White Dawn

by Susan Edwards

  Mary sent a dark look over Emily’s shoulder. “I’ll speak to Ben—have him talk to John or Gascon. That boy is obsessed.”

  “No. That’ll just make things worse. I don’t want to cause trouble. I’ll deal with him.” Emily bit her lower lip. His daily gifts, the way Willy managed to corner her, and his attempts to get her to go off with him alone were putting her on edge. There was no place where she could go to get away from him—even just out of eyesight. Even when she tried to sleep at night, she felt him watching her. It had forced her to sleep with the blanket covering her face.

  She chewed her lower lip as she stirred the frying meat. She hated strife and confrontation, but she knew she was going to have to lay it all on the line with Willy—though she’d have thought he’d have gotten the message long before now. Obviously not. At least she’d have a couple of days without having to deal with him while he went with his grandpa.

  When he returned, she was going to have to be brutally honest with him. No more gifts and no more letting him try to court her. His staring at her she would probably have to live with. She sighed. It was going to be a long six months.

  Using more force than necessary, Emily scraped the meat from the pan to keep it from burning. A chunk flew into the dirt. She picked it up and, when it cooled, tossed it to Fang.

  She considered why she was so repulsed by John’s cousin. Sharing himself was not Willy’s problem. All he did was talk of himself. No one mattered to Willy except Willy. How strange life was, flip-flopping as it had. Living with her Apollo, she’d often felt as though she’d shared all of herself while the man inside him remained an enigma to her. She’d relied on him. He’d taken care of her, and it had seemed natural to fall into his arms and share what he wanted without realizing how much more there was to be had.

  She recognized now that her own sense of loneliness and gratitude had made her heart vulnerable to him. He’d been the first to care for her—it had been natural for her to fall in love and not question the wisdom of her actions. Hadn’t it?

  Then she’d met John, who’d shown her what true friendship was: two people getting to know each other, sharing with one another and listening and learning about the other. It was something Willy didn’t understand. Not once had he asked about Emily’s parents, or what had brought them out here. Not once had he considered how his attentions were affecting her. From watching him, Emily had learned enough of him to know he just hoped to wear her down enough to get what he wanted.

  She sat back and stared out through the dense ring of trees that hid the path to the glade where she’d been found. She hadn’t gone back since that last time with John…when she’d offered herself to him. Heat, but not from the fire, made her scoot away from the flames. The thought of acting so wanton still embarrassed her. But John had given her a gift: friendship. He’d accepted Emily for the person she was and hadn’t judged her. He’d even refused to let her give up when all she’d wanted was to throw away her life.

  Just as you gave him back the gift of his life, she thought, recalling the terror of his accident and the harrowing days when she’d feared John would die. It all came down to that: life. Both men had in some way shown her the value of that. Both men loved her. And she loved them. One past. One present. But was John her future, too? How would she know?

  Her gaze sought and found John talking to his grandfather. As always, his sheer size awed her, as did the easy way he moved. She watched him lift his head to the wind and sniff. The aroma of frying pork filled the air. John turned toward her and gave her a wide smile, then followed his grandfather into the shack.

  Mary returned wearing a satisfied grin. “Ben just told me that Gascon and Willy are leaving for a couple of days. I am glad of that,” she said. Leaning forward, she whispered, “I’ll take Ben off, too. We have some things to do as well. You and John will have time to be alone.”

  Startled out of her thoughts, Emily glanced behind her to see John and his grandfather talking and using sticks to draw in the dirt. Ben walked over and joined them. Willy hung back, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. It was his sulking pose, and one she knew well. “Mary, how do you know the difference between love and lust?”

  Mary’s brows lifted. She took the pan off the fire and set the coffeepot over the flames. Adding beans she’d roasted and ground earlier, she said, “When you love someone, you can’t live without them. You can’t bear to be apart. You need to touch them, or at least know they are close enough to touch.” She winked. “And you can’t keep your eyes off them, either.”

  “That sounds like lust to me.” Emily sighed. “All I feel is confused.” She frowned, troubled by her thoughts. She didn’t want to hurt John or lead him on, yet there was something between them. Something definitely other than lust. Of that she was sure. But what was it? How did one define the spark of true love?

  “It’s that too, Emily.” Her friend paused. “It’s the falling in love part of love that’s so hard. But when you know you’re in love, and you know the man loves you in return, nothing seems impossible.” Mary slid a loving look toward her husband. “Even living out in the wilds of nowhere.”

  “It seems so easy watching you and Ben.”

  “But it wasn’t.” The woman chuckled. “Damn near killed the man the first time I met him. Good thing he convinced me he hadn’t been responsible for Robert’s death.”

  How Mary had thought Ben responsible for her brother’s death, Emily didn’t know. Or how she had set out to kill him in revenge. But it was a good thing it all had been straightened out. Emily sighed. It was such a sweet, romantic story. “But you didn’t.”

  “Nope,” Mary agreed, her voice softening.

  “Do you miss your family?” Emily knew from her conversations with Mary that the woman had six brothers and three sisters, and that they were close.

  “Yes, but my life is with Ben now.”

  Emily wondered if she would ever feel that way, completed by someone else, made whole by him. It came to her that she felt safe with John. Safe to spread her wings without fear that he’d take advantage of her or pressure her before she was ready. He’d taken the time to listen to her, and he respected her—even when she’d have given in to the desires clouding her mind. But safety wasn’t love. Or, at least, she didn’t think it was.

  The men came and got the food they were cooking. When Willy sat beside her, Emily got up and moved next to John. She didn’t want to deal with his cousin. All she knew was that the thought of being alone with John, without fear of interruption, made her smile. And the anticipation of his kisses made her heart thump a whole lot harder.

  Lying on his side on a blanket spread beneath the shade of a tree, John glanced over at Emily. She was putting away the leftover food they’d brought along for their picnic. “Do you still miss him? Your Indian?” The minute the words spilled from his mouth he mentally kicked himself for bringing up her past. Ben and Mary had left shortly after Gascon and Willy, and he and Emily were at last alone. The last thing he wanted was another man—the Indian, especially—to intrude. He watched her closely, gauging her reaction.

  She surprised him by smiling as if she understood, then moved to sit beside him. “I’m glad you don’t try to pretend that it never happened, John. Sometimes I want to talk about it.” She fiddled with a long blade of dried grass.

  He waited, but she didn’t say anything else. He glanced at her. “Well? Do you?”

  “Do I miss him, or do I want to talk about him?” For long moments, they stared at one another.

  “Both.” His voice came out gruff.

  Sliding down onto her side, she faced him. “Yes and no.”

  “Well, that answers that.” He tried to instill humor into his voice.

  Emily reached out and touched his arm with her fingers. “I don’t really miss him anymore, John. But sometimes I miss the freedom I felt when I was with him.”

  John’s pulse raced beneath the touch of her fingertips. His gaze traveled over her featu
res, noting the sparkle of life in her eyes, and the sweet curve of happiness to her lips. This was a far cry from the melancholy woman who’d wanted to die just over a month ago.

  “Freedom to do what?” Intrigued, he watched the color creep up her neck and settle in her cheeks.

  She cleared her throat and stared down at her hand on his arm. “You’ll think me shameful, but I loved not having to wear clothes. I never knew how wonderful it felt to run around in just my shift or—” She broke off.

  “Or nothing at all?” John grinned widely. “Don’t let me stop you, Sunshine. Hell, I might even join you,” he teased.

  She giggled and lay back to stare up at the cloudy sky. His body reacted to the thought of Emily dancing around with nothing but sunshine warming her body. He grew aroused just thinking of it. Clearing his throat, he asked, “What else?”

  She turned her head to look at him. “I loved just wandering. Seeing something new every day. Or spending a few days so high above the land that I could see beyond forever. I felt like I owned the world.”

  John reached out and slid his finger down her nose. “You know I’d take you anywhere. I’ll buy you a mountain and build you a grand house if you want.” All trace of humor fled, replaced by a raging need to touch and hold her. Her eyes darkened to a midnight blue. Rosy color crept back into her cheeks.

  John lifted the backs of his fingers to her face. “What are you thinking about, Emily?” he prompted.

  “N-nothing.” She turned her eyes back to the sky.

  John moved next to her and gripped her silky-smooth chin gently between his fingers. He forced her to look at him. “Liar. You’re remembering our last kiss.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Know how I know?”

  “How?” she asked, licking her lips.

  In her gaze, he felt like a man drowning in three feet of water helpless to save himself because he’d lost his wits. He ran the pad of his thumb across her cheek, over the bridge of her nose to sweep the curve of her face to the corner of her mouth. Then he traced the line of her lips, feeling them part beneath his touch. “Because you look like you want me to kiss you again.”

  “Do you want to?” The question came in a breathy whisper.

  John groaned, his hand sliding into her hair above her ear. “Look at me, Emily. Tell me what I want. What am I thinking?”

  Emily stared deep into his gaze. She reached out to rest her palm against the side of his face. Then, as if coming to a decision, she said, “I think you want what I want.”

  Groaning, John moved over her, his lips inches from hers. “You’ll never know how 0much.” And yet he was hesitant. “I don’t want to rush you, Emily.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. “You’re talking too much,” she teased.

  John didn’t need a second invitation. Using all of his strength, he meant to be gentle, to go slow and stop before things exploded. But the minute his mouth touched hers, his control snapped. His mouth claimed hers with an intensity that left him aching. He demanded and he needed. His tongue plunged inside and took. Passion clouded his mind and urged him on.

  He had to stop, but she tasted so sweet, felt so good. So right. His mouth merged with hers. Where he ended and she started he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he had to have her and wouldn’t survive without her. A sharp nip to his tongue broke his daze. Fearing he’d been too rough, he tried to pull away and apologize. It took him a moment to realize she’d captured his tongue between her teeth. She sucked and caressed it with the tip of her own. Flames of desire shot from his mouth to his groin.

  Emily became the aggressor then, kissing him in a way that left him breathless. She forced her way into his mouth with her tongue. Plunging and withdrawing, she drove him wild with the rhythm his body yearned to imitate. They pulled apart reluctantly, breathlessly, each gulping with lungs starved for air. The sound of their harsh breathing drowned out all else. Her breasts rose and fell, grinding against his chest.

  Keeping his weight from crushing her by resting on his forearms, John dropped his head to the softness of her breasts and heard the frantic beating of her heart. Her fingers slid over his shoulders, curved around his arms and down to his hips. He had to move off her, put distance between them. Yet the words died in his throat.

  Nothing short of an act of God could have stopped him from lowering his mouth to hers. This time he went slowly, his tongue stroking gently over her swollen lips before trailing the line of her jaw. He nipped her earlobe. His hand slid between them and cupped her breast, his fingers feathering lightly over its taut peak through the fabric of her dress.

  “You’re teasing me.” Emily moaned, trying to bring his mouth back to hers. She needed his kiss, had to have his mouth on hers, wanted to feel his hand cupping her breasts, skin to skin.

  Instead of answering her plea, John continued to tease her with his tongue. From her ear, he blazed a heated path down her neck, back along her collarbone, and up to the hollow of her throat, where his hot breath sent shivers dancing down her spine. The ache lodged between her legs. She arched her back, forcing her breast harder against his palm.

  She felt on fire. She ached. She needed this man—now. Throwing caution to the wind, Emily rolled him over, slipped out of her skirt and straddled him. Without thought, she pulled off her blouse and tossed it aside.

  She watched John’s eyes widen. She stared down at herself, seeing the bold jutting of her heavy breasts, their pink nipples tight, their tips large peaks. She felt self-conscious sitting there with him staring at her. She’d hated her size, hated having men stare at her, until her Indian Apollo had made her feel beautiful. And now, again, watching John’s eyes widen with first appreciation, then desire, she no longer hated the shape of her body.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said in a croak, taking a breast in each hand. “Perfect,” he said under his breath, squeezing gently.

  Seeing his hands cupping her, Emily thought so too. It was as though she had been made for him. Another claim of her father’s fell by the wayside. He’d told her that her size was a sign of the devil, and only a man with evil in his heart would want her. With married men so often bold in their advances, she’d believed him.

  John raised up, his lips closing tenderly around one breast’s proud tip. As he suckled first one, then the other, Emily threw her head back and moaned. With each sharp tug, blood throbbed in her groin. She shifted, finding the bulge of his arousal beneath her. She rocked upon it, slid over him. His hands moved around her buttocks and pulled her tight against him. His fingers followed the curve of her spine, then returned to her buttocks. He held her poised over him. Her wet heat locked against his swollen length. She moaned and he groaned as they kissed.

  He rolled her over, settling his hips into the cradle of hers. “I want you, Emily.”

  She sobbed his name then, for he had slid the length of his covered erection ever so slowly over the damp mound of her sex. Her legs parted farther. She wanted to feel him against her. In her. She tore at his shirt. “Yes,” she cried, jerking her hips upward.

  Another slow slide of his buckskin-covered shaft over her sensitive flesh brought a sheen of sweat to John’s brow. It sent waves of need coursing through her. “Don’t make me wait, John,” she begged. “I need you. Now.”

  John yanked off his shirt and unbuttoned his breeches, rising up onto his knees. “Be sure, Sunshine. Be sure. I couldn’t live with your unhappiness.”

  “I’m sure, John. Please!” And she was. She needed him. She wasn’t sure this was love, but she needed him in a way that left her scared and vulnerable as she’d never felt before. She could no longer control herself.

  Standing, John kicked off his buckskins. Emily drew in a breath at the sight of him. When he knelt over her, his manhood large and erect, her mouth fell open. His hands weren’t the only part of John that was huge. Awed, she reached out and took him in her hand, her fingers barely able to close around him. He shuddered.

  H
er heart pounded when he moved over her, but her legs parted and her knees lifted and fell to the side.

  “I love you, Emily.” He stroked the moist folds of flesh of her sex with the tip of his.

  “I—”

  John’s lips silenced her. “Don’t. Don’t say it just because I did. When you’re ready, the words will come. And if they don’t, then give me—us—this. Just tell me that you want this as much as I do and that you won’t regret it.”

  Emily’s breath hitched, waiting desperately as she was for him to enter her. She felt him throbbing at her entrance, pulsing lightly against her flesh like the beat of a butterfly’s wings. “I want you, John. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. I don’t know if that’s love. All I know is that if you left me today, I’d turn to dust and blow away.”

  With a cry of some tightly held emotion, John gathered her close and kissed her. Emily wrapped her legs around his waist and cried out when he pressed into her, slowly merging them into one. For a long moment, it was enough. The feel of him stretching her, filling her. Her hands stroked his back, his sides, then tangled in his hair.

  His head lifted, then ducked down to find her breasts. His tongue lapped and laved and circled her aching nipples. One of his hands traveled down her belly to the place where they were joined. He touched her, igniting a new fire as he stroked the most sensitive spot on her body. The pleasure, pure and explosive, burst from her. Her hips rose, her cries turning to whimpers of need as she tried to force him to move inside her.

  John whispered words of love while teasing and taunting her breasts. His tongue flicked their hard peaks while his fingers stroked the swollen bud between her legs. Her hips fought against the heavy weight of him pinning her to the ground. She wanted him. Needed to feel harder strokes. But she couldn’t move. She squeezed her buttocks, feeling him throbbing inside her.

  The tension built. She arched her back, thrusting her breast into his mouth. He suckled at it, the tip of his tongue stroking across its peak in time to the pulsing deep within her. “Please, John. Now.” The world spun.