Apache Summer sb-3

by Heather Graham

  was suddenly displeased with the night, and with himself. She had gone

  through a harrowing experience, and she had come through it with

  tremendous spirit.

  No more platitudes for this chit! he warned himself. But her eyes met

  his in the dim light spilling from the open doorway. So deep a blue they

  were mauve in the darkness, so wide and unwavering upon his. He wished

  suddenly that 65 she hadn't been young, that she hadn't been beautiful.

  That she hadn't been different from any other woman he'd ever met in his

  life.

  "Maybe you shouldn't have come tonight," he said sol fly She smiled.

  "I'm fine, Lieutenant, truly I am. Shall we go in?"

  He nodded and escorted her on into the room. Dancers filled the floor,

  soldiers in uniform, officers with epaulets and brightly colored sashes,

  women in their sparkling fin- cry. The floor seemed alive with the blue

  and gold of the uniforms, and with brilliant reds and greens and soft

  pastels, lovely silks and brocades, satins and velvets.

  But none compared with the blue gown that Tess Stuart was wearing. No

  other garment seemed to so fit a woman, to cling to her shape, to

  conceal and enhance, to so artfully combine both purity and sweetly

  simmering sensuality.

  Like the touch of her fingers upon his arm. Like the scent of roses that

  seemed to fill him and make him mindless of what else went on.

  Jamie saw Jon Red Feather coming toward them, and he swore softly

  beneath his breath. Normally the darned half breed was as silent as the

  night. Suddenly these days he was expounding away with his Oxford

  eloquence.

  "Miss. Stuart! Jamie. Ah, you've made it at last. Miss. Stuart, please

  don't think me too bold--Jamie! I dare demand the first dance!"

  "Jon" -- he began in protest.

  "Jon! Good evening!"

  The delight in Tess's voice was so obvious that Jamie wanted to spit.

  If the two of them were so damned all-fired eager to be together, Jon

  should have escorted her tonight. It wouldn't have made the least bit of

  difference to him.

  The hell it wouldn't. She was his.

  He'd found her, he'd touched her and he'd brought her back here. It

  might be a trap, but he was deep within it now, and there was no

  crawling out. Still, he had to he civil. Too bad they weren't out on the

  plain. He and Jon could go to it like savage kids. They'd done it

  before.

  He smiled and bowed with the best of the Southern chivalry he could

  remember from the days before the war.

  "Jori--Miss. Stuart, please. Just return her in one piece, Jon."

  "He's trying to pretend that I take scalps. I don't, you know," Jon

  informed her gravely.

  Tess smiled again--brilliantly. Everything about her lit up. Smiles for

  him, and taunts for me! And still, Miss. Stuart, we are irrevocably

  bound, aren't we? "Evenin', James," the colonel addressed him.

  "Evenin', sir."

  "I see that Miss. Stuart has been whisked away." He nodded toward the

  dancers.

  "Well, she's lovely. A very welcome addition to our little soiree, eh?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Ah! Well, you shall't be lonely long. There's Eliza coming to whisk you

  away, I dare say."

  Eliza was on her way over. She had stopped to chat at the punch table,

  but now, with her fan fluttering against the heat of the night, she was

  hurrying around the dancers to greet him.

  He hadn't seen her since he'd come back with Tess.

  But she knew. She knew that he'd come back with a woman, and she knew

  that he was with Tess tonight. He could see it in her velvet dark eyes.

  She was smiling, but it seemed that the curve of her lip hid a snarl.

  She was still something to behold. Her neck was long and swan like her

  hair as dark as ebony, and though she was slender and graceful, a man

  could g~t lost for hours in her voluptuous breasts. Her skin was ivory

  and flawless, her lips red, her face lovely. Jamie knew she'd had her

  mind set on tormenting him for some time. He usually enjoyed her company

  because she was such a brazen piece of baggage. He'd seen her break half

  a dozen hearts before she'd deter67 mined to stomp on his, but he'd

  always managed to hold his distance from her. To take care that he never

  spoke a word that sounded like commitment.

  He hadn't been able to refuse her constant seduction. He hadn't been her

  first lover, and he was sure that he wouldn't be her last.

  She was especially seductive this evening, her ink-dark hair caught to

  one side of her head and plunging in a black cascade over one shoulder,

  her bodice so low-cut as to reveal the endless depths of the valley

  between her breasts, her kelly-green gown contrasting beautifully with

  the darkness of her hair and the perfect ivory of her complexion.

  "Jamie, darling'! Well, you have saved the first dance for me. I've

  missed you so!"

  In full view of the company she slipped her arms around him, rose on

  tiptoe and kissed his lips.

  He waited for something to stir inside him. He swore inwardly. It was

  Tess.

  He was obsessed, and any other touch would leave him cold until he had

  quenched that newfound fire. "Eliza, nice to see you," he murmured,

  catching her arms and unwinding them from around him. She pouted

  prettily, but he barely noticed. He was looking past her, toward the

  dance floor where Tess smiled and laughed, swirled and dipped and

  whirled in his best friend's arms.

  They were striking together, the tall half-breed and the exquisite blond

  who looked so delicate but had a will of pure steel. "Dance, yes!" he

  muttered, and he swept Eliza into his arms and onto the floor.

  "I was afraid that you hadn't missed me!" she told him, her eyes growing

  dark.

  "What? Of course I missed you," he said.

  "You didn't come to see me last night."

  "No, I had reports to fill out."

  "I waited for you. Very late. Into the night."

  "I'm sorry."

  I'll wait again."

  It was promising. Maybe he could close his eyes and imagine that he held

  Tess's sun-honey blond hess

  No. It wouldn't be fair.

  He smiled.

  "Eliza, I brought Miss. Stuart to the dance."

  "Miss. Stuart?

  Oh, yes! I heard about her! The zany woman who thinks white men are

  Comanche." She shuddered.

  "Honestly, Jamie, I understand how you might feel responsible, but just

  walk her home and then come on over."

  "Can't, Eliza. Not tonight."

  She looked furious for a moment, as if she was about to argue. But she

  fell silent, pressing closer to him. The musky scent she was wearing

  rose around him. He felt the pressure of her breasts, the flash of a

  thigh. She wanted to excite him.

  "I'm glad to find you so understanding, Eliza," he said pleasantly.

  "Of course. I'm always understanding," she told him gravely, sweetly.

  Like hell, he thought. But he smiled. Jon was no longer dancing with

  Tess.

  She'd already danced with half the men in the regiment, Jamie thought

  irritably. She was in the arms of a young sergea
nt now, a handsome

  towhead stripling! A kid who probably hadn't even shaved yet. And he was

  gushing all over her.

  Just about to trip over his own darned tongue. Jon reclaimed her.

  Jamie gritted his teeth, determined to watch his date for the evening no

  more. He had no way of knowing that Tess Stuart was watching him every

  bit as covertly. Those strange stirrings rose inside her as she watched

  the ebony-haired enchantress laughing, pressing against him, heaving her

  bovine breasts beneath his nose. She was very anxious to be retrieved by

  Jon, and managed to dance her way over to the tall Sioux.

  He promptly cut in and swept her around, smiling like the devil's own

  disciple.

  "Mr. Red Feather?"

  "yes?"

  "Who is the massive mount of mammary glands?" He laughexl and bent low

  to whisper against her ear.

  "That, Miss. Stuart, is Eliza."

  He lifted his head again and smiled benignly toward Jamie.

  "Keep an eye on that one," he warned Tess.

  "I certainly intend to," she told him sweetly, then she tossed her hair

  and laughed, and the sound of her voice was like a melody on the air.

  And every man in the place seemed to turn to her. Including Jamie

  Slater.

  Chapter Four.

  Tess didn't see how or when Jamie extricated himself from Miss. Eliza,

  but within a few minutes, he was tapping on Jon's shoulder, claiming her

  for a dance. She smiled serenely as they moved to the music. Hemust have

  attended many of these little balls. He was as accomplished at dancing

  as he was with riding and shooting. She felt suddenly as if she walked

  on air herself, as if the room and the people all around them faded, as

  if they shared more than a simple touch. Maybe they did. His eyes were

  boring into hers.

  "Enjoying your conquests, Miss. Stuart?"

  She widened her eyes.

  "Whatever do you mean?"

  "I mean every snot-nosed young trooper here is ready to lie down and die

  for you." "Really?" she asked with a sweet note of astonishment. "Well,

  how very genteel of the lads, how kind! But tell me, Lieutenant, how am

  I doing with the others?" His jaw twisted slightly, but there was still

  amusement to his smile.

  "The graybeards, Miss. Stuart, are quite willing to dig their own

  graves, if need be, for your cause."

  "Oh, dear! Ah, well, let's hope that it need not be. But I'm curious,

  sir, how am I doing with the men between nineteen and ninety?"

  "Would it please you to know that a number of them were probably quite

  ready to slit one another's throats for the mere bounty of your smile?"

  She didn't know if he was teasing. Not anymore. The smoky quality was in

  his eyes again. She lowered her lashes, shivering slightly, wondering if

  he was really a man to play with so freely. Then she raised her eyes

  with a bold and sweeping challenge.

  "Thank goodness, sir, that you would not participate in such a skirmish!

  I mean, as one could see how heavily involved you are ..."

  "What?" he demanded, scowling.

  "The bountiful brunette, Lieutenant. Miss. Eliza."

  "Oh, Eliza." He said the name dism~ssively. Too dismissively. He knew

  Eliza well, maybe better than he wanted to at the moment.

  "Yes, Eliza," she said pleasantly.

  "Are you engaged, Lieutenant?"

  "Good heavens, no!"

  "Ah, was the horror of that statement over the possibility of

  engagement, or over Eliza?"

  "Miss. Stuart, you are very presumptuous."

  "Sir, no one is forcing you to dance with me."

  His arms tightened around her. He was smiling, but there was a sizzle to

  the smile, and it sent little shock waves rippling all along her system.

  Maybe she was playing dangerously. It was delightful. Maybe she risked

  igniting his temper to extremes she had yet to know. She realized that

  she was willing to do so, that the storm taking place within her own

  heart and body was demanding that she do so. "Miss. Stuart, I am your

  escort to this dance, remember?" he said bluntly.

  "Oh ... yes, well, I suppose that I had forgotten. When I saw the way

  your lips became pasted together with Eliza's ..."

  "Jealous, Miss. Stuart?"

  "Well, how could I be? I have just entered into your life. I couldn't

  possibly mean to dissuade you from, er, liaisons you have been

  nurturing."

  She heard the clenching of his teeth. The scowl that tightened his

  handsome features seemed to reach inside her and take her breath away.

  She felt his hand upon her waist, warm and powerful, and the fingers of

  his other hand so tightly entwined with hers that the pressure nearly

  caused pain. She inhaled a clean scent from him that also seemed to

  speak of the plain, of the rugged vistas, of the horseman, the marksman.

  Everything rugged, and everything striking.

  He was a real son of a bitch, a small voice warned her. It didn't

  matter.

  "Do you always hop so recklessly into the fray, Miss. Stuart?"

  "Whatever do you mean? What fray, Lieutenant?"

  "You've barbs on your tongue, ma'am."

  "Why, Lieutenant! I'm only speaking frankly."

  "Um. I still say there are barbs there. Perhaps I should discover if I

  am right ..."

  He was swift on his feet, agile and sure. In a moment he had danced her

  out the door and into the shadows on the porch. He swept her against a

  supporting pillar, then his mouth descended upon her, lips parted,

  parting hers. She had wanted this. this very thing. She had teased and

  goaded him, and now she had him. But the kiss was no casual dance-floor

  brush. It was a thing so searingly intimate that she lost all hope of

  breathing, all hope of standing upon her own two feet. His mouth

  encompassed hers, drawing from her all strength and will. The heat of

  his mouth filled and infused her, and his tongue swept by all barriers

  to ravage and invade.

  And she did nothing to stop him, nothing to fight back, nothing to

  protest even the shocking intimacy of the invasion.

  He kissed her mouth as if he kissed all of her. His 73 tongue touched

  every little crevice and nuance of her mouth and thrust with a rhythm

  that entered into her pulse, into her bloodstream. It was far different

  from anything she had ever experienced before. Anything. It brought

  tremors to her limbs and a swirling tempest within her belly; it singed

  her breasts and weakened her knees.

  And worst of all, perhaps, she felt no remorse, no shame. She allowed

  herself to fall into his arms, to feel his strength support her, the

  rippling muscles of his chest and thighs. Then his mouth pulled away

  from hers. She inhaled raggedly and lifted her eyes to meet his. It had

  been a game; she hadn't been expecting this, and she was suddenly very

  afraid that her eyes betrayed the depths of her innocence, of her shock,

  of the staggering sensations that had taken place within her. His eyes

  were heavily shadowed, and he didn't look at all like a man about to

  laugh with the pleasure of an easy conquest, but rather like one

  consumed with some blinding fury or emotion. But he didn't
speak. She

  wanted to reach up and touch the sandy tendrils of his hair, fallen

  rakishly over his forehead, but she didn't dare move, she didn't dare

  touch him again, for there seemed to be something explosive about him.

  "There she is!"

  The accusing cry seemed to awaken them both. Jamie stepped back,

  surprised, frowning, looking around.

  A plump woman was coming out on the porch. She was small and seemed

  exceedingly broad. Her hair was snow white and swept up beneath a little

  cap, and her dress was old-fashioned, her petticoats as wide as they

  might have been during the war, her dark fringed stole from an earlier

  period.

  She wasn't alone. People were spilling out behind her. "Clara," Jamie

  said softly, still frowning.

  "Clara, what on earth is wrong?"

  Clara seemed not to hear him. She pointed a finger at Tess.

  "You!

  You--you harlot! You hussy! You whore!

  Attacked by Indians, and crying out that white men fell upon you! How

  dare you! You should have been killed! God will smite you down with an

  arrow for lying! You trash, you white trash!"

  "Clara!" Jamie shouted.

  Tess, stunned by the violence of the attack, stared in silence.

  "Clara, you're overwrought, but you owe this lady an apology, you can't

  know"

  "No!" Clara shrieked.

  "She's the devil's spawn!" Tess realized then that the porch was full of

  people.

  The young soldiers who had been ready to die for her looked as if they'd

  gladly nail her to the wall.

  "How many of us have lost our dear loved ones to the bloody savages?

  You, Lydia, the Pawnee took your only daughter! Charlie, the Comanche

  cost you your arm, and Jimmie, your boy Jim went down in that fight with

  the Apache. Heathens, bloody heathens, all of them! And now she's lying

  about what happened to her little wagon train.

  She won't let the men go after the real culprits, she wants a war with

  the white men! She wants us all at one another's throats so the bloody

  savages can move right in. She"--" No!" Tess shouted furiously.

  "You don't understand, you weren't there, and don't you dare" -- "She

  ought to be tarred and leathered and thrown right out of here naked as a

  jay. Then she can run to her Indian buddies."

  There was a startled moment of silence. Tess felt certain they were all

  about to step forward and tear her into little shreds.