CHEROKEE STRANGER Page 6

  She reached for the small bag that contained her toiletries. "It's only for one night." And she wouldn't forget to barricade herself in the bathroom, to close both doors and to lock them.

  "I hope it turns into more," he said.

  "More?"

  "More than one night. I'd like you to stay here again sometime."

  Her stomach fluttered. "Me, too." Did he know how enticing he looked, standing there, gazing at her, with his shirt undone and his hair falling onto his forehead? "I shouldn't be too long."

  "I don't mind waiting," he told her.

  She gathered her wits and reminded herself to breathe, to allow air to flow in and out of her lungs.

  Once she was inside the bathroom, she freshened up and slipped on the emerald-colored nightgown he'd requested, adding a spritz of floral-scented body spray to her neck and shoulders. Unsure of what to do with her other clothes, she left them on top of the hamper in a neatly folded pile.

  Giving her hair one last, I-can't-believe-this-is-happening fluff, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. When she summoned the courage to emerge, James still wore his trousers and his shirt was still undone.

  "The bathroom is free if you need it," she said, hoping she didn't look as self-conscious as she felt.

  "I don't need anything but you." He moved forward, stopped when they were only inches apart. "You're so beautiful. So incredibly beautiful."

  "Thank you." She wet her lips, contemplated touching him.

  He touched her first, sliding his hands under the straps of her nightgown. "Don't be nervous, Emily."

  "I'm not. Not that much," she amended.

  "Let me hold you." He took her in his arms, and she melted against him. For the longest time, they remained, locked in a silent embrace.

  When he kissed her, she stood on her toes and welcomed the sensation, the slide of tongue against tongue, body against body. His muscles were taut, the ridge beneath his zipper hard. Greed washed over her, flowing like a river, snaking, swirling, leaving her breathless.

  She imagined tearing off his clothes, scraping her nails over all that hot, male skin. "I want to undress you, James."

  "We'll undress each other." He eased her onto the bed. "We'll take turns."

  She wanted to play first, to fill her senses with her fantasy. She didn't tear off his clothes, but she tugged until his shirt lay on the floor and his pants were undone.

  He shifted his weight, and she kissed him, just deep enough to make him groan. He had scars on his chest, healed-over wounds, she suspected, from boyhood skirmishes, from the wildness that came from within.

  He reminded her of a panther, of a big, dark cat that didn't know its own strength. When she toyed with the nipple ring, his entire body shuddered.

  Fascinated, she sat back to look at him. "It is sensitive."

  "Extremely. But I like it."

  "You're kinky, James Dalton."

  He grinned, pounced like the cat he was. Within the blink of an eye, she was beneath him, his lips brushing her ear. "I watched you at the restaurant, Emily, when you were eating your dessert, licking the custard from your spoon." He slid his hands down, along her waist, over her hips. "I want to lick you like that. I want to put my mouth all over you."

  She caught her breath, fought a wave of virgin panic. When he looked into her eyes, her cheeks went hot.

  He smoothed her hair away from her face. "Has anyone ever done that to you?"

  "No." She paused to steady her words, to tell herself there was no reason to feel shy, to panic. "But I've done it. To my high school boyfriend." In a car, she thought, after a football game. "We were parked by the river, making out the way kids do."

  James gazed at her mouth, focused on it for a second. "Sweet, innocent Emily." Somehow her admission seemed to arouse him even more. "You never fail to surprise me."

  "It was just that once." Just one youthful experience, one teenage curiosity. "And I finished doing it with my hands. I wasn't going to—"

  He grinned at her. "Swallow?"

  She smacked his shoulder, and they both laughed. "I can't believe I just told you that."

  "I'm glad you did." He gave her a tender hug, and they settled into each other's arms. She couldn't have dreamed this moment, dreamed the quiet intimacy, the way her body fit so snugly against his.

  She closed her eyes, and he pressed his lips to her ear, rousing her. "Let me show you how good it feels."

  Emily opened her eyes, studied him – the way his hair fell across his forehead, the way the light from a nearby lamp sent golden shadows across his face. She couldn't say no.

  He peeled off her nightgown and followed the path with his lips, kissing and nibbling along the way. The feeling was unbearable, but she wanted more, as much as he would give her, as much as she could endure.

  "James." She breathed his name, and he pulled her panties down, searing her with openmouthed kisses, teasing her with slow, deliberate flicks of his tongue.

  She shivered from the swell, from the sensation of saliva to skin. Pleasure poured over her, molten and wet. Anxious, she lifted her hips, tugged at his hair, pulled him closer. So close, she thought she might die.

  And when she climaxed, when shock waves slammed through her system, all she could do was clutch the sheets and sink helplessly onto the bed.

  James rose to look at Emily, to watch her. Her eyes were closed, her skin was flushed and her hair fell in bewitching disarray.

  Intrigued, he moved over her, waited for her to stir.

  Finally, she opened her eyes and gazed at him through the aftermath of a deep and drugging orgasm. Sexual delirium, he thought. It looked good on her.

  He lowered his head to kiss her, to press his body next to hers. She arched and stretched, bumping her nakedness against his fly. He all but groaned, then struggled to remove his pants, to toss his boxers onto the floor. "Are you ready, Emily?"

  She cuddled against him, all warm and soft and sweet, like an unsuspecting kitten. "Yes."

  "I don't want to hurt you." But he knew he would. Damn it, he knew he would. "It usually hurts the first time."

  "I know, but it doesn't matter."

  "Yes, it does." He wanted to give her the fairy tale she deserved. But he didn't know how, so he simply ran his hands over her body, gliding his fingers over her skin. She looked so fair next to him, so fragile.

  "Do you want me, James?"

  "More than anything."

  "Then take me." She reared up to kiss him, to nibble coyly on his lips, to stroke between his legs. "Take what you want."

  He lost it. Totally lost it. The hunger inside him exploded, and he pushed his tongue into her mouth and rolled her across the bed, tangling the sheets.

  Her hands quested, and he relished the heat, the pressure of her fingers, the incredible feeling of being in a woman's arms, of seeing desire in her eyes.

  It made him seem whole, real, decent. So for now, he chose to believe the lie, to let himself fall into the fantasy of being Emily's lover.

  He released a ragged breath, straddled her, watched as she waited. The condoms were in his nightstand, and the nightstand was within arm's reach. He grabbed what he needed, fumbled with the foil and cursed his clumsiness.

  Finally, finally, he rolled on the protection, felt her shift beneath him, open her thighs, welcome his penetration.

  Then she tensed, and he knew he'd caused her pain. "I'm sorry," he said.

  "Just don't stop."

  "I won't." He couldn't, he thought. Being inside her felt too good. Too right. She clamped around him like a velvet vise, and he pushed deeper.

  She tensed again, bit down on her bottom lip. He kept moving, slowly, gently, promising in soothing whispers it wouldn't hurt next time.

  Then something changed. Her gazed locked on to his, and he suspected her pain was subsiding. She pressed against him, crushing her breasts to his chest, flattening the nipple ring, sending a shiver straight up his spine.

  He groaned, and she smiled,
as tempting as a green-eyed nymph. "I think I'm starting to like this."

  "Oh, yeah?" His heart leaped to his throat. She was warm and wet and incredibly tight. He sure as hell liked it.

  She began to move beneath him, to test the rhythm he'd set, to meet his strokes with dream-induced glory. They could have been dancing, he thought. Moving to a song only they could hear.

  He wanted her to climax again, so he slid his hand between their bodies and rubbed that sensitive little spot that made women crazy.

  It made him crazy, too. Erotic insanity. He couldn't get enough.

  James sought her mouth, losing himself in the passion, in the thrill, in the surrender of a woman who gave him everything he'd been missing.

  Everything he wished he could keep.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  «^»

  Emily awakened during the predawn hour. The hour the sky prepared for the sun. The hour a hazy glow bled through the blinds, washing the room in muted colors and dancing shadows.

  She'd slept spoon-style with James all night, the back of her body tucked cozily against the front of his. She could feel him breathing into her hair. Rough breaths, a little raspy.

  She suspected he used to smoke. Strange, the things she was learning about him. But Emily was learning about herself, too. Being naked with a man first thing in the morning was strangely compelling, an unfamiliar occurrence she could certainly get used to.

  He mumbled and shifted, pulling her closer, burying his face deeper into her hair. She knew he liked her honey-colored hair. He'd mentioned it on the day they'd met.

  "Are you awake?" she asked.

  "No."

  She smiled into her pillow. "You sound awake."

  "Then I'm half-awake. How'd you sleep?"

  "Like a dream." Emily turned in his arms. She wanted to look at him, to see the man she'd made love with. Curious, she met his unfocused gaze and saw him squint into the dim light. A hint of beard stubble peppered his jaw, and his hair was flat in some areas and sticking up in others. He couldn't have been more gorgeous. Rough around the edges worked on James. It was part of who he was.

  "I need to get up," he said. "I've got to pee."

  She nearly laughed. She'd never known anyone quite like him. He climbed out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, forgot to close the door, then remembered a second later.

  Had he ever lived with anyone? she wondered.

  Yes, she decided. He had. The mystery blonde, the woman Emily reminded him of, must have shared more than just an occasional romp in his bed. James had been in love with her. That much seemed clear, obvious from the beginning.

  Troubled, Emily sat up and frowned. Would it be all right to ask him about his former lover? To question him about her? Or would that be a foolish thing to do on their first morning after?

  "What's wrong?"

  His voice came out of nowhere, giving her a start. She looked up, then realized she was hugging his pillow, cradling it, possessing it. "Nothing's wrong."

  "You're frowning."

  She tried to change her expression, to appear unaffected by her thoughts. "I'm fine. Should we get up or go back to sleep?"

  He glanced at the clock, then moved toward her, tall and dark and naked. Her heart did a girlish flop.

  "Let's stay in bed." He crawled in beside her and resumed the position they'd slept in, pulling her tight against him, bumping his pelvis against her rear.

  "Mmm." She melted; she simply melted. Nothing, absolutely nothing, had ever felt this good, this right, this secure. She snuggled into the feeling, wiggling her bottom.

  He made a tortured sound. "You're cheating, Emily."

  "What? Oh." She smiled, suddenly aware of what she'd done. "Sorry."

  "Don't apologize." He nuzzled the side of her neck and cupped her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples. Pleasure, sweet and thick, glided through her. She attempted to turn, to face him, but he stopped her.

  "Stay there, baby. Just like that."

  "James?"

  "Shhh." One of his hands slid between her thighs. He caressed her, lightly, steadily, stoking a fire, building pressure, promising relief.

  She went damp, slick and moist against his hand. He whispered something in her ear, something erotic, something forbidden.

  She gasped, moaned, nearly climaxed on the spot.

  Her eyes turned glassy, her mind fogged. She couldn't see straight, couldn't think clearly. All she wanted was to kiss him, to suck mercilessly on his tongue. But she couldn't. His mouth was already busy, biting the back of her neck. Like a stallion, she thought, preparing to mount a mare.

  She hadn't considered making love in this position, but she could feel him, hard and heavy, fully aroused, eager to stake his claim. He took her hand and encouraged her to touch herself, to rub the wetness, to spread the moisture while he sheathed himself with a condom.

  Then he grasped her hips, angled her body to accommodate him and plunged deep. She twisted to kiss him, and their mouths mated, the flavor as heady, as hot, as carnal as the sex.

  Tongues clashed, teeth scraped, hormones surged to undeniable peaks.

  Emily went mad. She ached to take more of him, to let him invade her very soul. She wanted him forever, just like this, pushing her to the edge of sanity, holding her there.

  He licked the shell of her ear, nibbled her lobe, said something naughty again.

  An orgasm exploded behind her eyes, bursting in a flash of color. Silver, gold, red. She held fast to the arms snaked around her waist, held fast to the man fueling her deepest, darkest fantasies.

  He made a rough, primal sound, and she knew he was spilling his seed, releasing the pressure in his loins. She twisted to kiss him again and he devoured her in one earth-shattering taste.

  When it ended, when they could draw breath, his sweat-slicked body fell against hers, pinning her to the bed. Finally, she moaned, and he mumbled and moved, freeing her from his weight.

  "Sorry."

  "Don't be." She reached for a rumpled corner of the sheet, felt it slide through her fingers. "We should do that again."

  "Right now?" he asked.

  "Right this second," she responded, before they found the energy to laugh. They could barely lift their heads.

  Eventually James summoned the strength to rise, to walk to the bathroom, to dispose of the condom, she assumed. When he returned and tried to settle back into bed, the alarm clock went off. He cursed and smacked the button, silencing the sound.

  "I can't believe it's time to get up."

  She turned to look at him, to check out that long, muscular body. She glanced down, saw that he was still partially aroused. "You've already been up."

  He tapped her nose and made it twitch. "Funny girl."

  Bad boy, she thought, recalling the hot-and-nasty things he'd whispered in her ear.

  "Do you want breakfast?" he asked.

  She wasn't quite ready to switch gears, to leave the cozy comfort of his bed, even if it was time to get her lazy butt moving. She searched for her nightgown, deciding the least she could do was get dressed. "Are you fixing it?"

  He grabbed a pair of boxers from his drawer and shrugged into them. "As in cooking? At this time of the morning? I was thinking more along the lines of a cup of coffee and a cream puff. Or a Napoleon or whatever the hell those things we brought home last night are called."

  She couldn't help but laugh. "That sounds like a fine breakfast, James."

  "You bet it does. Nothing gets a body going like caffeine and sugar."

  Within no time, he'd brewed a pot of coffee and they sat in the middle of his bed and made pigs of themselves. Emily couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun. Or felt so alive.

  Today she wasn't a cancer patient. She was simply a woman. James Dalton's woman.

  "When can I see you again?" he asked.

  She licked chocolate from her fingers and imagined kissing him sweet and senseless. "Whenever you want."

  "I'
m going to hold you to that."

  "You better," she told him, wondering if this moment – or this man – could get any better.

  *

  On Sunday morning, Emily battled with her brother. She glanced at James, but he stood by quietly, staying out of the way. He'd invited Corey to Tandy Stables, offering to bring the boy to work with him, to let him play cowboy for a day. But their outing had yet to begin and already Corey was acting up. Exhausted, Emily blew a frustrated breath. The kitchen had become a war zone.

  "I don't like it," Corey complained. "It smells funny."

  "It does not." She tried to rub sunscreen onto his skin, but he jerked back, refusing to let her touch his face. "If you don't wear this, you're staying home."

  "It's not like I'm going swimming."

  "It doesn't matter. You're still going to be in the sun all day."

  "This is stupid." Corey scrunched his nose, then plopped himself down at the table. Emily knew she couldn't pass herself off as Corey's mother, and he knew it, too. A nagging sibling didn't earn the same respect as a nagging parent.

  "It's not stupid." James moved forward. "Too much sun cam hurt people. It can make them sick."

  "Not me," the child insisted.

  "Emily has to have surgery, Corey. The sun made her sick. And you're her brother. You have the same genes."

  The boy glanced at his Levi's. "I'm not wearing Emmy's jeans."

  James managed a smile. "I was talking about a different kind of genes. Your skin is light, like hers. And the lotion she wants you to wear will protect you."

  Emily studied her lover, listened to the sincerity in his voice. Two days had passed since she'd spent the night at his house. Two days of stealing quick, choppy kisses, of battling work schedules that didn't mesh, of dodging her little brother's curious glances.

  Emily could have just told Corey that she was dating James, but she wasn't ready to make that kind of commitment. Nor was she ready to sleep with someone she wasn't married to, at least not in front of her brother.

  "Girls wear that stuff." Corey wasn't buying it, not even from his newfound idol, the man he openly admired. "It even smells girly."

  James took the bottle from Emily and sniffed it. She watched him, her heart going uncomfortably soft. He hadn't mentioned her cancer since they'd made love, but it was still there, floating between them. And today it had risen to the surface.