk ribbons that held the thin robe together. With one smooth motion across her shoulders, he slid it from her arms and it dropped like a whisper at her feet. He stood back for a second, holding her at arm's length to feast his eyes on the slim curves revealed through one layer of sheerest white silk remaining on her body. Pale nipples hardened to sweet proud points, thrust against the night rail. Reverently he reached for the ribbon that held the gathered neckline together and loosed it, freeing the ivory mounds.

  He slid the top of the gown down to her waist, and she helped him, working her arms free of the restraints of the garment. She wanted desperately to hold him once more. Then she hesitated in a sudden thrill of sexual, pride. His eyes told her she was beautiful as they feasted on her bare flesh. She stood still while he knelt, easing the gown over her slim hips and letting it drop to the floor. Hawk let his eyes travel up the length of her naked body, drinking in each contour—her slim ankles and flared calves, the satiny thighs, hips that rounded so perfectly and then narrowed toward her tiny waist. Her breasts stood out in breathtaking relief from his vantage point below, their delicate pointed shape accented by the angle at which he viewed them.

  As he rose slowly, he ran his hands up her long, slim legs, over her hips, up to the hollows at the sides of her waist. All the while he rained brushing kisses in their wake. Then he cupped a breast in each hand and gently cupped them while his thumbs worked the hardened nipples in small tight circles. Once more his mouth followed his hands, licking and suckling each breast in turn. She gasped and writhed under his caresses, dizzy with both pleasure and power. It was so wonderfully, beautifully different with Hawk. He gave her pleasure while deriving joy by touching, looking, anticipating what was to come.

  Eagerly they embraced once more in a deepening kiss, their hands stroking, arms enfolding. She could feel the rough abrasion of his buckskin pants and pressure from the bulge in the crotch as he thrust his hips into hers. Shyly, she gloried in his need, even as she felt a gradually building ache in her own belly, uncoiling slowly, spreading through the core of her. She rubbed her palms against him, wanting to melt into him. He let out a soft growl and picked her up, depositing her on the big bed. Then, while she watched, he stripped off the pants and stood over her for a moment.

  Now it was Carrie's turn to look up at him. How splendid he was, silhouetted in the moonlight, so tall, lean, and powerful, like a bronzed savage god, naked but for t
he gleaming silver around his neck. Darkness obscured his features, but his eyes glowed like fiery coals as he knelt on the bed and reached out to her.

  Murmuring soft endearments in the Cheyenne tongue, he held her gently to him and the heat of his skin spread its fire through her. She rubbed the length of her body against his, moaning and arching her back, reveling in the pleasure such contact with his hard flesh gave her. She could feel the probing of his erection as it pulsed between her legs, and she eagerly trapped it between her thighs, then squeezed them together. Hawk gasped in startled pleasure. He could not wait much longer. Carrie must surely be ready, too.

  Experimentally he slid his hand down her belly and over the tangle of fiery curls at her mound. She let out a whimper as he stroked the honey-drenched lips that opened hungrily to him.

  “Oh, my Firehair, yes, now,” he murmured as he rolled her on her back, kissing her neck and breasts while he spread her legs with one knee. Eagerly she complied, opening to him, arching up to meet his first slow, careful thrust. He slid into her full-length and then held still a moment, allowing her body time to adapt to his filling of it.

  She had never experienced anything like this before. It was glorious, so smooth, wet, and delicious. She ached for more movement. Never with Noah had she been anything but dry and tight. Every stroke had been a painful misery. Now she found herself bucking and arching, desperate for Hawk to thrust. He began to oblige her, slowly at first, then gradually with increasing speed. When she cried out her pleasure, he silenced her with a devouring kiss. Fiercely she kissed him back, all the while wrapping her legs tightly around his hips and rising to meet every move he made.

  I'm drowning, in a whirlpool of incredible, wonderful, beautiful... Her mind went blank as she buried her face against his neck and felt the orgasmic contractions radiate throughout her body, like a tidal wave of ecstasy. I love you, Hawk, I love you!

  He felt her climax, realizing it was a new experience for her. It filled him with unspeakable pleasure to give her this gift. When he allowed his own body to join hers, after holding himself so carefully in check, he was amazed at his own feelings. The intensity of his release was like nothing he had ever felt before—searing, blinding. It left him as weak and shaken as she was.

  They held one another in the still, starry night, panting and sweat-soaked, sated in body, yet aching in soul. He lightly kissed her brow, eyes, cheeks, lips, neck. Her hands were gentle in reply, softly memorizing every hard, sleek muscle, the tawny texture of his skin. She spread her fingers and ran them through the scratchy forest of his chest hair as his heart quieted its beat to a measured, even thud. The medallion was warm to her touch, heated by both their bodies.

  Carefully he rolled off her and drew her to nestle alongside him. There were no words to be spoken. They lay locked in each other's arms, lost in a bittersweet mixture of joy and pain until. exhaustion claimed them, then slept, bathed in the ivory embrace of the moonlight as it filtered through the open window.

  After a couple of hours, Carrie woke. She stretched out her hand and ran it up and down his body, as if to reassure herself that he was really there and all the glory of their lovemaking had truly happened. With a pang, she knew all that she had missed, all she would never have known but for him, her splendid barbarian.

  Unable to resist, sensing that this was her one night of love, she leaned over his face and looked at it. He was so young, so beautifully handsome, asleep in the soft dim light. Her fingertips traced the ridge of his brows, then her tongue traced the outline of his firm, sculpted lips.

  He awakened, tangling his hands in the welter of her long hair. He murmured something in Cheyenne that she did not understand and pulled her on top of him. Feeling his already hardened shaft, Carrie eagerly grasped it and guided it inside her as he held her hips securely in his hands. He lowered her face to meet his by pulling on her hair, then locked them in a slow, languorous kiss.

  Carrie had never before been in command of sex, had never been able to set the pace as she could now. She began to raise and lower herself on his shaft, gasping in startled delight at the exquisite sensations they created together. She sped up, slowed down, wiggled and shifted while he lay back, his eyes riveted on her writhing, lovely body, his hands stroking her breasts and hips lightly. Like a wild Viking goddess she rode her dark lover, ever faster and harder. He responded, thrusting up to impale her in swift, sure surges. She stiffened and arched her back while he supported her weight by holding her waist. When he felt her convulsive shudders, he pulsed his seed deep within her at the same time.

  Gently he lowered her to lay on top of him. As he stroked her back and held her, Hawk could feel the wetness of her tears on his chest. Silent sobs shook her body as she held tightly to him. He waited for her to speak, only running his hands slowly back and forth through her hair.

  “Was I better off not knowing it can be like this? I don't ever want this night to end, Hawk. Hold me, just hold me.” She did not dare confess her love aloud, but let it flow out through her body as she melted into him.

  With callused fingertips he traced the damp tracks of teardrops down her cheeks, gently drying them, crooning soft words in the liquid cadence of his Indian language.

  The night hour grew late and the air was chilly as he reached down, trying not to awaken her, and pulled a coverlet over them. Carrie snuggled unconsciously back against his body. She was made to fit so perfectly there, he thought with a pang. Was she right? Would they both have been better off never knowing the joy of this night? Despite all the women he'd had over the years, Hawk had never known anyone like Carrie. What they shared was as new and beautiful to him as it was to her.

  As the first pale pink streaks of light signaled false dawn, he lay awake and watched her. She was so lovely, so alive and fresh. The deep purple shadows were gone from beneath her eyes, now closed in sleep. The thick red brush lashes fanned over her cheeks and fluttered as she stirred, placing one slim golden hand across his chest possessively, grasping the medallion in her sleep.

  He smiled sadly. Yes, I guess you do own me, Firehair, body and soul. Reaching up, he took her hand and placed a soft kiss inside the palm, causing her to awaken. As her eyes opened, her hand pressed against his lips, then moved to stroke his jawline and run through the thick black hair falling across his face.

  “Good morning, Firehair. Almost time to take you back to your room,” he whispered, steeling himself for the inevitable.

  “Almost time,” she said, drawing his head over to hers, seeming to ignore reality as she emphasized the first word.

  As they kissed and rolled across the bed with arms and legs entwined, reality quickly receded. An urgency, a race against the sun, seemed to spur them to fierce abandon. No slow, languorous caresses now. They were greedy, almost rough in taking and giving, joining their flesh for one last desperate, glorious ride. Hawk looked down at her through passion-glazed black eyes as she writhed and bucked beneath him, her hair exploded like a fiery meteor across the pillows while her head tossed from side to side in ecstasy. When the deep crimson blotches began to stain her neck, breasts, and belly, he felt her orgasm and allowed himself a fierce, pounding climax.

  Carrie watched him stiffen and felt his final hard thrusts as he joined her in surfeit. She kept her legs tightly locked around him, wanting never to free him.

  Hawk dropped his long, sweat-soaked body down on top of hers, careful not to put all his weight on her slim frame. They both labored for breath in the cool morning air. When he gently rose, leaving her body, she felt an ache of loss so intense she wanted, to sob aloud, but before she could move to grasp him, he was reaching back to her with a towel in his hand, snatched from the wash basin next to the bed.

  Gently he dried her perspiration-slicked flesh, from her face to her breasts, down her belly and legs, even her feet. Carrie could have wept for the tenderness of his gesture. Then he handed her the gossamer silk night rail and robe, carelessly tossed at the side of the bed last night. While
she donned the peignoir with trembling, clumsy fingers, he toweled off his own body quickly and slipped back into the buckskin pants.

  They stood facing one another then, both uncertain of what to say, knowing what they must do. Wordlessly he reached up, pulled the heavy medallion from his neck, and lifted her mass of burnished hair. Then he placed it around her neck, tucking it securely between her breasts beneath the silk gown.

  He did not need to say, “Let no one see it,” for she knew that. “It belonged to my uncle, Gray Fox, and before that to his father, Iron Heart,” he said simply.

  Placing one hand on it, she pulled his hand to hers and covered it, locking them both over her heart and the necklace. “I will keep it always.”

  He picked her up then and carried her from the room. Silently, he walked down the long veranda to the far end, where the French door to her room stood barely ajar. It was getting light, and faint sounds could be heard emanating from the bunkhouse and corrals on the other side of the house, far down the hill. Noah's drapes were closed, and he slept yet. Soon everyone would be awakening.

  Pushing open the door to her room, Hawk gently set her down in the doorway. When she reached one hand up in mute entreaty, he took it and kissed the palm quickly, then placed it back across her breast and turned away. Silent as ever, he vanished down the porch.

  Seventy feet was seventy miles now. With a muffled sob, she turned numbly and entered her hated room, throwing herself across the bed to stare dry-eyed at the sunrise outside her window. Never before had she hated its fiery brilliance.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Once inside his large, empty room, Hawk padded silently to the rumpled bed and looked down at it. After a moment's deliberation, he swore and yanked the twisted sheet up over it, as if burying the past night in one swift, angry gesture. He must leave. There was only madness in staying to watch Noah put his hands on her, to know each night that she must lay with her husband, to sneak bittersweet stolen moments with her like a criminal. No. That would lead only to destruction for them both.