Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance) (21 page)

“No,” he whispered. “Don’t close your eyes.”

She tried to obey, keeping her gaze on him as his hands caressed the smooth column of her throat and the wide expanse of her shoulders, then passed lightly over the velvety smoothness of her breasts, awakening her, sensitizing her, causing her skin to quiver and her nipples to harden. She kept her eyes open as he slowly worked her jeans down over her hips, covering each newly exposed area of her firm flesh with tiny kisses that left her throbbing and on fire, bathing her navel with his warm moist tongue and caressing her gently rounded belly with his smooth cheek. She obeyed though he felt her body tremble and knew her legs had grown weak, and he loved her because of it, because she would meet him as an equal in passion, as in everything else.

He stripped away her silky bikini panties, helping her to step out of them, one long, lovely leg at a time, and lost himself in the dark triangle where her inner thighs met. He heard her gasp and knew she’d finally closed her eyes to concentrate on feeling, just feeling, his warm breath and the cool wetness of his tongue, and his fingers caressing the softness of her inner thighs. A small agonized moan that was his name escaped her lips, and she clutched at his hair, forcing him to straighten and look at her, to see the passion and the uncertainty on her face. He rose and his mouth came down on hers; then he pulled back and smiled.

“All right,” he whispered. “We’ll wait.” He took her hand and steered it toward the top button of his shirt. “Now me,” he commanded softly, and she obliged. But when she reached between them to touch him, he caught her hand as he had once before. “Not yet, sweet, not yet.”

He led her to the bed and lay down, pulling her with him to lie against the length of his body, her head cradled on his shoulder, one leg draped across his muscular thigh. The tip of a firm breast burned against his chest, and his heart beat wildly beneath her hand. Wisps of warm breath fanned his cheek, and he felt her tremble.

“What’s wrong?” She remained silent, her face buried in the angle between his neck and shoulder. He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Tell me.”

“I’ve waited so long, it seems, and wanted you so badly, and now I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“What if I... don’t please you?” A sudden smile lit her eyes. “What if you don’t please me?”

He chuckled softly. “If past experience is any indication, your fears are utterly groundless.”

She laughed with him. “You’re sure about that?”

“Want me to prove it?” he asked against her mouth. “Oh, yes,” she responded, suddenly insistent.

He eased her onto her back, examining her face, tracing the clean, strong lines of her eyebrows with the tip of a finger. He continued down her nose to the cleft in her upper lip, and she reached up to kiss his finger, nipping at the hardened cushion and licking it with her tongue. He stopped her with his mouth, hard on hers, but not cruel, only insistent, demanding. She moaned and parted her lips, and he savored the taste of her, the feel of her tongue, with its rough- smooth upper surface and liquid, satiny underside, then sampled the slickness of her strong, straight teeth, and felt their sharpness as she playfully nipped at the inside of his bottom lip. He chuckled and bit back.

“No violence, sweet,” he whispered fiercely.

Her eyes laughed at him, and he closed them with kisses, caressing her face, her ears, her throat, with kisses, as light and tentative as the first scattered drops of an early spring rain. His lips moved to her breasts, enjoying their firmness, then closed around one hardened nipple, laving and suckling, biting gently, bringing it erect and sending an electric shock wave to her very core. She arched her body as the sweet pain stabbed at her, and moaned, clutching his shoulders. Then it subsided and she quieted, a smile touching her lips, her eyes filled with a lovely, soft, loving light. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“That you make me feel so good,” she sighed.

He laughed with pleasure, thinking. Not as good as you make me feel. “As good as Ghost?”

“Better,” she whispered as she pulled his head down. “Much, much better.”

Her lips were sweet and warm as they moved over his, and then insistent, curious, demanding, speaking without words of her need for him. He took his mouth away, beginning his exploration once more in the hollow between her breasts, following it down to the gentle concavity of her belly and beyond, raising pools of tingling liquid warmth that flowed together and fed on each other until her body was alive and trembling, and his only slightly less so, because he forced his mind to think about her need and not his own.

Once more he buried his mouth in the springy mound of curls that guarded her most secret place, lingering for only a moment before moving to her sensitive inner thighs and down her strong legs until he felt the pulse in her ankle against his lips. Gently he nudged her over onto her stomach and retraced his path, his sweetly hungry mouth nuzzling, caressing, nipping at the smooth flesh of her firm bottom, discovering new mysteries, heightening her awareness of her body and its capacity for feeling and for pleasure.

His lips traveled up her spine, much as his hands had on other occasions, and with gentle pressure completed the circuit until every sensitive spot on her body, every nerve, every muscle, quivered, ached, craved. Then, and only then, did he turn her onto her back again to cover her face and throat and breasts with more searing kisses, more cooling strokes of his tongue, more gentle pain with his teeth.

She trailed her hands over his back and shoulders, enjoying the play of muscles beneath the velvety smooth cover of his skin, marveling that such power could be tamed to the gentleness that he showed her. Her hands moved to his hips, pressing him to her, as she welcomed the pressure of his rock-hard body against the softness of hers, adding his strength to her own. She felt his body tremble and shudder as he struggled for control over the waves of passion that swept through him.

She lifted his head and looked into his eyes; they glittered in the moonlight like mica, with crystalline sparks warming and shattering the hard blackness of their depths. His lips parted as he fought for the breath that came out as a hoarse rasp, and she felt his heart pounding furiously in his chest.

Then in a sudden move whose boldness she could never have predicted she wrapped her legs around him and rolled over until he was on his back and she straddled his body on her knees. His hands reached up, cupping the undersides of her breasts, feeling the weight of them against his palms. He lifted himself up and closed his lips over first one and then the other, as if drinking at some life-giving fountain.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he gasped in a voice made rough by anger and desperation, by fear and longing, by a need so great that he knew it had to be fulfilled, even if he lost his soul.

As Abby felt the evidence of his arousal against her, she laughed deep in her throat, reveling in the power she had discovered. She rotated her hips slowly, watched his body arch, hear
ing him groan.

His hand came up and pulled her down so that her upper body lay against his, and she could feel him pulsating hard and strong against her belly. He grinned wickedly. “You don’t reign supreme yet, my love.” He kissed her firmly, his tongue wild against hers. “Your power is anything but absolute.”

“That’s what you think,” she taunted against his mouth. Again she shifted position without warning, her mouth caressing his upper body, teasing the taut buds of his nipples, massaging the firm flesh of his chest with her lips and tongue, blazing a trail of her own down the length of his belly and across his hips.

She moved slowly downward, and before he could stop her, she turned, caught him and loved him until he cried out in agony and pleasure and release. Slowly, then, she slid up his body, tucking her head into the angle between his shoulder and his neck and lying there, watching him, a tiny smile of triumph lifting the
rncorners of her mouth.

He lay so still, and his breathing was so shallow, that she thought he might have fallen asleep and was ready to pounce angrily on him. But he turned to her, and she saw the gleam in his eyes and the smile on his face. He draped one leg over her and cradled her head on his arm.

“My turn,” he whispered against her cheek.

She woke before dawn, still in his arms, her head resting beside his on his left arm, his right arm thrown across her. He slept peacefully, exposing traces of the young boy he’d once been. But not last night, she thought, and felt herself grow hot with the memory of their lovemaking, and with the knowledge that his hands, his mouth and his body had given her about herself. His skill as a lover had aroused her beyond anything she had ever imagined; the joyful giving and receiving had challenged her to match his efforts. And, she recalled with a violent blush, she had.

She moved his arm carefully and slipped away. En route to the window she picked up their clothes and draped them over a chair, then padded across the room to watch the darkness fade. But that was last night, she thought dismally, and this is today.

What we shared last night had nothing at all to do with reality, she admitted sadly to herself. She turned to look at his sleeping form. The reality is that our time together began and ended in one night of passion, and when daylight comes he’ll leave as he always does.

Suddenly Colton’s Folly had nothing to do with schools or students or crusades to right the world’s injustices. It was simply a woman in love with a man she could never have. She grimaced. Talk about injustice!

She turned back to the window, and as the sky grew light she stretched her arms above her head, then, bending from the waist, twisted slowly and gracefully to the right, then the left. Finally she touched her toes and straightened once more. She smiled at the soreness in her thighs and back, but at least her knee felt good.
She felt Cat’s eyes on her and turned, waiting unselfconsciously for him to speak.

“I’d like to begin every day like this.”

“I’m surprised you’re still here.”

His eyes glittered with sudden anger. “What the hell does that mean?”

She was deliberately provoking him, pushing him away. “I’d say this is just about the right time for a fast exit, wouldn’t you?” Then she quoted, “If past experience is any indication.”

“Have you any idea what last night meant to me?”

“How could I?”

He unwound himself from the covers and moved toward her, as unashamedly naked as she was. He took her face in his hands and kissed her lightly. “I saw you in my fantasies before I even knew you, and now I dream of no one else.” His eyes flashed fire, and angry lines appeared beside his mouth. “I haven’t been with a woman since I first met you. And I violated every vow I’ve ever made to be with you last night.”

“And now?”

He released her and ran his fingers through his hair, muttering, “How the hell should I know?”

He moved past her and stood at the window, one arm against the top of the frame, the other in a fist at his hip. Abby watched the muscles in his back tensing and relaxing and knew he was fighting an internal battle. He kept his back to her as he spoke again.

“I can’t change who and what I am for you,
Abs... much as I might want to.” She touched him, running her hand lightly down his spine, and he turned to face her. “If I ever do, I’ll be lost for all time.”

“I don’t understand what that means, Cat, but I do know that anything you say or do will come from you willingly or not at all.”

His expression was difficult to fathom, a mixture of gratitude and relief and something Abby was afraid to label. Instead she merely kissed him quickly on the cheek and headed for the bathroom.

“I’ve got to get ready for school,” she called. “There’s coffee on the back of the stove. Help yourself and have a good day.”

He looked at her silently as she went into the bathroom, where she quickly closed the door to keep him from seeing the tears staining her cheeks. When she came out he was gone.

* * *

On an unusually warm day for autumn Abby pulled the jeep into the trees at the base of the ridge hiding Cat’s secret place and turned off the ignition. At the suggestion of Dr. Courtney, who had told her to swim without suggesting where, she’d come out to the pond every day after school to supplement her own program of stretching and yoga.

As she approached the pond she seemed to enter a different world. The hidden stream and its tiny gem of a waterfall kept the area green and the temperature at a comfortable level. The sun’s rays filtered through the abundant foliage over her head, providing light, but little heat, and giving the whole scene a sparkling, jewel-like quality. She lowered herself to the ground, her back against her favorite tree, and closed her eyes.

Today would be a day of pure rest. She’d promised herself that yesterday after spending the day helping the children select and pack the items they would ship to Sherri in New York. It had been fun. The kids had worked hard and were proud of the results. Slow had acted as an advisor, and he had provided them with intelligent guidance. He had also scoured the village, looking for contributions from the older people, so there was now a fine mix of the modern and the traditional. Abby had a strong feeling that the collection would find an appreciative audience in New York.

But when the day ended she’d been tired and her knee had ached. She’d done too much and had resolved to use her Sunday to recoup. Now she sighed with pleasure, feeling the peace and solitude invading her tired mind and body, the green-scented air washing over her in gentle, cooling currents, the sun-dappled water soothing her jangled nerve endings with the sound of its lazy lapping against the shore. Finally relaxed, she pulled off her shorts and top and plunged into the clear, cold water, swimming as she had in high school, setting a moderate but steady pace, building stamina first, then speed.