Beverly Jenkins (14 page)

“I’ve been wanting to do this all evening,” he said. Fitting actions to words, he undid the top two buttons of her blouse. His hands, teased, seduced, and then moved to undo more buttons. He brought his palm up to cup the soft weight, and her gasps rose into the darkness like passion-filled notes as he rubbed at the berry-hard nipple with the flat of his thumb.

Chase couldn’t help himself. Touching her, tasting her, having her scent fill his senses, were drawing him further into the storm. He knew she’d be sweet, but not this sweet. Her mouth was as ripe as a desert bloom, and her lush breasts . . .

Cara felt his hand push the delicate, cream-colored camisole aside, and transfer that potent mustached mouth to one bared nipple. His tongue boldly circled the straining peak, making the moment flash red-hot behind her eyes. She almost screamed. Lightning pierced her in response to the passionate sucking. She knew now why she’d never let another man do this before—she’d been waiting for Chase Jefferson.

“A thousand places,
mariposa
,” she heard him whisper as he shifted his attention to the other bared breast. “A thousand places.”

He kissed his way back to her mouth, his fingers
keeping her nipples hard. He pulled her into his lap, branding her with each passion-filled caress. Her hairpins tumbled into the dark recesses of the buckboard as he removed them one by one. When the weight of her hair fell free, he combed his fingers through the thick dark riches, then filled his hands with it as he brought her mouth back to his.

Chase wanted to spend the rest of his life kissing her, hearing her soft sighs, feeling her nipples ripen beneath his touch. Her trembling response had produced a very large commotion in his trousers, so much so he wanted to lift her dress and take her there and then. He held himself in check, however, remembering she deserved better than to be deflowered on the seat of a buckboard. “Cara, we have to stop.”

She didn’t want to stop. The newness of what she was feeling made her want more. She kissed the mahogany column of his throat and the strong line of his chin. Imitating him, she gave tiny licks to the corners of his mouth, and when he opened to her soft command she boldly slipped the tip of her tongue inside, savoring the moan she elicited along with the taste of him. He responded with a growl and brought her closer, brazenly rubbing his big palms over her hips, setting off a rhythm that kept slow pace with her rising desire. Her breathing increased at the feel of his hand sliding her dress up her thighs. He squeezed the soft flesh, making Cara aware of the liquid heat at her core. He boldly circled his hand up inside her loose-fitting drawers and over the surface of her hips. He squeezed there also, and she felt herself tighten with erotic sensations.

“You’re supposed to be stopping me,” he whispered, bending her back over his arm so he
could feast on the sweetness of her dark nipples again. He lingered there, sucking, nibbling, and circling the buds with his tongue until her breath came out in ragged gasps. The hand in her drawers moved over her, touching, stroking, priming her for what, Cara did not know. She only knew that she didn’t want him to stop, not the kisses, not the wanton hand—Cara stiffened with the explosion that immediately followed. She felt as if she’d been flung up into the stars. She clutched his arm as she rode the wave and hoarsely called his name.

When she finally came back to herself, she focused and found him looking down at her with both tenderness and amusement. “You are a very passionate woman,” he whispered, then bent and kissed her once more. “I can’t be alone with you . . . ever again.”

Cara sat up straighter. The fact that he did not appear to be teasing made her go still. “What are you saying?” Her breasts seemed to be throbbing with a life all their own, and she couldn’t stop the spiraling heat between her thighs.

“I’m saying I’m about a half second away from putting you in the back of this wagon and taking you right here in the middle of the road.”

Their eyes held, and she spoke softly. “And that’s bad?”

Chase looked away from the sight of her still budded nipples and off into the less arousing black of the prairie. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous—for you and me. Had I known that you’d be as passionate in my arms as you are in life, I never would have started this. It isn’t a game anymore.”

“So your honor is getting in the way?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“What are the other things?”

“The fact that you deserve better.” God, he was hard! He deliberately set her off his lap. “Too dangerous, schoolmarm,” he said in response to her look at being set aside.

Cara, hastily readjusting her clothing, didn’t know whether to be angry or sad. She felt a little of both. “So, now that you’ve gotten what you wanted, you’re done, gone?”

“I haven’t gotten what I wanted, darlin’, not by a long shot. I can’t have what I want, is what I’m trying to explain. A woman like you deserves a man who can offer more than I have. I’m not husband cloth, Cara Lee. I don’t know anything about cleaving unto a woman.”

“Sergeant, I don’t remember asking you to marry me.”

“Don’t get smart. If you come near me again and offer me what you did tonight, you’re going to need a husband.”

Cara understood. “So, for my own good and the good of any potential babes you may plant, I should keep my distance.”

“Exactly.”

Cara wondered if he’d been born this arrogant. “Take me home.”

“Look, maybe I’m not explaining myself well, Cara Lee.”

“Sergeant, take me home. Now, please.”

Chase looked into her eyes. He wanted her so badly that he ached, but he’d hurt her with his clumsy explanation of his own deficiencies, and this was not the way he wanted the evening to end. “Cara—”

“Please, Sergeant. You’ve said more than enough already. I will keep my distance.”

A frustrated and still aching Chase picked up the reins and headed the team home.

When he stopped in front of Sophie’s house, Chase put on the brake and turned to her. “I’m going to be gone tomorrow to help your sheriff round up some rustlers. I’ll be back on Friday.”

“I’ll try not to throw myself at you
if
I happen to see you.”

“You’re determined to be mad about this, aren’t you?”

“No, Sergeant, I am determined to stay away from you, so you won’t have to marry me. Good night.”

An angry Chase waited for his angry schoolmarm to get safely inside. When the door closed behind her, he turned the board around and headed for the livery.

About an hour later, Cara, now in her nightgown, lay in bed staring up at the dark. Not even her anger could mask the singing in her senses. He had turned her into an absolute wanton and she did not regret one glorious moment. He’d split the world in half right before her eyes and all she’d been able to see were stars. But how like a man to presume to decide what’s best for a woman, she thought testily. She’d been doing fine taking care of her own honor. She also had never felt the need for a man in her life, but now that he’d made her experience the first lust-filled strains of a lover’s tune, could she really resume her celibate spinsterish existence? Could she honestly continue to believe that her committee work, books, and devotion to teaching were enough to fill her life? And suppose sometime in the future she did meet a man she could term “right”? Would the lovemaking be as hot
and powerful as the moments in the buckboard? Could this unmet man purge the memories of Chase Jefferson from her blood? More importantly, after tonight’s dalliance, did she even want another man?

Cara had no answers. For a woman who’d survived very well up until then on the strength of her character and the sturdy quickness of her mind, she found herself grappling with questions neither could solve.

In the end, though, she decided to take Chase’s advice. She would simply avoid him and hope that after he rode out of town her love would fade away.

C
hase had gone to bed the night before aroused and hard as iron. He’d awakened that morning in the same condition. Lying in bed, he could hear her moving around on her side of the wall as she prepared for another day’s school-teaching. He ached for her. This playful flirtation with Miss Cara Lee Henson had exploded into a situation that had taken on a life of its own. Torrid. That was the word. It sure summed up the desire he felt. God, he wanted her. He’d hurt her feelings last night, and he hadn’t intended to. He’d been trying to relate the seriousness of taking their relationship further. He was certain Cara knew nothing about casual relationships, and his life did not jibe with anything more permanent, at least not at this time. Would it ever? He didn’t know.

He heard her door close; she was leaving for school. He tossed off the covers, got up, and padded naked over to the window. He pulled back the curtain and waited for her to appear below. He saw her stop to talk to Asa, who was loading a wagon out front. They shared a few brief words, then she blessed Asa with one of her beautiful smiles and set off up the street in the direction of the school. Chase dropped the curtain back into place. He’d told her to stay away from him, but
could he stay away from her? When he and his men first came to town he’d cautioned everyone to keep away from the women. He hadn’t taken his own advice. He’d lain awake most of the night recalling the scent, taste, and feel of her. The sensual memories made him want to see her today, his vows be damned, but she’d probably take a Winchester to him if approached her too soon. He thought on the dilemma a moment, trying to work out a scenario that would bring the two of them together in a way that would not seem contrived. He smiled then, remembering he had a legitimate excuse to see her. The night of the children’s play he’d promised to pay the school a visit, a promise he’d been unable to honor as of yet because of the rustlers he and his men were tracking with Sheriff Polk. Grinning now, thinking about how absolutely furious Cara would probably be, Chase prepared to wash up and go meet Polk.

After their last parting, Cara wanted to fly into a rage when Chase showed up at the school Friday morning. How could she stay away from him if he wouldn’t keep his distance? The children were delighted, of course, barely letting him in the door before peppering him with questions. Cara restored order and offered Chase the chair at her desk while she took a seat in the back.

He talked to the children of uniforms, and soldiering, and Indians. Though she tried to remain unmoved by him, the cadence of his voice captivated her in spite of the vows she had made. When she glanced to the front of the room, his eyes were waiting. He continued the explanation he was giving but did not break the contact. Once again she was struck by how devastatingly hand-some
he was, how sensually the mustache framed his mouth, and how brilliantly his eyes shone.

He turned from her and answered another question. Cara let out her breath, not realizing she’d been holding it. Knowing he could mesmerize her with the sound of his voice or with a simple look across a room only added to her distress. His presence unnerved her enough; she did not need to be exposed to the other weapons in his arsenal.

But he obviously came fully armed. His eyes alternately seduced and ignored her. He had her so off-balance answering the pull in his gaze, she had to mentally shake herself, dampen down her outrageous longings, and remember who and where she was.

The children were oblivious to the undercurrents between Cara and their visitor. All they cared about were his adventures.

And he had plenty. Cara found herself hanging on every word as he described a deadly trek across the Staked Plains, chasing outlaws, and the many places he’d seen.

The children’s favorite subject, however, seemed to be the Indians. Not only was Chase knowledgeable, but he spoke of the culture, customs, and beliefs with a respect she’d rarely heard. He described their games, myths, and to everyone’s further awe, the special friendship he had with a Sioux brave named Dreamer of Eagles. Chase taught Cara’s students more about America’s native race than she could have in a lifetime. By the time he finished speaking, the class knew that the Apache and the Ponca were as different in some customs and beliefs as Irish were different from Germans; that the Sioux Nation had three families, the Lakota, Nakota and Dakota; and that one of the most solemn of all Plains rituals was the Sun
Dance. Once again Chase revealed to her a different facet of himself, this one as fascinating as those she’d observed previously.

She returned her attention to the tall soldier seated so casually on the edge of her desk. He was winding up, answering a few last questions, and relating bits of information about his brethren Sioux. He reached behind him to a long, oilskin-wrapped parcel he’d placed on Cara’s desk when the visit began. At the time, she’d been so upset by his arrival that she’d paid little attention to the long package. Now, as he brought it around to rest on his lap, she became as intrigued as the children.

“I want to show you a
siyotanka,”
he told them. “Can you pronounce that for me?”

While the children complied, he untied the three small lengths of twine holding it closed: one at each end, and one in the middle. “Does anyone want to guess what a
siyotanka
is?”

The audience guessed everything from a gun to food as he removed the oilcloth. None of them was correct.

He looked to Cara. “Miss Henson, do you have a guess?”

The children turned to her expectantly, but she shook her head in denial.

“All right then, let’s see if we can figure it out.”

He then placed the package flat on the desk and slowly unfolded the soft cloth of inner wrapping. After very carefully lifting out the treasure, he held it up for them to see.

The
siyotanka
was fashioned from gleaming, polished wood. It looked to be about the length of a man’s forearm. “What’s this look like?”

He held it up horizontally.

“A long bird with no wings,” somebody sang out.

“Yeah, with its mouth open,” came another young voice.

Everyone laughed at the description, including Cara and Chase, yet the longer Cara looked at it the more she tended to agree. It did resemble a long featherless bird, especially with the red paint across the top of its head. Jefferson called the paint
washasha,
the sacred red color.