Rain Shadow (Dutch Country Brides)

by Cheryl St. John

  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.”

  “But—they’re special.”

  Hands rough and warm on her hipbones, he spoke against her parted lips. “We’ll buy more.”

  His mouth stilled further conversation. His tongue, making intimate love, searched every crevice and discovered each nuance that drew a feverish response from her. It was natural to twine her arms and legs around him and feel him pressed intimately against her—intimate yet immensely unsatisfying. Beneath her touch, his shoulders were sinewy and strong. She explored his corded neck, hard biceps and the broad expanse of his back.

  His hands devoured her hips, the indentation at her waist, kneaded and flattened her breasts. He spread suckling kisses along her collarbone. Her whole being hummed with feelings, all vibrant fire and crystal-edged responses. He’d unleashed a howling storm.

  Rain Shadow threaded her fingers in his sandy hair and anticipated his next kisses. Her heart pulsed erratically beneath the surface of her skin. Every screaming nerve ending poised in expectation. Anton dipped his head and took the hardened core of one breast into his mouth. She dropped her head back and shuddered. Her body responded like a spring thaw, melting and flooding in uncontrollable torrents.

  She hadn’t known, hadn’t realized anything could feel like this. A powerless sensation crept into her limbs, saturated her senses as his strong hands and masculine scent filled her world until there was nothing else. No one. Only him. Anton.

  “Anton...” She couldn’t raise her voice above a hoarse whisper. She’d had no idea. Had never anticipated...

  He covered her damp breasts with his enormous palms and gazed into her eyes. “I know.”

  Blue eyes clouded with passion, he slid his fingers to the soft leather thong at her hip.

  Rain Shadow ended his torment and exposed the slender strip tying it in place. He tugged the tie free, his strong fingers trembling ever so slightly. Her undergarment lay like a forgotten scrap on the table beneath her. Both moved their hands to the waistband of his denims. Anton was quicker. He unbuttoned, but she shoved them down his thighs, glad he’d removed his wet boots at the door so he had only to kick free of the restricting trousers.

  He guided himself to her, pausing not to consider but in consideration, and kissed her waiting mouth. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and he offered himself slowly. Maddeningly slow. So slow she wrapped her legs around his hips and drew him into her completely. Any discomfort was forgotten in a few wondrous and swift strokes.

  “Ah, Rain—Shadow....” Moisture glowed on his golden skin. She clung to him, riding the searing wave of mounting sensation.

  Unleashed senses came into acute focus. Anton was aware of her fingers gripping his shoulders, but so intense was the frenzied pleasure of burying himself deep within her that he ignored the pain. He was aware of his choppy breath, the heightened scent of her aroused body, the strength of her thighs and the captivating sight of her arched throat.

  Head thrown back in abandonment, her midnight-black hair caressed the backs of his fingers on her hips. Her tongue slid across her swollen lips in an unconscious gesture, and her closed eyelids trembled. Never had he experienced this unexplainable connection. Never had his wife taken him to these heights of arousal and pleasure.

  He pulled back to watch. Her body fascinated him. Astounded him. Aroused him more than he’d known was humanly possible. Her dark skin glowed with passion, a sight he gloried in. Emily had ashamedly tried to keep her pale, powdered body from him. Rain Shadow was physically strong, as he’d known, but sleek, lithe and feminine, passion endowing her limbs with an energy equal to his. Her heightened pulse beat visibly at the base of her throat, the gold locket skittering jerkily against her skin. Damp tendrils of hair spiraled at her neck and temples. Her expressions were glorious, unaffected, and her high, honeyed breasts tight and hard.

  Her honest reaction was amazing. Her resplendent answers to his kiss, his hands, the thrust of his unrelenting body were more than he’d ever hoped for.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, and watched her eyelids flicker open.

  She pulled him close and pressed her lips against his collarbone, darted her tongue along his throat, licked at the tangle of scars on his shoulder. Anton ground his teeth, praying for endurance. Something escaped her lips, not a gasp, not a hiccup, but a sound that enervated and excited at the same time. She bit his chin hard enough to hurt.

  He recognized the sudden added tension in her limbs, grasped her and caught the tiny gasps escaping her lips with his own. In startled wonderment, he felt her convulse around him.

  Her response was too precious. Too good to be happening to him. And totally unexpected.

  Rain Shadow was filled, body, soul and senses, and she returned the possessive embrace. He was splendid, golden and beautiful, his eyes darkened to a deep, sultry blue, the muscles of his arms and shoulders flexing in smooth rhythm. With a throaty, rasping cry, he shuddered against her.

  His hands slipped over her satin-slick skin, long fingers caressing her spine. Much too quickly, the waves subsided.

  Inevitable. From the first time their eyes met this had been inevitable. She couldn’t have stopped it any more than she could have stopped a hurricane. Wouldn’t have wanted to.

  “Rain Shadow.”

  She lifted her gaze from the jagged pulse at his throat, past the teeth marks on his chin to his heart-reaching eyes.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

  “So are you.”

  “Perfect.”

  She smiled.

  Concern flicked across his heat-flushed face. “Did it—did I—hurt you?”

  “Not so I noticed.”

  He pressed a kiss against her damp forehead.

  She flexed her fingers, suddenly realizing how hard she’d gripped his shoulders. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Yeah.”

  He laughed first, and she joined him.

  He dropped his gaze to the locket and wondered for the first time if the hard surface of the table was uncomfortable. “Sorry. The table wasn’t comfortable for you, was it?”

  “Just the...”

  “The what?”

  She squirmed ever so slightly.

  “The sugar.”

  Without surrendering their precious link, Anton raised her with one arm and brushed the other palm over the grains on her satin-smooth buttocks, his vow to resist her forgotten...forgetting who she was and wasn’t...who he was and the mistakes he’d made before. Still wrapped around him, her breath caught in her throat, she made a tiny sound he knew he’d remember forever, an intimate sound of surprise and pleasure that devastated his senses.

  With the slightest urge of his arms, she tightened her arms and legs around him, and he held her against him, her hair sliding cool and silken against his skin. Better than he’d imagined. How he wanted this woman.

  He crossed the room and carried her into the darkened bedroom, knelt on the bed and fell forward heavily, burying her beneath him.

  In the softness of the bed, Rain Shadow stretched out with a s
igh and gloried in his strength and weight, hoping he would take his time. She felt a sense of security and belonging in his arms that she’d never known. She wound her fingers through his golden hair, pressed her nose against his damp neck and inhaled as if to draw all of him inside her lungs. She tasted his skin, a salty, earthy taste, nourishment that could easily feed her hungry soul indefinitely. He moved, simmering with control, and her renewed enjoyment surprised her.

  Anton sought her mouth in the darkness, touched his warm, damp lips to hers gently this time, more gently than he’d ever kissed her before. She framed his face with her hands, impressing this moment, these exquisite feelings, scents and tastes into memories to carry with her for an eternity.

  Anton turned his head and nipped her thumb gently. Almost lazily, he drew one of her knees up his side and caressed the sole of her foot, her ankle, the back of her sensitive thigh, her hip and the base of her spine. Intuitively his fingers returned to her thigh and drew slow figure eights from behind her knee to her hip, matching her increased movement. “Does that feel good?”

  She groaned against his jaw, sought his mouth. “Yes,” she assured him. “Don’t stop.” Soon she would have to leave. Leave his arms, his home, leave the only small measure of security she’d ever known. But for now, for this minute, this hour, this night, he was hers. She ran her hands over his strong shoulders, his hard biceps, down the smooth plane of his back and dug her fingers into his hips, holding him as close as possible for two people to be.

  “Kiss me now,” he groaned.

  Gladly, she kissed him back, shaking with the passion he evoked. She’d never felt so cherished. It was probably just a foolish fantasy because of the way he made her feel and the way she felt about him. The emotion she experienced compared to no other. What was this all-consuming need she had for him, for his approval, his attention, his body? She loved her child. She loved Two Feathers. But this was different.

  He buried his face in her hair.

  She wanted him. She needed him. Tears clogged the back of her throat. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear.

  Anton felt her tremors, felt her breath against his bad ear. Needing to hear her pleasured sighs, he lent his other ear to her mouth and petted her, gentling her spirit at the same time he satiated her body. She writhed against him in a final, beautiful burst of pleasure, and he shuddered into her, his own pleasure abating in lethargic waves.

  He rolled beside her, tugged her alongside his length, and she cuddled him naturally, trustingly. Rational thought returned slowly. Reluctantly, Anton opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “Rain Shadow?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was a soft whisper against his chest.

  They had no future, had made no promises. She had plans that didn’t include him. Soon she’d be the reigning princess of the Wild West Show, international fame and glory a far cry from farm life in rural Pennsylvania. He’d forgotten to be careful, forgotten he was a man who had nothing to give—a man unworthy to accept what she gave. “I had no right to do that.”

  She was silent for a moment. “I am your wife.”

  “Yes.” Was that how a wife responded? Should a wife turn to surging heat and hot-burning responses in his arms? Emily never had. She’d run her hands across his body, heedless of his imperfections, and he’d soared to heights never before explored. Had she known how her touch inflamed him? Or had she cared?

  His wife.

  He closed his eyes...smelled her on his skin, felt her warm and alive along his side. Nothing that good could happen to him. He had no place getting his hopes raised. He had to remain realistic. She was grateful for his protection. He’d wanted her since he’d first seen her.

  Now he’d have her out of his system. Completely and totally, he assured himself, and fell asleep with her head tucked under his chin, her satin-soft leg entwined with his. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

  * * *

  The glowing barn undulated, one moment graphically clear, the next blurred by shimmering orange waves of heat and...tears. Anton watched keenly. Heat warmed his face while a cool breeze flirted with his back.

  The sound of a woman’s voice prickled his scalp, sent shudders along his spine and tore the breath from his lungs. The eerie singsong chant coaxed him toward the jagged opening in the side of the barn.

  His leaden feet moved awkwardly but steadily, carrying him closer to the shimmering heat. Every self-preserving instinct screamed to stay back, stay clear of the devouring flames. Still the lilting voice drew him ever forward. At the opening in the splintered wood, he stared into the barn, helpless to tear his eyes from the raven-haired woman silhouetted before the shimmering yellow and orange inferno.

  She called to him without saying a word.

  “It’s too hot,” he said. She ignored his protest and beckoned him forward. Amazingly, the opening widened to permit him passage. He stepped through the portal. He’d never been in the fire before. It wasn’t as painful as he thought it would be. Maybe he was dead.

  The woman’s bare golden body glowed with perspiration. Claws and shells hung from a thong at her neck, and she chanted, her graceful limbs swaying in a hypnotic rhythm. She smiled at him, the smile of one as wise and as old as the sun and the sky. Reaching out a long, slim arm, she touched his shoulder. Searing pain tore through his flesh.

  “Come,” she spoke at last. She stepped backward, scant inches from the crackling inferno.

  No. No. His mind raged in defense, but his tongue refused the words. His traitorous feet drew him forward. Heat blasted his skin. Racking pain pushed his mind toward the edge of sanity.

  “Don’t be afraid,” she crooned, taking his hand and drawing it to her glowing flesh.

  His hand shriveled. Blisters erupted on his face. His skin stretched and peeled. Still he followed her, drawn into the core of the fire. Destruction hissed blue jets of soul- scorching flame in every direction.

  “We’re together now,” she sang tonelessly. Smoke wreathed her head. Her skin turned deathly white, her hair as orange as the glowing embers. Glittering green eyes held him spellbound. Lying eyes. Eyes Anton recognized with horror.

  Emily!

  She’d dragged him into hell.

  Anton bolted upright. The coverlet lay twisted around one ankle, trailing onto the floor. On the night table his pocket watch ticked in the silence of the dark room.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  From beside him, small, strong hands rubbed his perspiring shoulder. “The dream again?”

  Rain Shadow.

  In the silent, dark room, the silken length of her thigh against his hip and her comforting hand assured him of reality. Night was dark. The bed was soft. Air felt good in his lungs. The earth still existed. Everything was as it should be. Slowly, his heart returned to a normal cadence, and he flopped back on the pillows.

  Rain Shadow gathered the fallen covers and pulled them over than both, tucking herself along his length. He angled his chin to fit her head in the hollow of his neck and stroked her hair.

  “You loved her very much, didn’t you?”

  The question caught him by surprise. His hand stilled. He stared into the darkness overhead. Had he called out Emily’s name while he dreamed? “I thought I did.”

  “She was beautiful.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve seen your wedding portrait.”

  His fingers moved over her hair again. “I keep it for Nikolaus.”

  The wind whistled at the shuttered windows. “Do you think they’re all right?”

  He took her hand from his chest and kissed her fingers. “The boys are just fine. Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “I wasn’t asleep.” Her breath tickled the hair on his chest. He sensed her slight smile. “I’ve never slept with a man before. I wanted to remember all of it. Make it last, sort of.”

  Anton couldn’t believe she felt that way about him, but everything about her smacked of honesty and naiveté. He swallowed a hot
-burning sadness and regretted with all his heart that she wouldn’t be the woman he made the rest of his life with. She had other plans.

  She’d wanted it all just as badly as he had—that had been half the thrill—but he couldn’t help believing she’d regret what they’d done after she had time to think. He couldn’t bear to see regret cloud her eyes when she came to her senses. He’d allowed a few of his fences to fall, but they could be mended again. And the safest way was to start building them before she had a chance to knock down any more.

  Anton closed his eyes and prayed for the strength.

  * * *

  Thin winter light cast a gray pall over the bed. Rain Shadow woke to the creak of the bed ropes. The bed dipped, and she rolled her head. Anton sat with his broad back to her, pulling on his denims. He stood and pulled them up his thighs, his firm buttocks a vivid reminder of the night before.

  “Good morning,” she said, sleepily.

  He faced her, reaching for his shirt. His expression was almost one of embarrassment.

  She frowned. “Anton, are you sorry?”

  The shirt dangled from his fingertips. He shrugged noncommittally, but his gaze traveled to her. “I thought I’d give you a chance to get up alone.”

  She rose on her elbows, and the sheet slipped lower. “Should I be—embarrassed?”

  His blue eyes widened at her frank question. “My wife—” he began.

  Something in her chest shifted and ached at the mention of the woman he’d loved, but shamelessly, Rain Shadow wanted to hear it. “What?”

  “She didn’t look at me without my shirt. And we always—” he ran a hand over the stubble on his cheek “—made love in the dark.”

  Silence stretched between them. Rain Shadow wondered at a relationship where lovers were inhibited about their bodies. She realized her upbringing had given her a different outlook, but was that the way a man expected a woman to behave? “I guess I’m not like her.”

  He perched on the bed’s edge. “Definitely not.”

  “The few times Miguel and I—” She broke off, searching for an appropriate word, but didn’t know one. “Well, it was in secret and over quickly. I don’t know how most men and women behave, but...”