Tallchief: The Hunter (12 page)

Jillian scrubbed her face with her hands. How could she possibly want Adam? Yet her body had heated and hungered, just by looking at him, by following that masculine line of his chest, that flat stomach, the way his shorts slid a little low on one side where the skin should have paled and didn’t.

Then he’d stirred, and fearing that one sleepy, sensual look would cause her to ease down into his arms, she’d geared up her temper and doused him with water. Jillian shook her head. She had never done anything so rash. She was a predictable woman without primitive urges to—

Those feathers. That legend.
Her hands shook and she clasped them together as she thought of how Adam could make her
feel.
Angry. More than that, furious. An emotion she never allowed herself. What made her catch that thick hair and pull it back from his face to study all the arrogance, the textures, those searing, thunderous gray eyes?

The gesture was too primitive, unlike Jillian Green O’Malley’s calm, methodical ones. She’d taken steps to create a new life, but she was always in control. Jillian struggled to place the legend of the feathers in perspective—true, she’d brought the feathers to Adam, but she’d only obeyed a dying woman’s request, nothing more.

Yet, the legend born with so many of the Tallchief family’s stood firm in her mind.
The woman who brings the hawk and the dove feathers to the hunter shall tame him in gentler ways. He will be her strength, protecting her, but she has her own powers, most tender and loving. ’Twill not be easy for the hawk and the dove, one bred to hunt and the other of a gentler nature. Together they grow into each other’s lives, and love will be born.

Jillian did not feel gentle where Adam was concerned. She shivered as she thought of Elizabeth Montclair, separated from her hunting party in the mountains. The Englishwoman had taken an unwilling man, staked to the
ground, and had saved her life and her sister’s. As a result, she’d had his son, after returning to England. And then Liam Tallchief had come after her. In the end, she’d loved him. Life certainly hadn’t been arranged to Elizabeth’s liking, certainly not at first, and she had been his unwilling bride.

Jillian frowned slightly; she knew a bit about being an unwilling bride, and nothing of love. In her mind, she saw Adam’s hand joined with hers, the strength holding her gently. She tasted again his raw, hungry kiss as she ran a fingertip across her lips.

On impulse, she picked up the telephone and dialed Adam’s number. “Adam,” he answered, as if distracted.

She wanted to tell him to put no trust in the legend, that love wasn’t brewing between them. She wasn’t a romantic; she functioned on what she had to do to survive—“Jillian?” he asked after a moment.

She cleared her throat. “It was difficult for you today, and for Liam. But you did it. And it meant so much to the others that you stayed. I’m sorry that I woke you up like that—”

“I’m not. Jillian, there is something I have to tell you—”

“You’re free to go, if you wish,” she hurried on, her thoughts confused as she heard a noise. “What’s that? It sounds electronic.”

“Hmm? Oh, that must be the bed creaking.”

Adam in bed.
Jillian swallowed as she remembered how he had looked, how she’d wanted to reach out and sweep her hand over that broad chest, to feel the texture of it, skin and hair, and trail her finger down that line flowing lower….

“Don’t worry about me, Adam,” she said finally, as she struggled for logic.

“What’s wrong, Jillian?”

She wanted him to hold her as a woman, to feel that strength and heat and desire. “I’ve got to get back to work,” she said, and hung up.

It took moments to remove her shaking hand from the telephone, to accept that she had just called Adam, her enemy. It took more time for her to stand and shake her head. On her feet and stalking the small room back and forth, Jillian threw up her hands. She picked up a pillow and hurled it without direction. It hit her philodendron and knocked it to the floor. On its way, it brushed a small lamp, which also tumbled.

“I have no idea why I called him. None at all. Absolutely pointless. There’s nothing between us. Men are naturally aroused in the morning, and well, there I was. He’s got me all mixed up. He’s out to make trouble for me, that’s it. He’s out to make trouble, some sort of weird male payback. He wants to unnerve me, and he knows just how to do it. I came here for revenge, to destroy him, and I’m kissing him? Why, Jillian? Why would you let
him
kiss you?”

A small noise behind her caused Jillian to pivot. Adam stood at the door, his arms crossed, his head tilted. His voice was deep and slow and sensual. “Because you liked it? Because I definitely liked it?”

“What are you doing here?”

“From the sound of your voice I thought you might need help somehow. And I wanted to see you.”

Adam’s slow, flickering gaze was taking in the T-shirt she wore, the length of her legs. The thin material did little to shield her breasts, and Jillian crossed her arms over them. “You sleep in that now, do you?” he asked in that deep, raw tone that slid to quiver and warm and heat inside her.

She couldn’t move as he walked toward her. In his open hand was a leather strip, intricately and beautifully beaded. He tied the end thongs around her forehead. “This was Elizabeth’s, a gift from her mother-in-law, Una. It was meant to give her courage and strength to make a life as she wished—with or without Liam. To make her choices. He wouldn’t have held her forever, and in the end, she chose him.”

Jillian’s fingers traced the brilliant blue beading. The
smooth texture in contrast to the rougher doeskin delighted her. “This belongs to you. I can’t take it.”

Adam’s hand cruised her cheek, his thumb caressing it. He leaned down to whisper unevenly, “Take me as I am, Jillian. Let the past go. Enjoy what we can have—an understanding that we’ve both had trials and we’ve survived and here we are, a man and a woman. Just that—a man and a woman.”

“You make me unpredictable. I do not have a temper, Adam, and yet you bring it right out of me.”

His thumb stroked the sensitive corner of her lips. “And other things, as well. I held a woman in my arms this morning. Full of heat and passion, hungry for life.”

“You’re mistaken.” She’d thought of herself as cold for years, yet—

“Let’s try it again, just to make certain,” he said, and slowly bent his lips to hers.

The heat and the hunger lingered on each brush of his lips upon hers, tantalizing, asking, offering. “Jillian…” he whispered in a tone that matched the aching of her body.

He took her hand and placed it over his heart, pressing his own over hers. The kisses teased and warmed and stirred, until Jillian had to move closer. Adam’s arms came around her, his hands opened on her upper back and lower, pressing her against him. He breathed unsteadily, a great ragged sigh passing through him, as if he had come through forever to stand and hold her like this.

She’d never felt so safe, so wanted. “I’m not afraid of you, Adam,” she whispered.

His lips caused her to shiver as they roamed her throat and curved into a smile against her skin.

“You’re not, love? That’s good.”

“Are you afraid of me?” she asked, unexpectedly teasing him, and followed the urge to nip gently at his throat.

“Yes, I am,” he said fervently, raggedly. “You tear something from me that is too sweet for words.”

Then his hands began to move, slowly, thoroughly, and
Jillian waited for each caress, pleasured until she began to enjoy the shape and heat of his body, his shoulders, the cords and muscles moving in his arms. She realized distantly that he had turned off the lights. His hands flowed beneath her T-shirt now, smoothing, tempting, light and gentle, despite the rough calluses. She didn’t protest as he eased it from her, curiosity driving her, wanting to see how he looked at her body, how he touched it so gently. Adam’s intimacy was new and gentle and safe, as if she were flowing down a warm sunlit stream.

Her mind told her to take this bit, this one moment when a man touched her gently, waiting for her to stop him before moving on. The gentle seeking brought her no terror, only pleasure, and she would have this at least to remember in the cold years to come—one warm lovely image to erase all the others.

She swam in wonderful, delightful textures, in pleasure that kept rising higher. “Adam—”

“Say my name again like that, as if you needed me, wanted me.”

“Adam—”

This time his kiss seared, slanted against her lips, his tongue tempting hers. But his wasn’t the savage need tearing free, igniting out of control. Jillian pressed closer, feeding upon tastes, small mysterious explosions of danger and safety mixed, of the future, of heat and storm, and the incredible sense of being fearless, dominant, wild, feminine, desired and very, very hungry for more.

He groaned deep in his throat, echoing that hunger, and Jillian’s hands gripped his hair, tethering him to those primitive, wild kisses. He shuddered against her, and his hand searched for her breast. She hadn’t expected the delight of being treasured as he cupped her breast. But the shock of his mouth, warm and sucking, tore free needs and hungers she hadn’t known she possessed, staking her to that one moment.
Adam.

She’d waited so long to feel like this, free and strong and alive and blooming inside—
Adam.

His hands ran over her possessively, firmly now, seeking her breasts, her waist, then dug into the flare of her hips, tugging her tight against the hardness that nestled between her thighs, separated by layers of cloth.

She was almost a part of him, fearless, hungry, a counterpart to the flow of his hard, powerful body. She knew the mechanics of sex, and yet with Adam, she longed for him to fill her, to complete her.

With a harsh groan, Adam wrapped his arms around her and lifted her. “Jillian…Jillian, we have to stop.”

Then he looked down at her breasts, rounded and pressed against him, and shook his head as he lowered her feet to the floor.

Jillian leaned against him, her legs unsteady. She couldn’t face him and rested her cheek against the hard racing of his heart. Adam stroked her hair, rocking her against his body. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Jillian. Shh.”

The evidence of his body said he still wanted her, and yet, he’d stopped. Jillian shuddered, remembering a man who hadn’t.

“I’m not him, Jillian.” Again, Adam had stepped into her mind and noted that special fear.

She wanted Adam to keep holding her so she would feel just like that—protected, warm, comforted—forever. She lifted her face to study his, the lines more fierce now, honed and stark, his hair rumpled by her fists—

She’d clutched his hair in her fist, holding him to their kiss, taking greedily.

She took in the power of his shoulders, taut with desire that he withheld, the rapid pulse of his throat…. Her eyes widened—there were small marks there, made by her teeth nibbling on him.

“Oh, my,” she said as Adam pulled an afghan around her, easing her away and into the small rocker.

He rammed his fingers through his hair and studied her darkly. Then, as if needing something to do and fearing to leave her alone, Adam picked up the fallen lamp and straightened it. In the shadows, he moved to clean up the dirt and the plant, and then he sat on a chair, staring off into the night.

She couldn’t bear to look at him; he seemed so lonely, so hard and untouchable, so isolated. The need to soothe him moved through her, where once a more primitive urge ruled. She wanted to hold him, this time as a friend.

The creaking of her rocking chair echoed through the room. She sensed that he was staying for her, to see if she could cope with what she’d found between them, or if she’d start blaming him. “I’m all right. You can go now,” she whispered to free him from whatever he brooded.

“Fine,” he said curtly, and stood.

On his way to the door, Adam bent close to her and took her hand. He pressed his face within her palm, nuzzling it, and she sensed a loneliness that had nothing to do with his previous hunger. When he lifted his head, his eyes were gentle upon her, taking in the headband, her flushed face and the way she gripped the afghan around her.

After he had gone, Jillian sat rocking for a long time. She couldn’t find the hatred that had driven her family and herself. How could she trust him and feel so safe with him? Could all those years have changed him? Or her?

It was no gentle urge that moved through her when he kissed her, that was for certain.

How could she separate her body and her heart and her mind? Trust for Adam lay in her heart and her body, but her mind replayed all those scenes and pain years ago. Had she betrayed her parents? Her brother?

Could Adam possibly have told the truth all those years ago?

Jillian used the edge of the afghan to wipe away the tears streaming down her face.
She’d wanted Adam desperately.
All those empty, painful years lodged in her chest, waging
against the desire Adam had just ignited in her. None of it made sense, the layers tearing away until nothing existed but Adam and herself.

Yet part of her hungered for the tenderness and the safety and the passion that she’d found with Adam. She went to lie on her bed, pulling the afghan around her and staring at the moonlight sliding through the windows.

Whatever she’d tasted with Adam, it wasn’t hatred. It was alive and hungry and happy…and she feared what it might bring.

He still tasted her.

Adam stood near Tallchief Lake, overlooking the brooding waters that matched his own dark mood.

An hour after holding her, his body still throbbed with the need to lay Jillian down on that old-fashioned bed and to make love with her.

Without the past resolved, it could have been a disfavor to them both.

He’d have been making love to a woman who thought he’d ruined her family, who thought he’d lied. His pride and honor demanded more than that momentary satisfaction. He needed her to believe in him, to believe he told the truth long ago.