Circle Star

by Tatiana March

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Silence lay heavy between Claire and Rafael while they cooked a simple meal of beans and edible plants they had gathered from the desert. By the time they had eaten and cleared up, the sun had dipped below the horizon and the air was turning cool.

  “I’ll light the lamps,” Rafael said.

  Claire was still getting used to how quickly the darkness fell in the desert, with hardly any twilight between the blinding sunshine and the inky black night. She sat down and removed her boots. Rafael busied himself filling the oil containers on the lamps and adjusting the wicks.

  When the flames in both lamps were aglow, flickering with their yellow tongues, Claire walked up to Rafael, her bare feet soundless on the plank floor. “I’m going to marry Hartman,” she told him, her eyes searching his.

  “I know,” he replied. “You have found your destiny.”

  She reached up one hand and traced his lips with her fingertips. “Before I go to him, I want to belong to you.”

  Rafael kissed her fingers, drawing one of the tips into his mouth and raking his teeth over it. “You already belong to me,” he said after he released her.

  “I want you to brand me with your touch. Make me your own.”

  “I already have.”

  “I want more.” Her voice was low. “I want everything.”

  “Then I’ll give you everything.”

  Claire raised her hands and unbuttoned the worn cotton shirt Rafael wore. When she pulled the collar open, she found a leather thong decorated with a few colored beads hanging around his neck.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “Apache. From my great-grandfather. It protects against evil spirits.”

  “Does it work?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes not.”

  She pushed the shirt down his shoulders, then rose on tiptoe to kiss the exposed skin. Dragging her lips along the muscled ridges of his chest, she breathed in his masculine scent—sunshine and soap and leather and dust.

  Her pulse quickened, and her hands grew impatient. She wanted to see more, touch more. She wanted all of him. Tugging hard, she rolled the shirt down to his waist. When she felt Rafael’s body trembling under her hands, she glanced up at his face.

  “You can’t get the shirt off like that,” he told her. “The buttons don’t go all the way down. It has to come off over my head.”

  “Oh?” Frowning, Claire examined the folds of the garment.

  Rafael laughed softly at her confusion. He pulled the shirt back up to his shoulders. With a graceful sweep, he caught her at the waist and behind the knees, scooping her into his arms so he could carry her across the room.

  Only a thin layer of straw softened the bed made of hard planks. It had given Claire no discomfort, but she had worried about Rafael each night as he stretched out on the floor, with nothing but a thin blanket for comfort and warmth.

  Tonight she need worry no more.

  Rafael lowered her on the bed. Looking down at her, he straightened and pulled his shirt over his head. He held her gaze as he dropped the garment to the floor. Then he leaned over her. One by one, he released the buttons on the worn cotton shirt she wore. When the buttons were all undone, he folded the fabric open and bent his head.

  Claire felt the touch of his lips on her breasts, and it really was like being branded. It burned, setting a slow fire to smolder inside her. She arched up toward him. Between her legs, the damp throbbing she remembered from their first night together began again.

  “Tie your hair back,” she told him. “I want to see your face.”

  Rafael stood straight, pulled off the red bandanna around his head and used it to gather his thick blue-black hair at the nape of his neck.

  “That’s better,” Claire said, and reached out to trace the contours of his face with her fingertips.

  “Do you want me to cut my hair short?”

  “No. I like it. But I want to see your face when you make love to me.”

  “Sit up.” He gestured with his hand. “I want to take your shirt off.”

  “I’m smaller than you. You can pull it down past my hips.”

  Inch by inch, he exposed her, from the shoulders down, always pausing to kiss the expanse of skin that was revealed as he slowly peeled away the faded cotton garment, past her breasts, down her arms, along her gently rounded midriff.

  “Lift your hips,” he instructed.

  She braced her weight on her elbows. He eased the shirt over her hips and then skimmed it down her legs, until he could pull the fabric away completely.

  “My turn,” Claire said.

  She rose to a kneeling position on the bed, her breasts jutting out proudly as she faced Rafael who stood by the bedside. Reaching for the buttons on his pants, she undid them. He toed off his moccasins and helped her slide the heavy denim down his legs. When he stepped out of the bundle of fabric, he stood naked in front of her.

  “I’ve never seen that part of a man before,” Claire told him, her gaze drawn to the erection that strained in his groin. “I closed my eyes when Hartman opened his pants.”

  “Hartman doesn’t count,” Rafael said dismissively.

  Claire glanced up to his face and realized he was right. The violent act could not taint the beauty of what was happening now. She gave a slow nod. Lowering her gaze again, she lifted her hand but stopped a few inches away from him.

  “Can I touch you?”

  “Yes.” His voice was low. “I want you to touch me, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

  She curled her fingers around his rigid shaft. “It’s warm. And it’s dry. I thought it needed to be wet and slippery to go inside me without hurting.”

  “No. That comes from you.”

  Claire moved her fingers around him a little, exploring. “How can something be so soft and so hard at the same time?”

  “How can something be so pure and so tempting at the same time?” He laid his hands on her bare shoulders and bent his head to kiss her, a deep drugging kiss that sent ripples of yearning through her body.

  She didn’t resist when he cupped his hands over her breasts and softly kneaded them. Next, he took one of the tight peaks into his mouth and suckled it, whirling his tongue around the tip, and then he gave the same attention to her other breast. When his teeth tugged at the hardened nipple, she let out a ragged moan of pleasure.

  “My pants. Take off my pants.” She hurried to undo the buttons herself and squirmed out of the garment, not wanting to wait for his gentle hands. Leaning down, Rafael picked up the discarded clothing and tossed it out of the way.

  “What do you like?” Claire asked. “What do you like the most?”

  “I like everything. Looking at you. Touching you. Tasting you.” Rafael eased her down on the bed, until she was lying flat on her back, and then he nudged her legs apart so that he could kneel between them.

  Claire rose up on her elbows to look at him. “I want everything.”

  “I’ll give you everything.” He lowered his head and pressed his mouth between her legs. When she felt the wet heat of his tongue teasing her sensitive nub, she cried out, the frantic sound of her passion piercing the dimly lit room.

  Rafael straightened up on his knees. His eyes captured hers and held them as he slowly lowered his body on top of hers. He took his weight with one hand while he used the other hand to guide himself into her.

  Claire felt the probing pressure between her legs. She remembered the terrible tearing pain, recalled the ugly grunts she’d been forced to listen to while Hartman rammed into her. A violent shaking seized her body. Her eyes shut tight.

  “Look at me,” Rafael said.

  Claire forced her lashes to lift.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” Rafael braced up on his forearms. “If you’re afraid, we don’t have to do this.”

  “I want to,” she replied. “I want you to make love to me.”

  She felt his body tense above hers, and then he pushed
into her, slowly, inexorably, until he was firmly lodged inside her, stretching her, filling her. Through it all, he searched her face for the slightest change of expression, so he could stop if she showed any signs of distress.

  “Tell me if it hurts.” He made a small movement inside her.

  She gazed up at him as she felt the first stirrings of the heady pleasure she remembered from the previous time when he had touched her.

  “Do it again.”

  He slid out, back again. When she lifted her hips to meet him, he leaned down to press a kiss on her lips, and then he settled into a smooth rhythm.

  “It…does…not…hurt…at…all.”

  That was the last coherent sentence from her lips. Then all her words turned into a mad jumble of sounds that tumbled out of her as Rafael picked up his speed and strength, driving her to heights of passion that surpassed even the ones he had shown her before.

  ****

  In the morning, Rafael was already up when Claire awoke. For a while, she watched him as he moved around with his quiet grace, peeling and chopping fruit for breakfast. The contrast of the bright sunshine through the open doors made the interior of the barn appear dark. Although she could see his face, the shadows were deep, and his thoughts remained closed to her.

  “Good morning,” she called out to him.

  “Breakfast is ready,” he replied.

  Claire sighed and got out of bed. She lingered as she dressed, hoping that he would walk over to her, hold her in his arms and make love to her again. Instead, he motioned for her to join him at the table, and they ate in silence.

  Tension ratcheted up inside her. She would have liked to hear words of love, to exchange declarations. She wanted to be cradled in his embrace, to be told that he understood and forgave her. Anything but this withdrawn indifference. She wanted to feel that she wasn’t alone when she faced Hartman and prepared to commit the terrible deed.

  “Are you ready?” Rafael asked after he had tidied up.

  Claire shifted in the hard chair. “There’s no hurry.”

  “I need to get back to work.”

  “I see.” She rose abruptly and strode to the door, where Estrella waited, already saddled. The bucket of water in front of the horse rattled empty. With a pang of guilt, Claire understood that Rafael had already looked after the horses, as well as prepared breakfast.

  She whirled around and found him standing right behind her.

  “I didn’t hear you come up,” she said in a voice edgy with nerves.

  Rafael reached inside his shirt. He pulled out the beaded leather thong and lifted it over his head. Gently, he lowered it around her neck, pulling her tangle of curls through the circle so the necklace rested snugly against her skin.

  “It will protect you,” he told her softly.

  “You said it doesn’t work.”

  “Sometimes it does.”

  Her hand crept up to the necklace. Although she had resolved not to discuss her plan, Claire felt as if Rafael could see into her thoughts. The polished glass beads felt cool and smooth beneath her fingers as she gripped the native amulet.

  “I’ll always wear it,” she promised.

  “Then you’ll always be mine.” Rafael leaned down and rested his forehead against hers for an instant. Claire closed her eyes. She didn’t need declarations, after all. She knew he loved her. Loved her so much he was willing to let her go and meet her destiny.

  “I need to know when you’re marrying him,” Rafael told her.

  Claire blinked her eyes open. “Why?”

  He straightened and eased away from her. An odd, speculative expression drifted across his flawless features. “Sometimes the amulet needs a little help to work.”

  Confused, Claire raised her brows. “What? Like a spell?”

  A quick smile quirked his lips. “Something like that.”

  He closed the double doors behind them and helped her into the saddle before getting on his own horse. For a moment, they looked at each other, the horses shifting restlessly under them. Then Rafael leaned low, spun his horse around, and set off at a thundering speed across the desert. Claire watched the dust fly up until a thick cloud obscured him from view. A moment later, she kicked Estrella into a canter, and started the difficult journey back to Circle Star.

  Back to Contents

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Claire inspected herself in the mirror. Her silver satin gown was really evening wear but she wanted to dazzle Burt Hartman. The low cut bodice exposed the upper slopes of her breasts, and even though she had only brought a few simple pieces of jewelry with her from Philadelphia, the pearl choker and droplet earrings she wore screamed Old Money.

  In her reflection, she saw her lips curve into a grim smile. The presentation she had put together ought to make the monster’s mouth water. To achieve her aim, she needed Hartman blinded with lust, careless about what went on around him.

  Leaving the safety of her bedroom, Claire set off down the stairs. She made her descent regal, just in case the men were waiting in the hall. They were not, so she put on an equally grand entrance as she sailed in through the open doors of the library.

  She had never met either of the two men who stood flanking Hartman, and yet it was easy to tell them apart. The big, burly sheriff wore a tin star over his chest, and the tall, thin lawyer was dressed in an expensive suit.

  Claire inclined her head a fraction. “Gentlemen.”

  She heard Hartman’s sharp intake of breath, and even the slimy lawyer seemed a little shaken by the elegant figure she made. Good. She directed her attention to the sheriff. He was the one she needed to win over to her side when all was said and done.

  The elderly lawyer spoke first. “Miss Vanderfleet, my client wishes you to know that he is very sorry about the misunderstanding…”

  She managed to fluster him by simply raising one eyebrow in a disdainful manner. “I don’t think there is any need to dwell on what happened,” she said in a frosty tone. “It cannot be changed.”

  Hartman gave a small cough and shifted on his feet. Claire recoiled but managed to keep it to a single short step away. Dear Lord, she could hardly believe it, there was a bulge in his pants. The swine had gone hard between his legs. Nausea filled her. Had there not been so much at stake, she would have liked to retch her breakfast over his polished black shoes.

  She gathered herself. “Now, if I understood correctly, Mr. Hartman has proposed marriage to me.”

  “Correct, and the financial arrangements are most—”

  This time, a raised eyebrow failed to do the trick and Claire spoke up to silence the lawyer. “There is only one arrangement I need confirmed.” She paused for effect. “That he will never, ever touch me again. That the marriage will be in name only.”

  “My client understands that right now you may feel—”

  Claire cut off the lawyer again. “Do you understand me? Never.”

  She saw him flinch and glance over at Hartman.

  “Or course, Miss Claire,” Hartman said smoothly. “If that is what you wish.”

  “Miss Vanderfleet,” she corrected. “And yes, that is what I wish.”

  The stocky sheriff cleared his throat and stood more erect, acting with the awkward impatience of a man who is more used to giving orders than listening to others talk. “Well, this seems to be working out just fine,” he said, sounding almost jovial. “I guess now we can all forget about that little misunderstanding.”

  “Forget?” Claire said, lifting one eyebrow. “Misunderstanding?”

  “I mean, well, what I mean is…” The sheriff trailed off.

  Claire pinned him with a frosty look until he grew flustered and turned away.

  The gangly lawyer craned toward her, tilting like a tree in the wind. “Do I take it that you accept?” he asked, sounding astonished and greedy at the same time.

  “Provided I have the assurances I have demanded. That I shall have my own bedroom, and never, ever in any circumstances shall Mr.
Hartman intrude in that room.” Claire leaned forward to display her breasts, to remind Hartman of what he so badly desired. Her plan hinged upon extracting such a promise from him in front of witnesses, and Hartman breaking his word at the first opportunity.

  “Yes,” Hartman said. “I can promise you that, my dear. But I hope that one day you will change your mind.”

  Claire ignored his comment and forced herself to remain calm. “When shall we have the wedding?” she asked, addressing her words to all three of them.

  “How long will you need to plan and organize?” Hartman inquired, one hand rising to adjust the bowtie at his throat. “Would Christmas be too soon?”

  “I’d like to have the wedding on Saturday.”

  “Saturday?” Hartman said, startled. “But that won’t allow your family and guests to attend. Arrangements must be made, invitations sent.”

  Claire sent him a haughty frown. She would not be put on display, be used to give Hartman the respectability he didn’t deserve. “I’m afraid it has to be immediately.”

  “May I ask why?” Catterill put in.

  Claire ignored the lawyer and directed her words to Hartman. “You are a virile man.” She pressed a hand over her midriff. “It is too early to tell, but in case I am with child, I would like to maximize the time between the wedding and the child’s birth.”

  Hartman flustered, and then his gaunt, bloodless face twisted into an ugly grin of gloating pride. Claire clamped her lips together. Flattering the monster was a small price to pay if it helped her achieve her aim.

  “Where would you like the ceremony to take place, my dear?”

  She faced him squarely. “At Deep Valley. In the courtyard.”

  Hartman flinched. Triumph surged within Claire, making her skin tingle. She wanted him confused and ill at ease. She wanted him to suffer the way she had suffered, to feel the same fear and helplessness she had felt sprawled on her back over the rough cobblestones in that courtyard. Her hands clenched into fists. Uncurling her fingers, she forced her body to relax.

  “The flowers are so pretty in the courtyard,” she told him, smiling for the first time since she came into the room. Hartman smiled back. Fool, Claire thought. Her plan was working. He was too overcome with lust to tell the difference between a smile and the bitter grimace of a woman plotting a deadly revenge.