Her fear struck a vulnerable spot. Her pride kept him from acknowledging it. He stopped in front of her, discerning the tremble of her fingers in her lap.
"Thank you for staying," she said at last.
"A man can have a cup of coffee in his own house if he wants."
"You know who that was."
"The vaquero."
She nodded.
"Does he know?"
"No!" She stood, quickly dragged her palms down her trousered thighs and shook her head. "No."
Anton shoveled a hand through his hair. Rain Shadow had experienced immeasurable guilt and shame years ago, called herself a fool and wallowed in regret. Two Feathers had helped her see that she couldn't change the past. What was done was done. The future was all that counted.
So she'd recovered and planned. All she could do was become someone she could respect. She'd spent seven years accomplishing that and she wasn't going to throw it away now. Why did she care what Anton thought? She had enough worry with Slade hurt, the contest coming up and now Miguel's arrival. His appearance festered old wounds, unearthed fears and feelings she thought she'd conquered.
Miguel de Ruiz had used her. Lied to her and left her for a better prospect. He wanted something again, and the possibilities terrified her.
"He mustn't know. He has no claim! No rights!" she shouted, and her slender body shook with rage.
Anton nodded, understanding.
Rain Shadow's strong, independent spirit rebelled at the prickling sensation in the back of her throat. Horrified, she turned her face sharply away and willed herself not to weaken. Her eyes filled with tears, and she tried to blink them back. A single tear escaped and trailed down her cheek.
"He's not worth it."
Anton's gentle voice and words touched her soul and dislodged another defensive stone in the wall she'd constructed around her tender susceptibilities. She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. "It's not only him," she said at last. "I'm afraid for Slade."
"Well..." He sounded almost uncomfortable with her emotions, yet he replied. "He's worth it. Go ahead and feel whatever you're feeling."
She stared at him for a moment and if she hadn't been so terrified she would have smiled at the matter-of-fact way he'd given her permission to scream or cry. She balled her fists at her sides and pressed her mouth into a straight line, determined to do neither. Slade was hers and hers alone. She'd borne him in her lodge, a Pawnee medicine woman attending. She'd provided his food and shelter and taught him to read and write and ride. And she had plans for his future-their future. Plans that didn't include a slick-talking vaquero.
What would happen if Miguel poked around and learned the truth? He would make trouble. He might try to force her to marry him or might try to take Slade from her. Her body trembled. Anton reached for her, his strong, hard arms closing around her, one hand bringing her head to his chest, the other pressed into her lower back to hold her flush against him. Gratefully, she wrapped both arms around his waist and clung. His shirtfront muffled a sob.
He kneaded the back of her neck, burrowing strong fingers into the hair at the base of her braid and rubbing tension from her neck. His tenderness provoked more tears. After maintaining her emotions for so long, she exhausted her tears quickly, hating herself for the vulnerability yet reveling for the first time in the admission of her humanity. It felt unbelievably good to have someone to lean on, someone warm and solid. Someone she could trust in this uncharacteristic moment of weakness.
And somehow, instinctively, the conviction that Anton was different, that she could trust him, gave her the freedom to accept his reassuring embrace. She absorbed his strength and relished the steady, comforting beat of his heart against her temple.
With emotions under control, her senses filled with Anton, the faint and familiar scent of leather and horses, the warmth of his hand on her spine and his body against hers, his hard chest and thighs, the damp fabric of his shirt beneath her cheek, his breath against her forehead. Without separating them an inch, she raised her head and gazed up.
She remembered the kiss.
The kiss she'd told him to forget.
It was obvious in his penetrating blue gaze that he hadn't forgotten, either. A forbidden and uncalculated hunger strained between them. The impact was sudden, jarring and deep. If he hadn't been holding her, she would have buckled.
His hand at her spine glided upward, dipped into the curve of her waist, spanned her rib cage and began another downward journey. The fingers at her nape caressed, his thumb rubbing, consoling, rhythmic circles soothing her distress.
Slowly-very slowly, so that, had she wanted to, she had time to pull away-he lowered his face to hers. Her breath, caught in her chest, hurt. His breath fanned her lips, and a piquant shudder slid down her spine. His warm mouth covered hers in a gentle kiss, tentatively at first, gauging her response.
Gentle wasn't enough for either of them.
Immediately, his kiss grew firm and demanding. He angled his head and held her face in his rough palm, his thumb beneath her chin securing her for his sensory assault. She returned the kiss, bringing one hand up to frame his jaw, as if she could cup the keen pleasure in her palm and prolong it.
She tasted tears and coffee and satiny desire and knew instantly that years of practiced reserve and independence hadn't prepared her for Anton.
Beneath her hand, his heart changed from a slow, even tempo to an urgent throb. He tested her lips with the tip of his silken tongue, a warm, wet inquiry. Rain Shadow inhaled sharply, and his hand at her neck was poised as if to hold her should she withdraw. She didn't. She couldn't. She needed this moment, this kiss, this man.
She caressed his jaw, enjoyed the rasp of his cheek against her palm, brought her thumb against the corner of their fused lips. He turned his face just enough to nip her thumb.
Passion washed through her, her pulse drumming in places she instinctively pressed more intimately against him. Persuasively, Anton rubbed his tongue against her mouth. Heart thundering, she parted her lips, and his tongue swept inside, hot and delving, shocking her with the pleasure he created. She returned the bold kiss, pulling herself on tiptoe and snaking one arm around his neck for a secure hold.
The logic of her mind warned that the blood and thunder pounding through her veins stemmed from her recent scare. She clung to Anton like a weak, frightened woman. She should stop this abandonment of good sense. Douse the glowing embers now before they blazed out of her control.
But her body denied the warning, fanned the fire and refused her time to collect herself. His combination of textures-sandpaper jaw and satin hair, rock-hard body and pliant, sweet-fierce lips-assailed her senses, touched her to the quick, and she caught the flame.
Anton pulled his mouth from hers and, breathing raggedly, burrowed his face into her neck. He nipped the tender flesh along her throat and under her ear, waves of sensation shuddering along her arms, tightening her breasts. Eyes closed in acute pleasure, she craved him, more of him, all of him. She wanted him too much. More than she wanted his protection or his kindness, she wanted this fever pitch of sensation that seized her with urgency. His mouth, hot and exciting, returned to nip her chin, caress the corner of her mouth.
He pushed her leather vest aside and unbuttoned the top buttons of her shirt, pressing kisses upon her chest. Silvery shivers tingled across her shoulders and down her arms. Ignoring good sense, she framed his face in her hands and tipped her head back. His warm fingers brushed against her energized skin as he undid the remaining buttons and opened her shirt.
The air's silken kiss made her shiver. Anton pressed his cheek to her skin, inhaling deeply. Against her delicate breast, his cheek and chin were delightfully rough, his lips exquisitely hot and moist, his hair incredibly soft and cool. Awash with sensation, Rain Shadow buried her fingers into his hair and held fast. Forcing herself to breathe, she couldn't help the tremulous moan that escaped her lips.
The sound brought Anton to his senses. She was aroused. Every bit as aroused as he. He couldn't indulge the weakness in his armor when he saw her fear and held her in his arms. He couldn't indulge the craving desire that had spurred to life with his first look at her honey skin and stormy amethyst eyes, fueled to fever pitch with her hungry kiss and the heart-stopping feel of her beneath his hands. He couldn't indulge, and didn't need this ache in the pit of his stomach, the trembling want in his limbs or the hankering to touch more of her-all of her.