Iris

by Greenwood, Leigh

  The man she loved was about to make love to her.

  She ignored the fact Monty might not love her. She had spent years unaware she loved him. Maybe the same thing had happened to him. Everybody said Monty was too taken up with his cows to have any time left over for a woman. He spent his life in the saddle. In fact, she was the only female he'd been interested in for more than a night or two. He was her first and only love. Maybe she was his as well.

  But she had no time to wonder whether she might be right, not when a very real Monty sat next to her, his hand on her throat, his lips brushing her lips. His touch, his presence must mean more than a moment of physical need. Otherwise why would he have struggled so hard to resist. If she waited a little while, maybe she would know.

  She could almost see Monty holding himself back. She could sense the tension in the air as if it were a tangible force, feel it as his control wore thin. There had to be a release. Iris waited for it. She could feel it coming even before she heard the sharp intake of breath as he grabbed her and swept her into a fierce embrace.

  Something inside Iris escaped its bonds. She felt free, untrammeled. There were no questions, no doubts, no feeling she ought to do something else. Everything felt right. Completely so. Fragments of her mother's advice floated unbidden thought her mind only to be discarded. She wanted no mentor hovering in the background telling her how to reduce a man to helplessness.

  She was the one who had been rendered powerless, and she gloried in the freedom to kiss Monty back without attempting to calculate the effect of her seductiveness on him, to return his embrace without worrying about whether she was giving up too much or too little. She rejoiced in being able to think only of how happy it made her to know Monty wanted her.

  "I shouldn't have let you leave camp," Monty whispered against the side of her neck.

  "You couldn't stop me."

  "I can't stop myself either," Monty replied. His lips forced her mouth open, and Iris shivered with shock and delight when she felt his warm tongue dart into her mouth with the hunger of a bee plundering a flower for nectar. No man had ever dared such a thing with her.

  Monty wasn't like other men. For no other man in the world would she have forsaken the safety of the drive to follow him into a Comanche village, to eat their food, to spend the night in their midst. Only Monty could instill such a feeling of safety within her. Only with Monty did she want to make love. She had never wanted a man to touch her until now. She had always set definite limits. She would let Monty to do anything he wanted.

  Only for Monty would she take such a risk.

  She was taking a risk now. She knew it. She understood the consequences.

  "You're so very beautiful." Monty murmured.

  "You can't see me. I could be as pitiful as one of those women outside and you wouldn't know."

  "I would know," Monty assured her. "A man always knows."

  But did he know a woman could be beautiful on the inside as well? Did he see what she was like? Did he know anything of her dreams?

  No, but she knew very little of them herself. Until the boat accident, she had accepted her mother's counsel without question. After that her decisions had been determined by the need to survive. Only gradually had she come to realize she wanted things which had nothing to do with either of those paths.

  Monty had taught her how to be herself, had helped her uncover something new each day. Right now he was teaching her that her body was subject to much more powerful urges than she had ever imagined possible. She wouldn't have broken away from Monty and crawled out of the tent if someone had offered her all the money her father lost. She wouldn't have gotten on her horse and ridden back to camp if they had promised her the largest ranch in Wyoming.

  Her place was here, in Monty's arms. If she didn't know it, her body did.

  Monty's hand moved from her shoulder to cup her breast. Even through her shirt and chemise, the impact nearly lifted Iris off the ground. Her body went rigid; her breath stilled in her throat.

  No one had ever touched her body. No one had dared. She had no way of anticipating the excitement that coursed through her with the speed of lightning. Neither was she prepared for the nearly irresistible urge to explore every part of Monty's body.

  Nice women didn't do that, did they?

  The question was destined to be forgotten before it was answered. Monty's impatient hand delved into the front of her blouse. The feel of his cold, rough hand on her hot, sensitive breast drove everything else from her mind.

  Gentlemen didn't do this, did they?

  Obviously Monty did. He also unbuttoned her blouse, slipped her chemise from her shoulders, and covered her feverish skin with kisses. Iris felt she ought to do something, say something, make some response, but his onslaught so surprised and overwhelmed her she was unable to do more than moan with happiness. The waves of pleasure teased her senses like ripples in a pool threatening to drown her in their blissful depths.

  Dazed, numb, and yet more alive then ever before, Iris found nothing prepared her for the feeling of Monty's lips on her breasts. She was certain her body did leave the ground. Monty took unfair advantage of her momentary helplessness to remove the remainder of her garments.

  Iris lay naked in the arms of a man.

  But not even the shock of that realization had the power to penetrate the veil of sensual delight that wrapped Iris in its cocoon. As Monty continued to tease and tantalize her body, the feelings that had seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once started to coalesce. First they seemed to flame in her nipples as Monty teased and tasted her with his rough tongue.

  But even before her breasts became so sensitive she could hardly lie still under his assault without crying out, the center of heat had begun to move lower in her body. The slow-moving vortex of warmth centered itself in her belly and started to grow in strength and intensity. Iris could hardly think of anyone or anything else, only the burning, tingling, yearning that would not be satisfied.

  Until Monty's hand moved between her thighs.

  Iris gasped in surprise when his fingers entered her body. She flinched in defense, closing, withdrawing. But the need now spreading to every part of her slowly relaxed her muscles allowing her to open herself to him.

  It was almost like an unwinding. She could feel the muscles release their grip, feel the tension flow from her limbs. She could feel herself relax, sinking into the buffalo skin, loosening until she offered no resistance to his assault.

  But at the very moment she felt as though she might dissolve completely, Monty touched the very nub of her existence sending shock waves throughout her entire body. Monty pressed his advantage until Iris's whole body felt like a coiling spring.

  "This may hurt a little at first," Monty warned as he moved over her.

  But Iris was beyond worrying about a small discomfort. Her whole body was undergoing an experience at once so overpowering and so profoundly different. Her body tensed slightly as Monty entered her, but she offered no resistance. Monty hovered at her threshold, teasing, tantalizing until Iris was frantic for release.

  "Please," she groaned, then wrapped herself around him.

  Almost at once he filled her. Immediately Iris felt a sharp pain, and she tensed again. She was too full. It would hurt. She didn't like it.

  "It won't hurt anymore," Monty whispered. "It won't ever hurt again."

  Monty moved inside her, slowly, rhythmically. There was a rapidly diminishing pain, a feeling of fullness. In its place Iris felt a new sensation, one that invited her to move with Monty, that drove her to meet him and then fall away before rushing forward again. Their movement gradually quickened, and Iris felt as though her entire body ached for release, her arms, her legs, everything twitched and tingled and moved in a frantic effort to relieve this absolutely marvelous ache which flowed into every part of her body and kept her suspended somewhere between slight discomfort and the most marvelous feeling she'd ever experienced.

  Iris pulled Monty close
r, kissed him with a fervor fired and stoked to great heat by his attentions to her fevered body. Her tongue plunged into his mouth seeking the answer as to why he plunged into her body.

  The answer wasn't long in coming.

  Iris felt Monty's body grow taut, heard his breath become short and harsh. Before she could wonder at its cause, a circular band of aching, pulsating need exploded from deep inside her body and rolled from one end to the other. Gasping from its intensity, Iris felt it begin again, and again. She felt exhausted. She felt powerful. She clung to Monty as though he were life itself.

  Monty began to buck uncontrollably in her arms and Iris felt the heat of his release flow inside her. It only made her need grow even more urgent. She strained against Monty, but he seemed incapable of movement. Iris felt the moment slipping away from her. So close, yet it was slipping away. "No." It was a harsh, guttural sound. "Don't stop."

  He started moving again.

  Almost immediately the feeling flooded Iris's body once more. Gasping, straining, and fighting, it pulled Iris into its core and flung her beyond the realm of ordinary feeling. Her own body became as rigid as Monty's had been. Muscles tensed until she was sure she would break into tiny pieces.

  Then everything shattered and she felt the sweet ache of release streaming through her body, flooding her with a delicious sense of fulfillment, washing away the tension until she felt unable to so much as lift her arm.

  She felt exhausted, drained, replete. And yet so aware of the wonderful, strong arms that held her close against his warm, damp chest.

  * * * * *

  Iris couldn't sleep. Monty's soft breathing made her feel warm and safe, but it didn't make her sleepy. If fact, his presence kept her so keyed up she wondered if she would ever sleep again.

  She wondered if he felt as changed as she did. No, it wasn't his first time. He hadn't experienced the double shock of making love for the very first time with the one person he loved above all others. There couldn't be anything else like it.

  She hoped Monty felt at least a little bit like that.

  She smiled to herself. She had always taken it for granted that making love to her would have a profound effect on the man she gave herself to for the first time. It had never occurred to her that the event would change her even more completely. She felt transformed, reborn, recreated. Nothing of the old Iris Richmond remained. She wondered if Monty had felt anything like she did. She hoped so, but she couldn't sleep. Why could he?

  She told herself she couldn't sleep because she was so deeply in love she might never feel sleepy again as along as she was next to Monty. She told herself she couldn't sleep because the impact of making love to Monty was much greater than anything she'd ever anticipated. She told herself she couldn't sleep because she was too happy to waste these precious hours unconscious.

  Why could Monty sleep?

  She refused to believe it was because the last hour meant so little to him. She'd know tomorrow. He would tell her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Monty had dressed and gone by the time Iris woke. Her initial feeling of well-being changed to panic. She dressed quickly. She had to find Monty. She didn't feel safe without him.

  She experienced a fleeting regret the magic of their first night together hadn't lasted any longer. It should have had its conclusion in a completely different set of emotions. They should have waked to the new day in each other's arms, new souls changed forever. But she couldn't worry about that when she was alone in a Comanche village. Right now nothing mattered except finding Monty.

  She found him barely a dozen feet from the tepee entrance talking to the Apache interpreters. The feeling of relief was so profound it made it difficult for her to stand without leaning on something. She should have known he wouldn't leave her. If he didn't trust her with Frank, he certainly wouldn't trust her with Indians.

  Iris liked knowing that. She had never felt uncared for when her parents were alive, but somehow their attention didn't have the same impact as Monty's. With them she had always felt safe, provided for. Now she felt guarded, valued. She couldn't state the difference any better than that, but she could feel it. And she liked the feeling.

  Monty came toward her as soon as he spotted her.

  "Get ready. We're going back to camp. They've agreed to let us pass for two beeves now and three later."

  "Do we have to eat with the chief again?"

  "No," Monty said, his broad smile assuring her everything was going to work out just fine. "You can wait until we get back. I'm sure Tyler will be happy to whip up something unrecognizable."

  Iris felt inordinately relieved to know they were going back to camp without further delay. "You shouldn't complain about Tyler. He's a very fine cook."

  "Then let him open a restaurant. I just want some decent fried bacon."

  Iris decided Monty would be very much at home in Wyoming. At least until civilization arrived. She also decided she wished the half dozen young braves who seemed to have materialized from nowhere to followed at their heels would find something else to do. Surely there was at least one buffalo that hadn't been killed. If nothing else, they could clean up the campsite. If they didn't, they'd have to move in a matter of days.

  Iris endured one more visit with the chief, one more long exchange in Spanish. She made a silent vow to learn the language if she ever went back to live in south Texas. She hated the feeling of being left out.

  Iris's uneasiness increased when eight Indians mounted their ponies and prepared to leave with them. "Why do they need so many people to bring back two cows?" Iris asked, glancing back at the line of braves following them out of the village.

  "Only two are coming to take back the cows," Monty said. "I hired the other six to help us until we reach Dodge."

  Iris could hardly believe her ears. "You hired Indians? Comanches?"

  Monty laughed. She didn't know what the man found so funny about salting his camp with Comanches, but she was coming to realize Monty laughed at all kinds of unsuitable times.

  "I need the hands. I can't replace Frank and the others until we reach Dodge. Besides, as long as we've got Comanches with us, I don't think other Indians will be too anxious to attack us or demand cows. I think Frank is still around somewhere. I'm hoping the sight of six Comanches prowling around the camp will make him think twice before trying to run off any of our cows."

  Iris was sure Monty was right, but she doubted the crew would be very enthusiastic about working with Comanches. However, she intended to leave that to Monty. He was always asking her to let him take care of things. Well, this was one problem she had no intention of trying to take off his hands.

  "There's something else."

  Monty was acting strange, like he didn't want to say whatever it was. Iris was surprised. His most devastating observations hadn't caused him a moment's hesitation. She wondered if he was going to say something nice, and the novelty of it had thrown him off stride.

  "I'm going to have to keep away from you for a bit. This may seem a little unusual . . . after last night . . . but I don't want to do anything that might start the men talking."

  He wouldn't look at her. She couldn't remember having seen his so uncomfortable.

  "I wasn't expecting you to do anything different."

  That was a lie. She expected everything to be different, the sun, the moon, the entire universe. She felt recreated, as though nothing of the old Iris remained. She didn't see things the same way and she didn't feel the same way. It was as though she'd been living in a dream all her life and had just now waked up to reality. For her, the whole world had been transformed. It obviously hadn't been for Monty.

  "I know, it's just this is rather awkward on a cattle drive." He looked at her. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt your reputation."

  Iris didn't think she had much reputation left. She would have cast the rest of it aside for Monty. But he wasn't ready to do that for her. Maybe he never would be.

  * * * * *

 
"What did you bring back all these Indians for?" Zac asked the minute they rode into camp.

  "To help out until we get to Dodge," Monty said. "Salty, help these men cut out that lame steer. That sore-footed cow, too. I doubt she'd make it to Wyoming anyway."

  All Tyler said was, "They'll have to do their own cooking."

  And that was the end of it. Some of the men looked a little put out, but nobody protested.

  Iris decided she didn't understand cowboys.

  * * * * *

  There was no one in the noon camp when Hen rode in. "Where's Monty?" he asked as he dismounted and turned his mount over to Zac.

  "Checking the crossing," Zac said, pointing to where a short distance away Monty's horse splashed through the swift water of a shallow stream.

  Hen walked toward his brother. They met at the far end of the remuda. "How much did it cost you?" Hen asked as Monty jumped from the saddle.

  "Two cows and the wages of six braves until we're well out of Indian territory," Monty replied.

  Hen's gaze narrowed as he took a hard look at his twin's broad grin. "You damned, fool!" he cursed, furiously, "Why did you have to sleep with her?"

  Hen's unexpected and explosive outburst wiped the smile from Monty's face. "What makes you think I--"

  "Don't waste your time lying to me," Hen hissed. "Save that for the men. You let one of them guess what you've done, and there'll be hell to pay."

  Monty felt his temper fire like a Chinese rocket. "Just because we stayed overnight--"

  "You'd think after all your carping about showing George you'd stopped acting like an idiot every chance you got, you could have managed to last one night without climbing into bed with the one female in all the world capable of wreaking enough havoc to ruin this drive. Why didn't you grab yourself a squaw? It couldn't have caused more trouble."

  Monty knew Hen didn't like Iris -- Hen didn't like any woman except Rose -- but he had never expected this kind of outburst. It shocked him, but it also infuriated him Hen would be so unfair. Maybe Iris wasn't perfect, but she was pretty damned good, especially considering she had Helena for a mother.