“Rode my bike until the trail gave out, then I hiked the rest of the way.” His dark gold eyebrows lifted innocently. “Did I come at a bad time? Woman trouble?”
“You could say that.” Johnny’s cold laughter was meant to be anything but humorous. “Go back down and wait for me at the tribal headquarters in Whiteriver. I’ll be back tonight or tomorrow at the latest. We’ll talk then.”
“No problem,” Geoff said, more than happy to end the hostilities. He pushed to his feet and brushed the dust from his jeans. Geoff Dias liked a good fight as well as the next guy. He was at least an inch taller than Johnny and probably outweighed him by fifteen pounds. But he’d known Johnny for a dozen years, ever since their days in the marines, and he knew what the half-breed Apache was capable of. Whatever had ticked his friend off this time, Johnny wasn’t just angry—he was in a murderous rage.
Honor knew something was terribly wrong the moment she got a glimpse of the campsite. The roof of the lean-to had been demolished, and the coals from the fire were strewn everywhere. She called out Johnny’s name, half-afraid that the stranger who’d been watching her at the river would appear. Or that he’d already been there. Was he the one who’d destroyed their camp?
“How was your swim?”
The harsh question seemed to come from out of nowhere. Honor turned to see Johnny walking toward her from the gloom of the pine forest. She was instantly aware of the smoldering anger he carried with him like a shroud. “How did you know I was swimming?” she asked.
“Your friend told me.”
His voice was low, dangerously controlled. Honor wet her lips, sensing the kind of latent violence that would force such control. “He wasn’t my friend,” she said quickly. “I never saw him before. Do you know him?”
“That doesn’t matter now. I want to know why you did it.”
“Did what?”
“Performed for him.”
“I didn’t perform for him! How could you think that?”
Hellfire leaped in Johnny’s dark eyes. “You knew he was there. You looked right at him.”
“I couldn’t see him in the light. I knew someone was there, that’s all. I didn’t know who he was. He had long hair. I thought—” She broke off, realizing what she was about to say.
“You thought what?” Johnny went still, as taut and alert as a big cat who’d caught the scent of his prey. “You thought what? That it was me?”
She flushed hotly and looked away.
Johnny’s heart was pounding thunderously. All he could see was the disarray of her still-wet hair, and the way her damp dress clung to her body. He couldn’t bear the thought of another man seeing her naked, lusting after her. But that didn’t drive him as wild as the possibility that she might have liked having another man’s eyes on her.
“Honor . . . did you think it was me watching you?”
With a sharp cry of defiance she met his eyes. “Do you wish it had been you watching me? Instead of him?”
Jealousy ignited Johnny’s rage. Insanity reigned. He’d never wanted to manhandle a woman before, but that impulse was exploding through him now. He reached out, his hand shaking, and clenched his fist in the air. Yes, he wished it had been him, God, how he wished it had been him!
“Get your clothes off,” he said, barely able to get the words out.
“What?”
“You heard me. Strip down—the way you were at the river when you thought someone was watching.”
She stepped back, fear rising in her eyes.
But Johnny didn’t give a damn about her fear. He didn’t give a damn about anything but making her pay for the agony she was putting him through. The only thing that mattered to him now was personal pain, and personal justice. She could rip him apart with a word, a look. Now it was his turn to do some ripping, even if it was just her clothes.
She turned as if to bolt, and he stopped her escape with one lunging step. “Show me what you showed him,” he said, burying his hand in her damp hair and pulling her to him. She went rigid in his arms, but her breasts were soft against his rib cage. Her heart was pounding like that of a wild animal.
“Do it,” he said. “You performed for him. Now perform for me!”
Honor choked back a cry of outrage. “No, I won’t!” She knew he was furious enough to hurt her, but she’d taken all the abuse she could tolerate. She couldn’t do what he asked. “Let go of me!”
“Not until you’re naked.”
He reached for the neckline of her blouse, and Honor twisted away, thrashing at him, screaming as his hand closed on the loose material. She reared back, and the placket of her blouse ripped out, buttons flying.
“Let me go!” she cried, her fingernails raking down his arm. A soft gasp filled her throat when she saw what she’d done.
Johnny grimaced in pain as he stared at the nasty crimson slash on his forearm. “You’ve drawn blood,” he said. “Again.”
She tried to wrench away from him, a sob in her throat as he caught her by the wrist, locking her still.
“Bastard!” She whirled on him, glaring at him furiously.
Their eyes clashed and held, full of heat and fight and fury. The air came alive with their hot, panting breaths. Honor moaned, blinking away tears, refusing to expose any more of the hurt and anger she felt to his eyes. She would not cry. She would strangle on her own tears before she let that happen!
Johnny tightened his grip, exerting a pressure that forced her closer. He loathed his own lack of control, but emotion was battering him like a hailstorm. He wanted her with a passion that was blinding. And he resented her with that same staggering passion. That was what he couldn’t forgive, he realized. She had made him feel again. He hated her because he did feel something for her—something beautiful and terrible—even though he was desperate not to feel anything!
He caught her by the arms, fury locked in his rigid muscles. The sight of her flying hair and flashing eyes aroused him to a fever pitch of pain and desire. “Bitch,” he whispered, the word shaking on his breath, as he lifted her to his mouth and kissed her.
Honor stiffened against him for an instant, and then her body went limp. The touch of his lips sapped her of all strength. It dragged her under like the river. She couldn’t fight him any longer. If he was so determined to punish her for the past, then let him do it. She just wanted it over with. The panther had caught his prey. Now let him tear it apart, limb from limb, devour it.
“I hate you,” Johnny breathed against her mouth. The emotion was raw, true. It came straight from his clenched gut. But his tone was hushed and reverent, and another word was locked in his heart, a word that was threatening to claw through his rib cage from the inside, to split open his chest.
Love. He still loved her.
The realization confounded him. It rocked him with wonder and despair. He didn’t want to let himself believe it, but the force of it overwhelmed him, pounding at him until he had no choice. He held her back, staring at her tear-streaked face and wild hair. “Honor?” he groaned, dragging her into his arms. “Honor, what is this? What are we doing to each other?”
“Johnny,” she sobbed out, “I’m sorry.”
Her broken cries came at him like physical blows. They knocked the sense out of him. He held her tightly, crushing her to him, his defenses destroyed. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He didn’t know how to stop the chaos. He had to be with her. He had to make love to her. There was no longer a choice. It had all caught up with him, all the wild longing, the desire to connect, the brutal need to love her, to hurt her.
He swung an arm under her legs and picked her up, carrying her over to the remains of the lean-to. But as he knelt to settle her on the leafy bed, she clung to him tightly, forcing him to reach behind his neck in order to disengage her hands. “Honor?”
Her hands clenched into fists, and he was struck by the torment in her beautiful gray eyes. “You want this, don’t you?” he asked.
“Y-yes,” she said, “it’
s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Johnny’s gut twisted with understanding. There was anguish in getting what you’ve always dreamed of yet never thought you’d have. He felt it too. He was so hard for her now, so urgently in need of her soft depths, it was dangerous even to touch her. He looked down at her, taking in her pale beauty, hardly able to believe what he was about to do to her, the woman he couldn’t even touch all those years ago.
Honor tried to unclench her hands and couldn’t. Her stomach muscles went rigid with anticipation as he began to undress her, gently peeling away the damp clothing. His hands were shaking against her flesh, and he dragged in a hard, shuddering breath when she was finally naked.
His gaze prowled her exposed body so intimately, it made her ache and swell with desire. Deep inside she felt as though she were being crowded and squeezed, like a ruffle of heavy satin being drawn unbearably tight. She could almost feel him touching her as he ran his hungry gaze over her breasts, caressing her nipples and bringing them to tingling points of pleasure.
She arched uncontrollably, waiting for his hands, but he seemed determined to hold himself back. Even his breathing slowed, becoming heated and sensual as he visually stroked her belly and feathered her inner thighs. The sensations he elicited were unbearable. They demanded release, relief! But all she could do was lie there, letting him ravish her with his eyes.
Johnny was aroused by every facet of her nakedness, the swollen softness of her breasts, the quiver of her taut stomach muscles. It still enraged him to think that Geoff Dias had seen her this way, that any man ever had or ever might see her this way. A terrible need to possess her burned through his muscles, but he fought it into submission, forcing himself to be gentle as he flattened his hand on her naked belly.
“Johnny?” she asked thickly. “What is it?” Her gray eyes were smoky with desire, misted with concern.
He captured her gaze and held it, willing her not to look away from him. “The thought of another man seeing you like this drives me wild,” he said, splaying his fingers wide as though to lay claim to her being. Gentle, he told himself. Don’t hurt her, you bastard.
“Johnny, please,” she said. “I thought he was you. I wanted him to be you, only you!”
“I can’t help it.” He slid his hand up to her breast and cupped her possessively. “I can’t stand the thought of any other man doing this to you, touching you this way.”
A whimper caught in her throat, and the sweet sound of it drove him crazy with desire. His fingers contracted on her breast, and all the gentleness went out of him. “This is mine,” he said, his voice breaking. “This part of you, every part of you, inside and out, mine.”
Honor lost control under the rough beauty of his hands. Tears broke, scalding tears. Her response to his passion was utter, shuddering helplessness. A cry of need flared from somewhere inside her.
He bent to kiss her, and she arched against his hand, astonished by the sexual longing that shot through her. His mouth was hot and urgent. His touch was possessive, yet incredibly tender. Every slow flex of his fingers seemed to feed into the nerves that ran straight to the core of her.
He slid an arm beneath her shoulder and lifted her, nuzzling her hair, murmuring his need for her and all the things he wanted to do to her. He melted her with his husky, sensual whispered secrets in her ear. He promised the forbidden. And then his long fingers began to stroke those places where his gaze had been, her belly, her thighs, and she dissolved into a hot jet stream of wanting him.
She gasped softly, bewildered as he released her and rolled to a sitting position, stripping off his breechcloth and moccasins. But a moment later he was looming over her again, and the power of his body was enthralling. His shoulders rippled with muscle as he braced himself above her. His eyes flashed with a pantherlike gleam.
“I want what’s mine,” he said, stroking her lips with his fingers. “I belong inside your golden body, deep inside.”
“Yes . . . ” The sweet and urgent lassitude that had overtaken Honor was now flowing through her limbs, draining her of strength and will and reason. She clutched at his arms, startled when he caught hold of her hand and brought it to his mouth.
He kissed her fingertips, one by one, and then he breathed warm air into the hollow of her palm. “Touch me,” he said, drawing her hand down his body to the heat of his loins. “Take me in your hand.”
She did as he asked, caressing the hardness that sprang from his thighs. A sound of disbelief welled inside her. He was virile, quivering with life. Gingerly she stroked him, curling the tips of her fingers around the core of his male power, knowing that power would soon be entering her body.
“Honor,” Johnny breathed huskily, “what are you doing to me?” He recoiled from her siren’s touch. It was either that or lose control of himself in her hand.
“Why can’t I touch you?” she asked, stroking his thigh.
Her fingers sent a shock wave of desire through him. He caught hold of her wrists and locked her hands above her head, forcing her flat to the ground. Stretched out beneath him like a captive maiden, she was irresistibly seductive. He lowered himself onto her gradually, loving the feel of his naked skin on hers, reveling in it. Her breasts spilled softly against his rib cage. Her loins melted under the heat of his weight. He could feel every wild beat of her pulse, every painful quiver of excitement.
“Because it’s my turn,” he said.
“Your turn for what?”
“To make you throb.”
Holding her startled gaze, he ground his hips gently into hers and pressed the heat of his hardened shaft into her belly. She moaned at the pressure and tried to draw up her legs, but he kept her locked to the ground, pinned beneath him.
Merciless, he caught a tiny creamy piece of her throat between his teeth and nipped hard enough to make her shiver. A moment later he was biting her chin and watching her head arch back and her mouth come open. He’d never thought of himself as a voyeur, but he loved watching her respond when he did sensual things to her. He loved the helpless quiver of desire in her breathing.
“More,” she whispered, shuddering.
“More what, Honor?”
She shook her head, refusing to say it.
“We’ve got a bargain, remember?” He held her wrists and slowly rotated against her, watching her gray eyes ignite with desire. He’d never felt anything more agonizingly sweet than the way her belly cradled his hardness. “Say it if you want it.”
Her answer was lost in a throaty groan. She spread her legs beneath him, opening herself. Her hips lifted, wanton with the rhythms of love as she rubbed herself against him. He’d been wrong about it being his turn to make her throb. She had him coming out of his skin!
He moved alongside her and opened her thighs, caressing her with long, deep strokes. He wanted to arouse her in more intimate ways, to slide his fingers inside her, to taste her with his mouth. He wanted to be tender with her, slow and tender. More than anything he wanted that, but he was too hot, too hard. And she was too desirable.
He came up against her moist, tight opening. Pressing into her, he felt the velvet muscles begin to give way, yielding to him a little at a time. I’m home, he thought, his groin tightening.
“Yes, that,” she moaned. “I want that.”
He went still inside her, refusing to go any deeper. Searching her eyes, he saw how urgently she wanted him, but it wasn’t enough. “No, you don’t need that, Honor. You need me, inside you. Say it.”
She dragged in a breath, struggling with the words. “I need you . . . inside me.”
“No, say my name.”
“Johnny!” she sobbed. “I need you, Johnny.”
Her nails cut into his arm, and the pain enraged him, but it was more than a physical sensation. It was the tender rage of a man in need, in love. He could hardly bring himself to believe that she was lying beneath him, crying out his name as he entered her. He jerked with power of it, driving deeper inside her. The involuntary movem
ent took control of his will, and he let go of all restraint, thrusting deeply, uncontrollably, with no thought but to take possession of every inch of her.
He breathed out her name as he came up against a fragile barrier and swept through it. His hardened shaft pressed into her with a will of its own, delving so deeply he could imagine coming up against her womb. The tight velvet resistance of her feminine walls seemed to stroke him, driving him on. It was the most wildly satisfying feeling he could ever remember having.
“Take what’s yours,” she whispered, the words torn from her throat.
He began to rock into her, pounding out a rhythm that was as ancient as it was beautiful. She drew her legs up, absorbing him, whimpering with every new and deeper penetration. She clutched at his flanks when he slowed, as though she didn’t want him to stop, but he had to. He needed to look at the woman in his arms, the golden girl he’d never stopped loving or hating.
Her eyes were bright with desire, dizzy with helpless pleasure. Her lips were swollen and languidly parted, crying out to be penetrated. He wanted her mouth, wanted it badly, but he didn’t take it. There was something deep in her eyes that mesmerized him, something that made his heart contract. Did she feel the same way he did? Had she ever loved him the way he had her?
“Say my name,” he rasped. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Johnny.”
“Again! Never stop saying it.”
But Honor couldn’t. She couldn’t say anything more. He had begun to move deeply inside her again, and all she could do was moan tightly and clamp her thighs to his powerful hips as he brought her more pleasure than she’d ever known in her life. She murmured his name, and he swept her into his arms, shaking her body with near-violent thrusts. This was why she was alive, she realized, to be with Johnny, to make love with him and be loved by him, no matter how savagely.
“No!” she cried as he slowed once more.
He buried his hands in her hair, gentling her with his kisses. “I have to see this,” he said. “I have to see us.” When she’d quieted enough, he pushed up, supporting his weight with his arms. As he glanced down at the place where their bodies were joined, Honor realized what he was going to do, and it sent a forbidden thrill spiraling through her. He wanted to see himself making love to her.
The Stealth Commandos Trilogy Page 31