Gray Hawk's Lady: Blackfoot Warriors, Book 1 (42 page)

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

These were thrilling words, wonderful words, even if she didn’t believe them, and she clenched her fists to keep herself from reacting to him. She said, “I think you are being impertinent.”

She could feel him shrug. “It would, at least, make the wager interesting.”

She sniffed. “I’m not that desperate.”

His face must have been close to her ear, for when he whispered, “Neither am I
,”
she heard him distinctly. Then he went on to say, “But then, a kiss is perhaps too much to ask of a white woman.”

A kiss?
She spun around so quickly, she wheeled off-balance. He caught her, his hands grabbing hold of her waist to steady her. “That’s all you’ve been speaking of? A kiss?”

He gave her a devilish grin, his lips close to her own, before he said, “Maybe two, if you please.”

She took a step backward, out of his arms, watching as his arms fell to his sides.

“What kind of kiss?”

Darn. There it was again, that dazzling smile. It made his face light up as though mood alone ruled his countenance. Worse, when she looked at him, her insides went all soft and warm, as though she were made of nothing but butter and rum. He said, “Should I show you the kind of kiss that I like?”

“Sir!”

He chuckled, closed one eyelid and winked at her. “It would be a simple kiss, two pairs of lips squeezed against each other.” He leaned down to her, but simply pressed his lips against one of his own fingers, which he then placed over her lips.

At the contact, her body reacted as though it was ready for so much more. She shut her eyes, feeling slightly faint.

“But I would reserve the right…” He paused, causing her to open her eyes. Drat! His handsome face swam in front of her, and at the sight, a smoldering fire fanned to life within her; her stomach somersaulted. He stood close; so close, she could smell the scent of mint on his breath, the musky fragrance of his skin, the fresh odor of buckskin.

“The right,” he continued, “to hold you in my arms when I kiss you.”

“Oh, I see. I…I’m not sure.”

“Are
you
afraid, then? Afraid you might start to feel something besides a white woman’s contempt for an Indian?”

“You know that’s not true,” she whispered. “You know from speaking to me tonight that I don’t hold this opinion.”

He drew in a deep, ragged breath. “
Aa
,
yes,” he said. “You are right, and I apologize for saying that. You are not the kind of person to feel scorn for another, are you? Simply because he is different than you are. So if not that, what are you afraid of?”

“I…I’m afraid that I might…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She wasn’t certain that she herself understood what she’d been about to say. Although there was one thing she knew she could count on…her mind’s ability to reason. She said, “Y-you are correct. The stakes should be something we are unwilling to part with. You, to aid something alien to you. Me, to give up my work, and a kiss.”

He nodded. “Seems fair.”

“All right, then I…I believe we have a venture, Mister, ah…Soaring Eagle. Sh-shall we shake on it?” She would have held out her hand, except that he stood too close to her to do so.

“We could,” he said, “or perhaps we could do something better.”

And before she could stop him, he gathered her hand in his, bringing it, glove and all, to his lips. She gasped. Not because of what he was doing, but because…

He glanced up at her and smirked. “When I was at the white man’s school,” he said, “I learned an odd custom. At first I thought it was a strange practice, but the more I thought about it, the more and more I appreciated the wit of the white man.” And turning her hand palm up, he pressed another kiss against her wrist.

Kali’s heartbeat raced out of proportion to the action, and it was all she could do to stand upright at the moment, for her knees threatened to collapse beneath her. And truth to tell, she had little time to hide her reaction from him, for when he raised his head and said, “I believe we have a wager, Little Miss Redhead,” his look was so full of mischief, she wondered if she had, perhaps, made a tactical error…

In this battle of the sexes, the ultimate prize is love.

Donovan’s Bed

© 2012 Debra Mullins

Calhoun Sisters, Book 1

Sarah Calhoun is bound and determined to restore honor to the family name the only way she knows how—make her late father’s newspaper, the Burr Chronicle, the most successful in the Wyoming Territory.

Haunted by past scandal, she knows one misstep, one misunderstanding, could bring disgrace back down on her head. Yet that doesn’t stop her from running an article about the insulting Jack Donovan. The blasted man is shopping for a wife as he would a horse!

Jack finally has the house in the kind of town he’s always dreamed about. Now all that’s missing is a wife. At first, he thinks Sarah’s scathing article about his quest is a good thing—until he finds himself hounded by hordes of young girls, spinsters and widows. Still, he can’t stop thinking about the sassy newspaper editor who started it all.

Sarah is as determined to ignore her impossible attraction to Donovan as she is to uncover his mysterious past. But the harder she digs for his secrets, the deeper he hides them. Until there’s only one rock left unturned. His heart.

Warning: Contains sensual love scenes and enough barn-burning passion to heat the coldest winter night.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Donovan’s Bed:

“You want a piece of me? We’ll take it someplace private.”

She stared at him, battling the urge to stomp off, consequences be damned. “What do you mean, private?”

He pulled her back into his arms and began dancing her toward the edge of the crowd. “Don’t you worry about your virtue, Miss Calhoun. We’ll stay within screaming distance.” He grinned, and she wanted to smack that dimple right off his cheek.

He swept her to the edge of the platform and then gallantly took her hand to help her down the steps. Given his strong grip on her fingers, Sarah wondered if he was holding her prisoner.

Only a few heads turned their way as he escorted her with a firm hand on her elbow toward the church a few yards back. She knew she would have attracted much more attention had she given in to impulse and stormed off the dance floor, and was grudgingly grateful that he’d just rescued her from her own impetuous nature.

Donovan led her around the side of the building, away from prying eyes but close enough to be heard should she call for help. Then he released his grip on her elbow, crossed his arms and looked down at her.

They were alone. Above them stars glittered like diamonds against a sky of dark blue velvet, and insects chirped mating songs far prettier than the music they had left behind. Donovan stood with his back to the moon, his face cast in shadow, his masculine stance making Sarah restlessly aware of her own smaller feminine stature.

“Now what was that you were saying, about me not knowing a woman from a horse?”

His voice rippled over her, soft, dangerous. For a moment she couldn’t think for the fluttering in her belly. “That’s not what I meant,” she whispered, finally.

“I know what you meant.” He reached for her. She tensed, but all he did was slide his hands down her bare arms. His callused thumbs rasped over the vulnerable flesh of her inner elbows, the sensitive palms of her hands. The pure sensuality of the gesture sent heat spiraling through her system, making her tremble in a response that she couldn’t deny.

His fingers tightened over hers as he sensed her reaction. He took a step closer, slowly raising his hand to her chin. Her breath caught. She thought he would kiss her—finally, after all these months—but he only stroked the backs of his fingers over her throat.

“A woman,” he said with slow deliberation, “has soft skin. Silky hair.” He tugged gently at a wispy curl, his knuckles brushing her ear. “And a sweet mouth, meant for kissing. I don’t ever recall wanting to kiss my horse.”

“I should hope not.” Her words were barely audible. Where had her anger gone? He touched her with the skill of a man who knew women well, yet the knowledge excited instead of repulsed her.

“Now you…” He stroked his thumb along her lower lip. “You, Miss Sarah Calhoun, are a different kettle of fish altogether. I’ve been thinking entirely too much about that sassy mouth of yours.”

“You have?” She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Her body hummed with readiness, poised for whatever he asked of her.

“Yeah.” He cupped her face in his hands, spearing his fingers into her hair. A long blond coil dropped over her shoulder as he dislodged her hairpins. “Sweet Lord, what a sassy mouth.”

“I’ve thought about you, too,” she admitted in a shy whisper. Slowly she raised her hands to his lean waist, massaging the taut muscles.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I shouldn’t either…” The words dissolved against his mouth.

She’d been kissed before, but never like this. His lips were soft, his touch gentle. His tenderness aroused her faster than hot passion would have done. She pressed closer to him and molded her mouth more precisely over his, shivering with delicious excitement as he held her face in his hands and savored her.

“God.” He broke the kiss, but barely, his mouth hovering within an inch of hers. “I wondered how you would taste.”

She smiled, her gaze drifting to his mouth. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah.” He nuzzled her cheek with his lips. “But we have to stop. I have to think about finding a wife, much as I’d like a tumble with you.”

She stiffened as his words cut through the desire that tangled her thoughts. For a moment she had actually thought— “
What
did you say?”

“I said I’d sure enjoy a little slap and tickle with you, sassy girl, but my future wife might not like it.”

“You low-down skunk!” Stung to her feminine core, she jerked away from him. “So I’m good enough for a romp in the hay, but not good enough to be on that list of yours? Have you been listening to the gossips, Mr. Donovan?”

“I don’t care about gossip.” He moved to brush a strand of hair out of her face, but Sarah turned from his touch.

“Then why do you consider me good enough to bed, but not good enough to be on your precious list?” Passion flared into anger, all the better to dull the pain in her heart. “I work hard at my newspaper, and I love children.”

He leaned close. “You know good and well why you’re not on the list, Sassy.”

“My name is Sarah.”

“Sassy suits you better. Truth is, you’re prettier than an Arizona sunset, but you’re too ornery for your own good, and you love that damned paper more than you’ll ever love a man. I need a woman who puts me before anything else. Hell, your husband would have to lay down on the printing press just to get your attention!”

She slapped him. Stunned at her own action, she could only stare as he raised a hand to rub his cheek.

“See what I mean?” He smiled, but the derision in his expression seemed directed more toward himself than her. “We mix like fire and oil, sassy girl. That kind of explosion makes for hot loving, but it doesn’t fit into a marriage.”

What a fool! “Good evening, Mr. Donovan. I hope you find what you’re looking for—though I can’t help but pity her.” Without waiting for a response, Sarah left him standing there in the dark.

Gray Hawk’s Lady

Karen Kay

Different worlds, one heart.

Blackfoot Warrior, Book 1

When Lady Genevieve Rohan joins her father in the farthest reaches of the American West, she expects to bring a bit of genteel English charm to his dry, academic existence. Instead, she finds her father desperately ill, and it’s up to her to finish his study of the Indian and publish his work—or face the wrath of his creditors.

Her troubles mount when the men hired to capture a member of the Blackfoot tribe don’t bring her a docile maid to study. They present her with a magnificent warrior—proud, outrageously handsome and simmering with fury at the loss of his freedom.

The white woman is beautiful beyond compare, but Gray Hawk can’t think past his plan to exact revenge against this meddling foreigner. It’s ridiculously easy to escape, then turn the tables and take her captive. When anger turns to passion, then to love, he embarks on a new quest. To claim the stubborn, red-headed vixen as his own.

Yet as their hearts strain toward each other, pride conspires to pull them apart…unless they can each find a way for their hearts to become one.

This book has been previously published.

Warning: Contains a raging, simmering love, consumed by its fire and destined to explode at any moment.
 

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