Read Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] Online
Authors: My Heavenly Heart
He knelt above her, his muscles bunched, his desire bold.
“I’m on fire for you.” Logan growled the words against her neck, as he lowered his body, settling into the cradle of hers.
His kiss was savage, complete in its ravishment of her mouth, and her passion equaled his. He slanted his head, devouring her, his tongue thrusting, hers countering.
He had never wanted a woman as he did her. From the moment he first saw her, the need to possess her had grown. Each attempt to fight the attraction seemed to make him want her more. When she’d danced for him, her sensual movements fanned the flames till he feared he would leap among the dancers and take her right there.
“Open for me.”
His manhood pulsed against her stomach, near ready to explode. Her legs shifted and he slid down and thrust.
The cry of pain surprised him. He’d given no thought at all to her innocence.
But he was already buried deep inside, the barrier of her maidenhead, no barrier at all. Logan tried not to move, straining against the urge that he thought might surely kill him. Beads of sweat broke out on his upper lip and his heart pounded painfully against his ribs. But he remained still, waiting for her to grow used to him. Waiting for the fever of desire to sweep over her again.
When she started to writhe beneath him, he lost what little composure he had. Logan’s body jerked, pulling out only to thrust back in, farther, deeper. She raised her knees, opening for him, sending him along a frenzied path toward fulfillment.
She cried out again, clutching him, her limbs quivering, as he exploded, sending his seed shooting into her womb.
He collapsed, burying his face in a tangle of golden curls. Reality, that seemed so distant moments before, now came thundering back with unerring accuracy. Logan lifted his head, staring at her with narrowed eyes. She looked totally debauched, her lips red and swollen from his kisses, her cheeks rosy. He couldn’t help brushing her mouth with his.
She was staring at him as if she didn’t understand what had happened and Logan wished he could explain it to her. Instead he levered himself off and rolled to the side, gathering her into his arms as he did. The morning would be soon enough for questions.
At least that was his opinion.
~ ~ ~
Her heart was filled with him.
Rachel shut her eyes, breathing in his smell and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. She could feel what he felt, knew what he knew. The power consumed her, freed her. Made her strong.
He thought of her. Of her beauty and sensual delights. Of how much he’d desired her... and still did. A smile tugged at her lips and she snuggled closer.
And then he thought of Mary.
Rachel’s eyes popped open and she would have sat up if not for the imprisoning arm crossing beneath her breasts. She took a deep breath and tried to put aside her foolish jealousies. But she couldn’t. She knew it was not a time for questions, for accusations, but her tongue seemed bent upon both.
“Who is Mary?” The words were from her mouth before she could stop them. She felt him stiffen. And lost the power to be one with him.
“How do you know of Mary?”
“I don’t know, which is why I’m asking.”
“She’s my wife... was my wife.”
A chill swept over her that had naught to do with her naked state. “What happened to her?”
She knew before he answered. She remembered and she knew. Yet she listened as he told her, his voice flat, of the Indian raid that left her dead.
“There was a child, a girl, newborn who died with her,” he said. “My child, though I never saw her.”
“The Indians who killed her. Were they...?”
“The Cherokee?” Logan let out his breath. “Aye. It was during the wars. I blamed them at one time.” He shook his head. “But no more. Their grievances were many.”
“Against your wife?” They were sitting now, Logan toward the foot of the mat, his back to her. Rachel couldn’t remember exactly when he moved from her but she missed the feel of him.
“Nay, not Mary. She never hurt a soul. It was not in her nature. But those who attacked didn’t know that, didn’t know her. Not like I did.”
His feelings were filtering through to her again, a jumbled quandary of guilt and sorrow. He speared ten fingers back through his hair and, pulling up a blanket, lay back down, urging her to do the same. But he didn’t settle her in his embrace.
And he didn’t stop thinking of his dead wife.
Rachel didn’t wish to know his thoughts, his grief. Yet now that she had turned on the meeting of their hearts she seemed unable to turn it off. He lay awake for a long time, as did she. Rachel’s only consolations came when he finally slept.
He dreamed of her.
~ ~ ~
He was sitting on the bench, staring at her, when Rachel awoke. He was dressed, hair combed back and tied and there seemed to be a wall about him. A wall she couldn’t penetrate. She concentrated upon opening her heart to him, but nothing happened. Rachel pulled the blanket to her chin. “What is it? What is wrong?” She glanced about. “Is it Ostenaco?”
“Nay.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I said last night that we had to talk.”
“Yes, you did.” She wished he would open to her. That there was some way to know what he was thinking. But she couldn’t even seem to concentrate on what he said. “I beg your pardon.”
“’Tis I who am begging yours.”
He lowered his eyes, the shadow of dark lashes fanning across his cheek, and Rachel wanted to go to him... to have him come to her. “I don’t understand.”
“Last night.” He looked up and she had a glimpse of his torment. “I was wrong to seduce you.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “I thought it was more the other way around.”
He didn’t seem to find her words amusing. From his expression she’d have thought him a prude. Memories of the night before proved otherwise.
“As I was saying, it was wrong of me. You were an innocent... are an innocent, and I—”
“Was Mary a virgin when you married her?” She didn’t want to know, not really. She didn’t want him to think about his dead wife again. Yet the question blurted from her mouth, leaving him staring at her in amazement. Rachel imagined him awake before dawn, dressing quickly, even shaving. Then sitting on that bench and planning what he would say to her. It was obvious he didn’t expect or want remarks from her.
He was on his feet pacing the area in front of the hearth. Careful not to come near her. Blocking her out.
Shut out was not where she wanted to be. Swallowing, her hand trembling, Rachel pushed aside the blanket. She was on her feet and nearly upon him before he realized what she was about. The stricken expression on his face was amusing, but Rachel didn’t laugh.
She did nothing until she stood before him. Her breasts puckered, whether from the sudden chill or memories of what he did to them last night, she wasn’t sure. “Was she, Logan?”
“Rachel, I...” His voice was husky and Logan started again. “You don’t realize what you’re doing.”
“But I do.” She stepped closer as if to prove it. Her nipples nearly grazed the front of his linen shirt. A muscle jumped in his cheek and she longed to run her fingers along the curve of his jaw.
“Rachel.” The word was a plea.
“Tell me, Logan.”
“Hell, yes, she was a virgin. Mary was a kind, sweet woman.”
“Who would never do what I’m doing now.” Her resolve began to crumble, but she kept her shoulders back, her chin high. He didn’t have to answer her. No one else would be as shameless as she. Certainly not the saintly Mary. As quickly as that thought entered her head she felt contrite. It was not Mary’s fault that she was good, or that Rachel was showing herself to be shameless.
Unable to continue her charade of nerves any longer, she turned. Would have walked away if not for the hand on her shoulder. She trembled at his touch.
“You must be sore.” His words were gentle but fraught with tension.
Her hair hung down her back and it covered his hand when she looked over her shoulder. Her eyes met his and held while the earth seemed to stand still. Then slowly she shook her head.
His breath left him in a rush as he pulled her back into his arms. Rachel closed her eyes, overcome with how wonderful it felt to crack through the wall, if only for a short time. His desire flowed through her, igniting her own.
He held her tightly, pressing kisses to her forehead, nudging the spiraling curls at her hairline aside with his chin. His mouth slid down to her ear and he nipped her lobe before dampening it with his tongue.
“Are you sure?” His words sent chills up her spine. The feel of his hand as it slipped down to cover her mound set her afire.
His fingers curled and Rachel bit her lip to keep from crying out.
“I want you.” His voice was a raspy whisper. “But I was not gentle last night.” His hand stilled as she arched her hips forward. She saw the cords in his neck tighten as he swallowed. “I can wait,” he finally said.
“Perhaps.” Rachel wet her dry lips. “But I cannot.” Slowly she spread her thighs, angling her body toward him, leaning her head back so she could see the desire burning in his green eyes.
He ran his mouth down the curve of her neck, tasting, closing his teeth gently over her skin. Her breasts were full, the nipples swollen, so sensitive to his touch that she jerked forward, the movement sending his fingers deeper into the slick, wet secrets of her body.
She whimpered. The nearness of him was intoxicating and overwhelming and she couldn’t seem to get enough of it. It was Rachel who led them back to the sleeping mat. Rachel who lifted the loose-fitting shirt over his head, who fumbled with the ties of his loincloth.
They knelt down together, the proof of his desire huge and throbbing between them. The kiss they shared was openmouthed and carnal. Rachel sighed as he covered her, drawing up her legs, wrapping them instinctively about his narrow hips.
He entered her slowly, inch by sensual inch. Hard, satin-sleeved silk sliding into her body. The pleasure was so intense Rachel didn’t think she could bear it. When he was completely buried he let out his breath on a groan before pulling out again. His pace was excruciating. It was exquisite.
Rachel writhed, her head turning from side to side, her legs urging him on.
“Slowly, Rachel.” His whisper rasped in her ear. “We shall take it slowly this day.”
But the toll was too great and the next time she bucked, bringing her hips off the mat, her body shattering around him, Logan lost his own control.
Rachel tried to stay awake, to connect with his feelings. But they mirrored her own so closely she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. And she was tired. Falling asleep in his arms seemed the most natural thing to do.
When she woke he was gone.
The scent of him lingered, on the sleeping mat, on her body. Rachel stretched, lifting her arms high above her head, feeling the twinges of discomfort where their bodies had joined. He was right about that then. No doubt he’d ask her again and she would be forced to tell the truth. Which would mean no—
Rachel sat up so quickly she felt light-headed. What was she doing, lying here, indulging in sensual memories and fantasies? She was here to save his life, not to satisfy his sexual whims. Forcing herself to be honest Rachel admitted it was more her own desires she had to bridle.
What was it about this man that seemed to dissolve any restraint she possessed? She might have flirted over her fan and allowed a gentleman to kiss her hand, but she was a basically virtuous woman. However, last night she acted like the “ladies” she and Liz were wont to gossip about. Like a courtesan. But kings and earls had courtesans. Not a simple man like Logan MacQuaid.
Yet in all honesty she had to admit he was more complex than she originally thought. And much more handsome.
She whipped off the blanket and jumped to her feet. If she didn’t put such thoughts from her mind immediately she would forget her purpose here. He was off by himself. Rachel reached for the Cherokee dress, her fingers lingering on the smooth deerskin. The feel of it sent a shiver through her body as memories of the night before cascaded through her mind.
“Oh, no,” she murmured. It was best if she bound herself up in her own clothes, no matter how threadbare. She dropped the white leather to gingerly pick up the blue silk. And dirty, she added.
She dressed quickly, wondering where he was and what he was up to. If he’d managed to get himself killed without her there to save him she would never forgive him. Didn’t he know better than to go off without her? Rachel skimmed over the nagging worry that she would miss him if something did happen to him. Of course she would. He was a nice enough person... when he allowed someone to know him.
But her real concern should be for herself. If she didn’t save him where would that leave her? Rachel didn’t take the time to comb through her tangle of curls before rushing from the cabin. She couldn’t let anything happen to him. She didn’t want to live the rest of her life, or death, or whatever netherland she was in, as a guest in a Cherokee town.
He was in the Council House with the Adawehis. Rachel let out a sigh of relief. She nearly burst into the building to assure herself he was safe, but memories of her reception the day before kept her from it. Besides, the Adawehis knew why she was here, actually believed her. He wouldn’t let any harm come to Logan.
Which gave Rachel time for a bath. It amazed her how she could now think of a dunking in a bone-chilling river as such. And even look forward to it. Wouldn’t her maid, Ruth, who knew the exact temperature Rachel preferred her floral-scented water, and strove to please, be shocked if she knew.
Thoughts of Ruth’s hazel eyes open wide in dismay made Rachel smile as she walked along the path to the area where the women bathed. She didn’t see the Indian warrior till he stepped directly into her path. She didn’t gasp until she recognized him.
Rachel’s heart pounded but she tried not to show fear. After all, he could do nothing to her. “I suggest you remove yourself from my way.”
He didn’t say anything, only stared at her from his superior height. He had a hard face, tattooed skin taut over sharp bones. Odd, but she never considered the scarred countenances of her Cherokee friends fearsome. But this man’s was. Perhaps it was his eyes that made him seem so formidable. They were dark and hard. Her courage began to fade.