fortuneteller’s crystal
ball to know that answer? Since arriving back in the Nebraska Territory and stepping
off the stagecoach at the trading post, she feared only one Indian—Brant
Sullette. The Chawi Pawnee half-breed threatened her sanity, not her safety. He
had been the one person she had longed to see and at the same time dreaded to
face.
A billow of dust swirled around the horse’s legs as Brant
reined in the animal. There was no man on Earth who portrayed masculinity the
way Brant did. The impressive sight of him made her heart stall. Wide-shouldered
with sunbaked skin, his body rippled with muscle. But his stone-like facial
features alleged nothing soft about him, not even his heart.
“He doesn’t look very happy,” Charlie remarked.
Eden struggled to breathe. Words wouldn’t come and her
thoughts rolled like tumbleweeds in her head. The time away from Sweet Grove
had solved some of her problems, but not the one giving her an imposing glare.
Brant’s stillness hinted something was more wrong than her
return. She didn’t dare think of why his severe look blended anger and contempt
into a neat package. It wasn’t how she had envisioned meeting him again.
She thought back to the long weeks of travel by train and by
stagecoach and the most pleasant of her daydreams.
Brant stood at the edge of the pond with his back to her
until Eden called his name. Then he turned. His smile made her giddy with
delight and she ran to him. Enveloped in his embrace, she hugged him.
“I’ve missed you so much.” He slid his hands over her,
magically removing her clothes with the sweep of his fingers. “I have searched
for years to find you, to have you naked in my arms.”
“I missed you too and I’ve longed to feel you inside me
again.” She unlaced his leather shirt and pressed her palms to his hard-muscled
chest. A light sprinkling of hair swirled the center, encircling his nipples
and funneling down to his navel. The softness of those fibers attracted her
touch.
He slid one hand down her back to her bottom. Grasping
her buttocks, he squeezed and pulled her closer. His throbbing maleness pressed
her belly as he caught her jaw with his other hand to hold her face and kiss
her. Then circling her, he cupped her breast in one hand and slid his other
between her legs.
Slowly he rubbed his palm back and forth, stirring the short
crop of hairs concealing the slit of her sex. He showed a hunger for kissing
her shoulder and neck. His arms binding her tight held her back against his
chest.
Eden breathed heavier, aroused and anxious.
When he wiggled a finger between her nether lips, a
tingling sensation shot through her. She wanted him to do it again but he
passed the sensitive bud of flesh and pressed deeper. He stroked his finger in
and out of her. Sometimes slow, sometimes quicker, numbing her until the
twinges of stimulation heightened.
She laid her head back on Brant’s shoulder, writhing with
the rapture of his manipulative caresses, panting to catch her breath. She twisted
her head to the side and looked up into his lust- filled eyes, so intense and
determined.
When the uncontrollable spasms seized her, she clutched
at his arms for support. The glorious orgasm uplifted her spirit. But when the
tension in her muscles subsided and her mind cleared, sadness sank into her
heart.
The heartache of him not wanting her brought Eden back to
reality. She blinked away the bittersweet fantasy.
Brant’s stare held her captive. She felt the heat of
embarrassment rising to her cheeks. She hadn’t lain with any man other than
Brant, but it didn’t mean she hadn’t dreamed of all the sexual acts of intimacy
that could transpire between them. Would he know why a blush reddened her face?
Would he guess the ways she sought sexual relief by touching herself?
“Mama, shouldn’t we say something to him?” Charlie
interrupted her reflections. “Indians like it when white people give them
stuff.”
She loved that
ball to know that answer? Since arriving back in the Nebraska Territory and stepping
off the stagecoach at the trading post, she feared only one Indian—Brant
Sullette. The Chawi Pawnee half-breed threatened her sanity, not her safety. He
had been the one person she had longed to see and at the same time dreaded to
face.
A billow of dust swirled around the horse’s legs as Brant
reined in the animal. There was no man on Earth who portrayed masculinity the
way Brant did. The impressive sight of him made her heart stall. Wide-shouldered
with sunbaked skin, his body rippled with muscle. But his stone-like facial
features alleged nothing soft about him, not even his heart.
“He doesn’t look very happy,” Charlie remarked.
Eden struggled to breathe. Words wouldn’t come and her
thoughts rolled like tumbleweeds in her head. The time away from Sweet Grove
had solved some of her problems, but not the one giving her an imposing glare.
Brant’s stillness hinted something was more wrong than her
return. She didn’t dare think of why his severe look blended anger and contempt
into a neat package. It wasn’t how she had envisioned meeting him again.
She thought back to the long weeks of travel by train and by
stagecoach and the most pleasant of her daydreams.
Brant stood at the edge of the pond with his back to her
until Eden called his name. Then he turned. His smile made her giddy with
delight and she ran to him. Enveloped in his embrace, she hugged him.
“I’ve missed you so much.” He slid his hands over her,
magically removing her clothes with the sweep of his fingers. “I have searched
for years to find you, to have you naked in my arms.”
“I missed you too and I’ve longed to feel you inside me
again.” She unlaced his leather shirt and pressed her palms to his hard-muscled
chest. A light sprinkling of hair swirled the center, encircling his nipples
and funneling down to his navel. The softness of those fibers attracted her
touch.
He slid one hand down her back to her bottom. Grasping
her buttocks, he squeezed and pulled her closer. His throbbing maleness pressed
her belly as he caught her jaw with his other hand to hold her face and kiss
her. Then circling her, he cupped her breast in one hand and slid his other
between her legs.
Slowly he rubbed his palm back and forth, stirring the short
crop of hairs concealing the slit of her sex. He showed a hunger for kissing
her shoulder and neck. His arms binding her tight held her back against his
chest.
Eden breathed heavier, aroused and anxious.
When he wiggled a finger between her nether lips, a
tingling sensation shot through her. She wanted him to do it again but he
passed the sensitive bud of flesh and pressed deeper. He stroked his finger in
and out of her. Sometimes slow, sometimes quicker, numbing her until the
twinges of stimulation heightened.
She laid her head back on Brant’s shoulder, writhing with
the rapture of his manipulative caresses, panting to catch her breath. She twisted
her head to the side and looked up into his lust- filled eyes, so intense and
determined.
When the uncontrollable spasms seized her, she clutched
at his arms for support. The glorious orgasm uplifted her spirit. But when the
tension in her muscles subsided and her mind cleared, sadness sank into her
heart.
The heartache of him not wanting her brought Eden back to
reality. She blinked away the bittersweet fantasy.
Brant’s stare held her captive. She felt the heat of
embarrassment rising to her cheeks. She hadn’t lain with any man other than
Brant, but it didn’t mean she hadn’t dreamed of all the sexual acts of intimacy
that could transpire between them. Would he know why a blush reddened her face?
Would he guess the ways she sought sexual relief by touching herself?
“Mama, shouldn’t we say something to him?” Charlie
interrupted her reflections. “Indians like it when white people give them
stuff.”
She loved that
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