Native Wolf (16 page)

He took a deep breath and blew it out forcefully, trying to banish the visions from his head the way a
kedaay
, doctor, would dispel evil spirits.

But it was useless. His swelling
whedze
didn't know the difference between desire of the body and desire of the mind.

Anxious to finish and to rid himself of the temptation he’d unwittingly placed between his thighs, he leaned forward to quickly complete his work, slicing the sides of her hair even with her chin.

Her jaw was fine-boned, like the face of a deer, and now that her tresses exposed its delicate edge, he realized anew how small and fragile the woman was. In truth, she wasn’t much bigger than his little sister Iris. Iris was only thirteen summers old. Claire Parker was a grown woman. He saw her in profile now, and his gaze dropped to her lips, stained red by the wind. Yes, he decided as his nostrils flared unexpectedly, she was most definitely a grown woman.

He absently ran his fingers through her newly-trimmed tresses. Her eyes remained closed, the lashes delicate against her cheek, but as he watched, her lips parted, sweet and succulent, and he swore he glimpsed hunger in that ripe mouth. Fighting a surge of almost painful yearning, Chase tore his gaze away and withdrew his hand.

What was he thinking? What was he doing? His breath quickened in his chest as he tried to convince himself that the longing he’d seen in Claire'’s face was an illusion, as insubstantial as a vision in the sweat lodge.

Surely he was mistaken. She couldn’t feel desire, not after what he'd done to her. It was only the bright sunlight that had made her close her eyes, sleepiness that had opened her mouth that way.

Still, the memory of her expression left him uneasy. He grew even more keenly aware of their intimate position, of the sheer cotton barely covering her shoulders, the compelling curve of her back, the tiny snips of her golden hair scattered across the tops of his trousers.

"Are you finished?" Her voice was as thick as honey.

He didn’t realize he’d stopped, but perhaps it was just as well. Her hair hung evenly now. Jabbing his knife into the log beside him, he brusquely ruffled her tresses with both hands to shake out the excess clippings. There was a slight curl to her hair, and it fell in soft waves about her face.

She lifted her fingers tentatively to examine his handiwork. He tightened his jaw at the sight. Her fingernails were dirty and broken, yet another reminder of the damage he'd done.

"Maybe I’ll start a new fashion," she breathed, turning her head to give him a tenuous smile. "Do I look better now?"

He couldn't bring himself to return her expression. Not while she sat between his legs, so close to...close to where a sleeping wolf, potent and dangerous, stirred. He stared at her, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe.

"You look beautiful." He hadn’t meant to blurt that out. Chase
never
blurted.

She blushed, lowering her eyes. "Oh, surely not. My gown is filthy. My hair is matted. My skin is—"

"These things don’t matter."

What was he saying? Why did he continue to talk? He should silence his tongue, put away his knife, and start along the trail. But he couldn't stop the words from coming out. He spoke like the elders of his tribe, doling out portions of wisdom as if he had all the time in the world.

"What matters is the spirit within," he said.

As soon as she captured his gaze again, he knew he’d made a perilous mistake, like a rabbit setting foot in a fox’s den, for her face beamed with the most wondrous expression, a mixture of awe and gratitude, things he absolutely didn't merit. The shame of it made him retreat as quickly as the rabbit. He snorted, yanking his knife from the stump.

"Or so say my people," he added gruffly.

He suddenly longed to flee, to run from that serpentine-colored gaze that imbued him with a kindness he didn’t possess.

But Chase Wolf never ran from anyone. He was a blacksmith, after all, with the size and muscle that went with the job. The woman was no bigger than a fawn. Hell, he'd carried her on his hip with one arm. So why did he want to run from her now? Why did she inspire such fear in him?

His heart pumped erratically, and until she finally moved from between his legs, he couldn't even draw a clean breath.

"It was kind of you to do this for me," she purred, her face perfectly framed now with gentle waves of gold.

Damn, what was wrong with the woman’s voice? She sounded like a kitten with a belly full of cream. And the fact that her throaty murmuring teased and caressed his ears only roused his anger all the more.

Why
had
he trimmed her hair and treated her cuts and blisters? He told himself it was for that hour when he would return her to her father. After all, if there was any hope of escaping with his life, Chase had to deliver the man's daughter with as little damage as possible. Maybe if the rancher saw she was unharmed, he'd be inspired to mercy.

But there was more to it than that. When Chase looked at Claire, he didn't see an object he must return to its owner in satisfactory condition. He saw a woman—a woman who lived and breathed, a woman who had feelings and dreams and fears. Every time he looked at the scrapes on her legs or her wind-chapped lips or the jagged strands of her hair, he felt overwhelmed with remorse. Somehow he had to make up for the wrong he’d done her.

Of course, he wouldn’t tell her that. There was no reason to explain himself, not to a woman he’d never see again.

The truth of that disgruntled him, though he didn’t know why. They didn’t belong together, after all. He’d take her back to her grand ranch house, and, if the Great Spirit willed, he’d escape with his life and return to his village.
Heyung,
that was how it was. There was no other possible ending.

She gave him a gentle smile. "Well, anyway, Mr. Wolf, thank you for the barbering."

Her expression weakened his resolve like flame softening an iron billet. But he couldn’t afford to let his heart get in the way of his head. For both their sakes, he must maintain his distance from the tempting white woman.

"Don’t thank me." Briskly sheathing his knife, he kicked apart the nest of pine needles. “Maybe I was just getting tired of seeing it like that.” Then he started down the mountain along a deer trail.

Claire’s smile faded. She'd just begun to feel like there was a connection between them, a bond of body and spirit, like the completion of a circuit as powerful as lightning. Then he had to go and say something awful like that, something he obviously didn't mean.

In a fit of childish temper, she picked up a pine cone from the ground and hurled it after him. To her shock, it struck him smack in the middle of his back.

He froze, and she covered her mouth with both hands.

He slowly turned around and fixed her with a look of puzzlement. “Did you just throw a rock at me?”

She lowered her hands to her chin. “Not a rock. A pine cone.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why?”

She opened her mouth, but she couldn't think of words to adequately describe just what he'd done to make her so angry.

“Don't do it again.” He shook his head, then turned around, calling over his shoulder, “Come.”

Something about his indifference and his bossy tone made her even more irate. She scooped up another pine cone and threw it. This one whizzed past his shoulder. To her satisfaction, he dodged in surprise.

“Ha!” she said.

This time when he wheeled around, his eyes were wide in disbelief.

When he took a step toward her, she reacted instinctively, reaching down to seize another pine cone and another, firing them off in rapid succession. He ducked one of them and batted the second away, but he kept coming.

Suddenly struck by the absurdity of the situation, she let out a nervous giggle and beat a hasty retreat while continuing to catapult as many pine cones as she could get her hands on.

“Why, you little...” he muttered, and he began advancing on her with more purpose.

She squeaked in panic and turned to flee. But she managed only two steps before he caught her from behind, grabbing her by the waist.

“Nooooo!” she squealed, breaking into peals of uncontrollable laughter as she fought to get free.

“Hold still,” he bit out between his teeth.

She giggled, twisting in his arms.

“Hold
still.”

She squirmed around until she was facing him.

“Hold...”

His eyes went smoky, and the laughter died on her lips as she realized she'd just placed herself in a most compromising position. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, and she was trapped between his thighs.

Her gaze fell to his mouth. His lips were parted, and she could feel his warm breath upon her face. She could feel his fingers clutching her lower back. And then she felt something else, something pressing hard against her belly.

She suppressed a gasp and forced her gaze back to his eyes. They had softened to the color of a deep pool, calm and translucent. Dear God, he was so handsome and virile and alluring...

“No,” he whispered in warning.

She pretended she didn't hear him as she slid into the soothing waters of his dark orbs, lost in the sensual waves closing over her head.

"No," he repeated, his voice ragged. “I have to get you home.”

She gulped. Had he guessed what she was thinking?

He was gazing at her mouth now, and she self-consciously licked her lips.

"You know," she began on a breathless murmur, "we're not headed in the right direction." Lord, his brazen stare was scattering her thoughts. "Paradise is..." As her gaze dropped again to his slightly parted mouth, her voice trailed off, and her head was suddenly filled with the irrelevant, irreverent thought that Chase Wolf was probably the most breathtaking man she’d ever seen in her life.

It was dangerous, thinking such things, dangerous and irresponsible.

She saw his mouth tighten, as if he struggled with some life-altering decision. And then, without asking permission, she made a dangerous decision for both of them. She leaned forward to steal a kiss.

He stiffened when her lips contacted his, but she didn't let that stop her. She pressed against him once, twice, and he quickly became receptive. His lips softened until they were warm and supple against hers.

She tilted her head slightly to deepen the kiss, and slowly he began to return her advances.

When he reached up to cradle her head, she relaxed in his tender embrace. And when he gently opened her jaw with his thumb, parting her lips to taste her more thoroughly, she felt hot lightning coursing through her body and electrifying her senses.

It seemed like every nerve awakened inside her, brought to attention by the delicate brush of his tongue. Her skin tingled with heat, and her heart raced with a secret thrill.

She lost count of their kisses as one melded into the next. Soon she tangled her hands in his shirt, clutching at him with sensual desperation, trying to pull him closer. He obliged her, wrapping one arm around the small of her back and pressing her forward against him.

How many times had she closed her eyes and imagined her first kiss from a dime novel hero? How many times had she dreamed of this—of a man's lips on hers, melting her inhibitions and leaving her breathless with desire?

Their mouths parted for an instant, and she sighed, murmuring faintly, "Oh, Monowano..."

He suddenly went rigid.

She froze, realizing what she'd said. Her eyes flew open.

He pulled away.

"Shit," she blurted, instantly covering her mouth.

He was frowning again. Behind her hand, she silently repeated her curse, wishing she could recall her foolish outburst. But the spell was already broken. The magical moment was gone forever.

He set her firmly away from him then, and his voice cracked when he said, "We should go."

"I didn't mean to call you... It was an accident. I'm sorry."

He turned his back and started off. "It never happened," he called back over his shoulder.

"No,
that
wasn't an accident," she gushed. "
That
was...was wonderful."

He stopped mid-stride. But almost immediately, he reconsidered and continued walking away.

"I mean... That is..." She could feel her face flushing with embarrassment. "Don't go!"

He stopped again and took a deep breath. "It never happened," he repeated. "We have to go now. I have to get you back home."

She didn't want to go back home. She
really
didn't want to go back home, not now—now that she'd tasted...heaven. How could she make him stay?

"There's something you should know," she blurted out, biting her lip when he turned slowly to face her. "My father isn't looking for me."

"What?"

"He doesn't know I've been..." Kidnapped? Abducted? Stolen by a man with eyes the color of the night sky and a kiss to die for? She gulped. "He doesn't know the truth."

His scowl deepened.

And then, out of desperation and desire, Claire did a selfish and unforgivable thing. She lied to him. "He thinks I've gone to...Chico, the next town...to visit my aunt."

His eyes narrowed, then swept her quickly from head to toe. "In your petticoat?"

She gulped and inserted one truth. "I was in the middle of getting dressed when you..." Then she licked her lips and tried not to blush as she continued to lie with all the conviction of a snake oil seller. "Anyway, I left a letter for him. I told him I'd be gone for a few days. So..." She lowered her eyes, unable to meet his suspicious stare. "He won't be looking for me."

Chase wanted to believe her. Whether it was the possibility of not actually having a posse after him or the prospect of kissing her delicious mouth a while longer, he wanted to believe that Samuel Parker was napping in an armchair at his ranch, completely oblivious to his daughter's abduction.

But he knew better. She wasn't looking him in the eye. He also knew that if he and Claire continued along the path they were headed, they'd both get themselves into a heap of trouble. Letting lust have its way was like giving a horse its head. Sooner or later, they'd end up in territory where they didn't belong.