Rain Shadow(39)

Ruiz had seethed anew, the remainder of the conversation going unheard.  Seven. The boy was seven. A little more than seven years ago he had met  her on board the Nebraska and had taken her.

She had been a virgin. Now she was a liar.

He had a son.

A son he could take back to his country and present to his father. An  accomplishment. His father would welcome Miguel with open arms if he  knew he had a grandson. His three brothers had each taken their  inheritance and carved their fortune in various investments-mining,  manufacturing, shipping. Was it his fault his funds had dwindled before  he had time to choose a worthy investment?

A little more than seven years ago when his father had shunned him, only  one of his brothers had been married, and his wife had borne him two  daughters. Miguel pulled the blanket tighter around his hunched  shoulders and absorbed the significance of that fact.

He had a son. Even if his brothers had had sons since, his was the  first. All along he'd had a son. All along she had withheld the  information. Lied when confronted.                       
       
           



       

She would be sorry. Sorry she had shunned him as his father had. Sorry she had kept his son from him. He would see to it.

Neubauer had accompanied the children to the other house, and then  returned. He and Rain Shadow were occupied for the evening. All Miguel  need do was bide his time. A little longer. An opportunity would present  itself.

He gazed into the night winter sky. Perhaps in the morning. If the  weather cooperated, the snow would cover his tracks. He would be home in  a matter of weeks. He imagined presenting the child to his father.  Family was everything in his culture. No doubt his father pined for a  way to make peace. No doubt he would welcome his son and grandson home.  Home with its many comforts-a warm fire, a bottle of port, servants to  attend his every need. Home...with his son.

* * *

They were alone in the snug cabin, its sturdy log walls and snapping  fire cocooning them from the winter cold and wind. Apprehension quavered  in the pit of Rain Shadow's belly, sending signals to every limb. She  willed herself not to tremble.

Her eyes met his, something dark and absorbing drawing her into the heat  of his unconscious seduction. On the tabletop between them were the  vestiges of his culture, material things proclaiming his family ties,  his heritage. Delicate blue-scrolled china plates, cups and saucers. A  reed-slim vase where she'd placed a single dried flower. Did Anton find  her artless efforts lacking? She'd tried so hard to prepare a suitable  meal, serve it in the manner he was accustomed to. The disquieting look  in his eyes gave no indication of how he liked the food.

She was reminded of the calm before a storm, those minutes of heavy,  oppressive stillness before wind gusted and rain poured from the skies  in torrents. A volatile undercurrent passed between them.

Her exotic violet eyes drew him, and unblinking, he studied the twin  ebony wings of her brows, her slightly parted, seductive lips. He  remembered the satiny feel of them beneath his, the hungry way she  responded to his mouth with hers. He was light-headed, as if he'd had  too many beers, the way she always made him feel, the way he didn't want  to feel about her-about any woman.

Under his gaze, her breathing changed tempo. Her breasts rose and fell  beneath the quill work on her dress, diminishing his resolve to stay  clear of this woman whose soft voice and strong body had him neglecting  reason.

He wanted to climb across the table and pull her against him, crush her  lips beneath his and taste the nectar of her mouth. Anton imagined  sliding his hands beneath her dress. But wanting her was more than the  physical enticement of her exquisite scents and softness. Needing her  involved so much more.

He had feelings for her.

The thoughts were a mistake.

She was willing. She'd made that plenty obvious the other night. All he  had to do was close the four short feet between them, touch her hair and  skin the way he yearned to, and the torture would end. Was he denying  himself for nothing? Was he so noble? No, he answered himself. He  couldn't afford to love her.

If he didn't love her, she couldn't hurt him. But his desire and the  feelings expanding in his chest stole his breath and his sanity. His  fingertips tingled as though her silken skin was beneath them now. It  had been a long, long time since he'd been with a willing woman. And  he'd never had feelings like these. He felt guilty about that.

"Is there anything wrong?" Her full lips parted. "Is there something  else you want?" Her eloquent eyes were uncertain, waiting for  reassurance. "Anton?"

The air was suffocating, the silence deafening, like that dead still before the storm.

"You." His reply split the quiet like a lightning bolt. "I want you."

Rain Shadow caught her breath and resisted pressing her hand to her  racing heart. How much had that admission cost him? Though he obviously  had no appetite for the food on his plate, his eyes devoured her. A  tremor began in her arms and legs and whipped through her body. The  famished look in his eyes and the taut lines around his mouth were  almost frightening. Frightening because of his enormous appetites, his  extreme emotions and actions. Frightening because of the consuming  desire she recognized...and reciprocated.

Alarming, though arousing.                       
       
           



       

Startling, yet dizzily exciting.

Exciting in a way that melted every last defense into a liquid pool of  fire. She opened her mouth and flicked her tongue across her lips.

His nostrils flared.

Her heart thundered. "What's stopping you?"

The tumultuous storm broke in the depths of his untamed eyes. He stood,  the chair clattering to the floor behind him. Rain Shadow's heart  thundered a warning in her breast. She rose and met his mouth with hers.  He made a noise deep in his throat, a sound of torture and surrender.  His kiss was long and hard, stealing her breath and her common sense.  His long, sinewed arms wrapped around her and held her possessively  against him.

Anton ran eager fingers through her hair, and pins scattered across the  tabletop and floor. Released, the raven tresses spread around her  shoulders. He pulled his mouth from hers and buried his face in her  hair, nudged his nose along her neck and nipped at the tender cord  beneath her ear, assailing her with exquisite tremors.

He inhaled deeply. "Ah, you smell good."

Instinctively, she raised her arms and wrapped them around his  shoulders. Mouth at her ear, his fingers found the thin leather tie  behind her neck and loosened it. He peeled the soft garment forward,  coaxing her arms from his neck. The dress caught on her forearms, baring  her upper body to him.

Alive and trembling, she watched him, read his approval behind eyes of  blue fire. He kissed her again with his lips and his tongue, then pulled  back. Sliding his touch along her sides, he reached both thumbs inward  and caressed. Rain Shadow saw the effect of her immediate response on  his enraptured face. Her body's answer to his touch invited his palms to  cup her, to test her weight and shape. She was aware of each rough  callus at the base of his fingers, trembled at the glorious texture of  his palms against her tender skin. Boldly, she watched his tanned hands  dwarf her breasts. The sight spiraled pleasure and turned it into an  overwhelming ache. He turned his wrists and kneaded her gently.

One hand trailed upward, and he raised her chin with a knuckle, forcing  her to look up. She met his greedy lips and yanked her restless arms  from the confines of her dress, framing his face with both hands.  Impatiently, she pressed herself into his hand, and he wrapped his other  arm around her, drawing her against him. The kiss grew demanding.  Tormenting.

Mouth slanted over hers, he slid both hands to her waist and gathered  her dress until he could slip his hands beneath. His fingers glided over  her hips, paused in consideration at the soft leather thong she wore  and grasped her buttocks firmly.

She had to touch him. Had to press closer. Had to feel more of him. All  of him. She left his mouth, leaned back enough to unbutton his shirt and  spread it open. At the first touch of her fingers against his skin, he  gritted his teeth and groaned. Impatiently, he jerked one arm at a time  from the sleeves and flung the garment behind him.

Without warning, he reached behind her and swept the table with one  clean swing of his forearm. China clattered and flew. A cup and saucer  smashed against the floorboards. In the next instant he lifted her, and  she found herself sitting atop the table. Disconcerted, she stared at  the destruction. "Oh, Anton! The dishes!"

He flicked the sugar bowl and settled her more comfortably. "They're only dishes."