Catch a Dream

by Cynthia Breeding

  He nibbled at her ear and licked his way to the nape of her neck, sending quivers of sensation down her back. His hand leisurely stroked her breast through the thin fabric of the gown and she shuddered. Elizabeth felt a sudden swish of cool air and was only dimly aware that, somehow, he had managed to undo the back of her gown with his other hand. She felt him give a little tug and the top of the dress fell away, leaving her breasts exposed to him. She giggled. Wasn’t this supposed to feel indecent? What it felt was very, very good.

  “My God, but you’re beautiful,” Miguel said as he flicked a thumb over a pink, hard bud. He lowered his head, his tongue warm and velvet smooth as he circled the nipple, his teeth just grazing the tip. Elizabeth arched toward him, wanting him to suckle, to fill her aching need for him. If only she didn’t feel so woozy.

  Agonizingly, he bedeviled her breasts, cupping them together with his hands, his mouth moving from one to the other, teasing, lightly tasting, making her groan at the torturous slowness that he was feeding her arousal. Elizabeth was ready to scream; she ran her fingers through his hair and tried to press his head to her breast, but he resisted.

  “Ah, no,” he said. “I’m not satisfying you that easily. I want you panting, Red.”

  Like she wasn’t already? And what was he doing— Miguel dropped to his knees, taking the dress along with him, crumbling it in a heap around her feet. Holding her hips in place, he kissed her stomach with long, slow, wet kisses and Elizabeth felt her insides contract and turn to mush; her knees would barely support her.

  He took the corner of the thong strap in his teeth and pulled it down, uncovering her mound of bright, coppery curls, sliding the thong lower on her thighs. His hands slowly stroked their way downward and Elizabeth gasped when he slipped a finger between her legs, fondling a spot that sent tantalizing pinpricks of pure pleasure ricocheting throughout her body.

  Elizabeth didn’t know such feelings were possible. Just when the throbbing was subsiding, he pressed his face into the vee of her thighs and his tongue lapped at the engorged folds of her womanhood, sending her once more to unknown heights of sheer exquisite delight.

  Miguel tugged again at the thong, bringing it to her ankles. He lifted one foot to remove it as Elizabeth tried to balance. Maybe she shouldn’t have had so much to drink. She shook her head to clear it.

  Miguel looked up at her. “If you liked that, you’ll enjoy this more.” He lifted one of her legs to place over his shoulder, opening her completely to him. It was then that she lost the battle and toppled over.

  He caught her before she hit the floor. “Are you all right?”

  She peered at him. Suddenly there were two of him where a minute ago there had been one. Which was real?

  He watched her eyes shift back and forth and realization struck him. “I think you’re drunk, Red.”

  “So whath if I amm?” She blinked, trying to focus and giggled again. “I like whath you…you’re doing.”

  With a sigh, he lifted her and stood up, bringing the gown along with him. He slipped the straps back over her shoulders. “Turn around. I’ll fasten it for you.”

  Elizabeth swayed slightly and blinked somewhat owlishly. “Why? I want you…”

  Gently, he turned her. “I don’t take advantage of drunken women, Red. And I won’t have you accuse me tomorrow morning of forcing you.”

  “But I won’t…I prommisse…”

  Miguel shook his head and helped her up the stairs, opening the door to her room. “Sleep it off, Red. One day—and it will be soon—I’ll show you that tonight was only a beginning. I want you to remember each and every thing I plan to do.”

  • ♥ •

  Elizabeth awoke with a colossal hangover the next morning. She groaned as the beams of sunlight streamed across her bed and struck her face. Sitting up, she held her head, hoping the pounding would stop. Painfully, she made her way to the window and drew the curtain. Blessed darkness fell, curbing the pulsations in her brain. Ah, just to stay in bed all day—or at least for a little bit longer. She crawled back into bed and pulled the covers up. No use trying to get breakfast; her stomach was too queasy to hold down food.

  She awakened again several hours later to a light rapping on her door. She pushed herself up in bed, aware now she was not wearing any clothes. She pulled the sheet to her chin. “Who is it?”

  Miguel opened the door, holding a tray with a bowl on it. “I brought you some menudo,” he said as he started toward her.

  “Stop! I’m not wearing…”

  He came to sit on the edge of the bed and placed the tray with the steaming soup on her lap. “I saw you naked last night, but you may not recall.”

  Elizabeth blushed. Had he really done all of that to her with his tongue? Vaguely, she could remember urging him on and she felt her face flush even more.

  “Here,” Miguel said and spooned some of the broth to her lips. “Don’t look so stricken. I took no advantage.”

  She swallowed the spicy broth and then accepted another spoonful of the hominy and tripe mix. Menudo was invigorating; she actually felt like she might live. She couldn’t tell Miguel she wished he had taken advantage of her. This hang-up with her virginity had gone on long enough and if what he had done with his tongue was any indication of what he would do with his other member— She knew her face was probably the shade of sunset—it was the bane of having fair skin—and couldn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she grabbed the spoon and began eating hungrily.

  “Did you enjoy it? Miguel asked when she finished.

  “Yes, it was very tasty. Thank you,” she said and handed the bowl back to him.

  He placed it on the table beside the bed. “I meant last night. What do you remember?”

  She cast her eyes down. “Dinner. We danced. I think we kissed.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted, and he tilted her chin up. “We did. What else?”

  “Not much,” she said feebly and hoped he would believe her.

  “Liar.”

  So much for embarrassing herself. “Ummm. Maybe you touched my breasts? I think I let you do that. I’m not sure.”

  He laughed and stood up. “You’re hurting my male pride. I can see I’m going to have to repeat the whole thing so your memory will be refreshed.” He picked up the bowl and moved to the door. “But next time, Red, you’ll be sober. And I can assure you, you’ll remember.”

  She burrowed down under the quilt after he left, her body reliving every shudder of delight he had given her. How much better could he make her feel?

  • ♥ •

  Elizabeth felt like her normal self the following morning. She rose early and slipped out to Plata’s stall. Her jeans had been returned just as Miguel had promised and she wasn’t going to miss out on an early morning ride on a sunny day that was already warm for February. And then, maybe tonight—

  She was in the stall, combing the mare when she heard the men walk in.

  “If that don’t beat all, Miguel,” Olaf said, “I believed she’d pitch a conniption fit about you’re takin’ them pants away. But no, thar she was, just as pleasin’ and lady-like as could be.”

  Elizabeth heard Miguel’s easy laugh and her hand stilled on Plata’s coat. She stood motionless as a statue.

  “Did you really doubt me, Olaf?”

  She could hear the awe in the foreman’s voice. “Dang, if you didn’t have her eatin’ out of your hand, just like Diablo does. Getting’ that filly to obey you—“

  Swift Hawk interrupted them and for once, Elizabeth was grateful for his presence, even though she was hidden. What did Olaf mean—getting her to obey Miguel? Obey? That was an obsolete word in her vocabulary. She leaned against the horse as her knees buckled. Had everything Miguel done to her—even arousing her like he did down there—had it been nothing but a ploy?

  The men changed the subject and were talking now about the big Valentine get-together. Miguel was urging Swift Hawk to attend, telling him he had to be more sociable. Swift Hawk’s reply sta
rtled her.

  “I will attend only if I am allowed to dance with Fire Woman.”

  “I won’t let you do that. She doesn’t want you anywhere near her, Hawk.” That was Miguel, his voice not condemning, just stating the fact. “I think she’s made it clear; she’s afraid of you.”

  “She has nothing to fear from me.” For once, there was no arrogance or defiance in the Indian’s tone. He actually sounded almost hurt.

  Elizabeth frowned. Was she really afraid of Swift Hawk? He made her uneasy with his near-worship of her red hair. He was young enough to be one of her high school students. If she did allow him to dance with her, she could control the situation. Maybe even get him to see she was human, after all, and not sent by the Great Spirits. Maybe she had been approaching this situation all wrong.

  As for Miguel saying he had her eating out of his hand... Well. Not only would she dance with Swift Hawk, she’d encourage Beauregard, too, and whoever else caught her fancy. And since Miguel wanted to see her in those satin dresses he’d bought, she’d oblige him. She’d wear one to the dance. The black one would set off her copper hair nicely. And, while she was at it, she might just refuse Miguel a dance at all.

  He wanted her to obey him? Not hardly.

  CHAPTER TWELVE—DISASTER ON THE CHISHOLM TRAIL

  Elizabeth was still irked at the idea of obeying any man when Valentine’s and the big day of the taffy pull and dance arrived. For two weeks, she had managed to avoid being alone with Miguel—not that it had been difficult since he wasn’t exactly pounding on her door. Still, he flashed her his lopsided smile of his that was so enticing—and the box of chocolates that arrived by stagecoach yesterday had mellowed her a little. Maybe more than a little, if she wanted to be honest. Still, she was going to wear the black dress.

  She lifted it from its hanger in her wardrobe and called for Cactus Flower to come help her. Another drawback to not wearing jeans and shirts was all those tiny buttons up the back she couldn’t reach, although Miguel had unfastened them with one hand. She blushed, remembering. Such strong, adept hands, yet, so gentle a touch.

  Cactus Flower’s eyes went wide when she saw what Elizabeth intended to wear.

  “Don Miguel will never let you out of the house!”

  Elizabeth sniffed. “He can’t tell me what to wear.”

  “No?” She looked doubtful. “He’ll take your denims away again.”

  “I’ve hidden one pair. He’ll never find them. Now, help me.”

  Eventually, they had fussed with each other’s dresses and hair and were ready. Elizabeth took a deep breath before she descended the stairs.

  Miguel looked up from where he was waiting with Olaf, Olga, and Swift Hawk at the door. Raw desire flashed across his face and was replaced quickly with a grim look.

  “That dress is for my eyes only. Go back and change.”

  Elizabeth stepped down and walked toward him. “No.” There. Obey him, indeed. She had defied him. Only did he have to look so good? Tonight, he was wearing a supple, soft black leather jacket that contrasted with the snowiness of his shirt and the golden tan of his skin and set off his dark hair and eyes.

  He folded his arms across his chest. “That wasn’t a request.”

  She looked archly at him, although it didn’t help that she had to tilt her head up to look at him. “The answer is still the same. No.”

  “Then you’ll be staying home.”

  For a moment, she faltered. He could do that. But Johnson Station wasn’t that far. She could ride Plata sidesaddle if necessary. She opened her mouth to retort when Swift Hawk stepped forward.

  “I will gladly stay home with her.”

  Dear God. That’s the last thing she wanted. To be alone with Swift Hawk. She shot Miguel a troubled look. He sighed and looked at the young Indian.

  “I’ve told you. You need to become more socialized. You will go.”

  Swift Hawk expanded his chest and lifted his head, his black eyes locking with Miguel’s. For a moment, Elizabeth had a vision of Swift Hawk in full native regalia, including a feathered warbonnet and paint on his face. It was a fearsome vision. She blinked rapidly to remove the illusion.

  His voice was low, but hard. “I go only if Fire Woman attends also.”

  A muscle twitched in Miguel’s jaw. Elizabeth knew he was aware of how Swift Hawk frightened her. Surely, he wouldn’t leave her alone. For a moment, she almost gave in to his order for her to change her clothes. That would eliminate this standoff. Yet, if she were to acquiesce, she’d be doing exactly what Olaf and Miguel had laughed about. She would be obeying him. And Irish Celts “obeyed” no one. She lifted her chin.

  “If I had time, Red, I’d carry you up those stairs and change your dress myself,” Miguel said, “but Raul’s waiting in the buckboard and I don’t want him to miss the children’s events.” He made an elaborate bow. “After you,” he said sarcastically, lifting his arm toward the door.

  As she swept past him, she heard Olaf chuckle. “Who’s winning, did you say?”

  • ♥ •

  The first person she saw was Abigail Parsons. Actually, Elizabeth was all but brushed aside as the schoolmarm rushed over to them in the pretense of being worried that Raul would be late. Like the woman cared. Raul struggled out of her hands and ran off to find Gus, but the Predator only smiled and linked arms with Miguel.

  “You’re just in time,” she said with a purr. “The taffy’s been pulled until it’s…hard.” Her feline gaze moved slowly across Miguel’s chest and then toward his belt before she looked back up at him. “We’re about to start the competition. I could use a strong man to help me.”

  “I’ll be glad to,” Miguel said with a smile and turned to the group. “You’ll excuse us?”

  Elizabeth snapped her mouth closed. Ouch. He really was angry with her. And now she’d have to be treated to watching that woman clawing her way all over Miguel tonight. She sighed.

  “I’d be honored to have you be my partner.” Beauregard joined her and held out his arm. “The pair that can make the longest pull wins.”

  Elizabeth put on her best Scarlett O’Hara smile. Or at least she hoped it was coquettish. She really wasn’t practiced at this. “The pleasure would be mine,” she said.

  Miguel won, of course. Elizabeth barely endured the sight of Abigail throwing her arms around his neck and she didn’t dare let her gaze linger on his hands on the teacher’s slim waist. Hands that were so capable of arousing her with a soft touch or a long, smooth stroke—

  The evening got worse. The schoolmarm hellcat decided to join the children in bobbing for apples, insisting that Miguel hold her hair back for her and then handing him the towel to dry her face.

  Elizabeth dreaded the dancing when it began, knowing Abigail would press her body against Miguel’s every chance she got, enjoying the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her. Elizabeth shut her eyes, remembering their own private dance in the study. How it had almost ended.

  But she smiled brightly and chattered away at her ever-changing partners. The dress worked on that account. The men nearly stood in line for a chance to dance with her. All except for Miguel. In fact, he seemed quite taken with Miss Parsons. Elizabeth was beginning to doubt it was an act any longer. When Swift Hawk finally cut in, Miguel glanced over to her, but made no move to disengage from the vixen.

  Well, at least she could use this opportunity to put an end to Swift Hawk’s obsession, once and for all.

  He twined a curl of her hair around his finger. “The lantern light makes your hair pure flame. The Great Spirit has blessed me.”

  She jerked his hand away. “Stop this nonsense, Swift Hawk. No ‘spirit’ sent me. Lots of Irish women have red hair.”

  “You are from Ireland? Miguel said you didn’t remember—“

  “No,” she interrupted. “My ancestors were Celtic. A very ancient tribe, much like your people. But we’re human just as you are. I am no goddess.”

  Swift Hawk looked thoughtful. “You l
ook like one called Dream Catcher.”

  In spite of her misgivings, Elizabeth was intrigued. “Dream Catcher? You mean like the totems you hang over a child’s bed to keep bad dreams away?” Elizabeth remembered the one her students had given her; that life seemed so far away.

  He smiled, and the lines of his hard face softened momentarily. “Dream Catcher is a powerful spirit. The shaman is the only one in our tribe who speaks directly to her. Sometimes, though, others can see her in the haze of the sacred pipe. She dresses always in white leather.”

  Hallucinations? Elizabeth tried to remember: Peyote, Jimsonweed—no, that was done most often in California—Mescal. Did Swift Hawk take these drugs? Was that why he was so obsessed with her hair?

  Did Miguel know? She glanced across the dance floor, but the Predator had him firmly engaged in conversation, tilting her head to expose her bare neck to him. Even from here, Elizabeth could see her body language just begging for a kiss.

  “She has fire hair, too,” Swift Hawk said.

  “Who?” Elizabeth reluctantly brought her attention back to Swift Hawk.

  “Dream Catcher. I often dreamt of her when I first came here. Always, she told me I had her protection. And then you came.”

  Elizabeth stared at him. “You can’t think I’m Dream Catcher!”

  He shrugged, about to make a reply when Beauregard tapped his shoulder.

  “This waltz was promised to me, I believe,” he said and swung Elizabeth away.

  As glad as she was to no longer be dancing with Swift Hawk, Elizabeth had a strange feeling that she was still trapped in his embrace.

  • ♥ •

  “Damn!” Elizabeth swore the next morning as she pulled her empty hand back from beneath the bed. The jeans and shirt she’d hidden between the leather webbing and the mattress were not there. How could Miguel have known? Another thought came to her. When had he taken them? She’d put them there just before Cactus Flower helped her dress and they’d gone directly downstairs from here. He wouldn’t have had a chance to come to her room.