Blackwolf's Redemption

by Sandra Marton

  “Thank you,” Jesse said politely as the waiter handed them menus. Jesse looked his over. Sienna didn’t bother. Reading a menu wasn’t important right now, either. If only Jesse would say something…

  “Sienna?”

  At last! She breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes! Thank you for—”

  “What would you like for dinner?”

  Okay. It was mundane, but it was a complete sentence and he’d directed it at her. That had to be a good sign.

  “The prime rib? Rack of lamb?”

  She glanced at her menu, frowned and took a better look. Something about it wasn’t…

  “Hey.” She looked up. “There’s something wrong with this menu. It doesn’t have prices.”

  Jesse gave her the kind of officious smile that had been a specialty of her third-grade teacher.

  “Of course not. This is an expensive restaurant. They don’t give women menus that show prices.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

  “I said—”

  “I heard what you said. Why don’t they?”

  “Well, because that’s the way it is. A woman doesn’t need to worry over trivialities. Now, what would you like?”

  Sienna thought of a dozen different answers. Not one had to do with food…but, okay. She wasn’t going to make a scene.

  “The lamb. And a salad.” The waiter appeared and she turned her attention to him. “Um, I’ll have—”

  “The lady,” Jesse said, “will have the lamb. And a salad.”

  “How would madam like the lamb, sir?”

  “Sienna?”

  Maybe she really was invisible. “Madam,” she said carefully, “would like the lamb done medium rare.”

  “Medium rare,” Jesse repeated without missing a beat.

  Sienna’s eyes flashed. Good, Jesse thought, biting back a grin. She’d been the epitome of contrition ever since she’d shown up Henley as the jerk he was. It was nice to see some fire in her again.

  “And how would madam like her salad dressed, sir?”

  Jesse looked across the table. “How would you like your salad dressed?” he said politely.

  Some fire? She was breathing fire. Jesse fought back the urge to reach out and pull her into his arms.

  “Sienna? Your salad—”

  “I would like my salad with oil and vinegar on the side,” she said, the words directed at the waiter.

  The waiter looked at Jesse.

  “The lady,” Jesse said, “would like her salad with—”

  “You know what you need, Blackwolf?” Sienna’s voice was low, razor-sharp and ice-cold. The waiter, clever man that he was, took a quick step back. “A new tape for that—that ancient eight-track of yours. ‘I Am Woman.’ Ever hear it? ‘I am woman, hear me roar!’”

  Jesse sighed. “Henley was right. You’re a bra-burning feminist.”

  Sienna’s chair fell over as she shot to her feet.

  “That’s it! I’ve had enough.” She slapped her hands on the table, leaned forward and glared into Jesse’s midnight-black, give-nothing-away gaze. “I was going to apologize for ruining your meeting. For speaking up. But why should I be sorry for behaving like—like a person?” She stood straight, turned her hot glare on the startled diners at the other tables. “Why should I apologize to anyone for not being a 1970s Stepford robot?”

  Jesse shoved back his chair. “The check, please.”

  “That’s it. Hustle me out of here. Get the—the silly little woman out of sight so she can’t make a scene.”

  “Oh, there’s no check, sir,” the waiter said nervously. “None at all…”

  “Let me tell you something, Mr. Macho. It won’t always be like this. One day, you’re going to have to make room for women in your—your tight little world. And when that happens—”

  Jesse dumped a handful of bills on the table. “Thank you,” he said to the waiter. Calmly, not hurrying, he clasped Sienna’s elbow and marched her through the restaurant, to the elevator.

  “And when that happens,” Sienna said shrilly, “just remember that I was the woman who introduced you to the real world. To the next century. To women as—as people, not as—”

  Jesse pushed her into the waiting elevator car.

  “Shut up, Cummings,” he said.

  Then he yanked her into his arms and kissed her senseless.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HE’D meant the kiss to be soft and easy.

  Okay.

  Maybe he hadn’t meant to kiss her at all.

  But that performance this afternoon…the way she’d bristled at the sales clerk’s attempts to make her conform to a look that was supposedly appropriate; her struggle to contain her anger at Henley’s nauseating sycophants; Henley’s indignation at being shown up for the idiot he was. And now, all that stuff in the restaurant, her refusal to be treated like a not-very-bright child…

  How could he not want to kiss her?

  But not soft and easy. Forget that. Forget everything but what he’d wanted all along. What she’d wanted.

  What would finally happen between them.

  The elevator reached the lobby. The doors slid open. He took his mouth from hers. She grabbed him and brought it back. He let her do it, let the kiss go on and on and to hell with the little delighted gasps and whispers around them.

  When he lifted his lips from hers again, she gave a soft moan of protest. He clasped her shoulders and looked down into her eyes.

  “Come to bed with me,” he said in a low, rough voice.

  “Yes,” she said breathlessly, “oh, yes.”

  “Now. Here.”

  She looked around, gave a soft laugh. “Here?”

  He took her hand, brought it to his lips. “Don’t move from this spot,” he told her.

  It was an order. A command. And hearing it sent a bolt of excitement through her.

  He was gone for only a few minutes. Then they were in a different elevator. His arm was tight around her waist. It was a gesture of possession so male, so basic, that she feared she might melt into him.

  He drew her down a long hallway, to a pair of double doors. Inserted a key in the lock. The doors swung open. She saw a huge sitting room, bathed in the glittering lights of the city that stretched beyond a wall of windows. Then he shut the doors, turned to her and took her in his arms, lifted her into him, gathered her to him so that each racing beat of his heart and hers were one.

  He kissed her and the world fell away.

  “Jesse.” She sighed, her breath mingling with his, and he took her mouth in a kiss so deep it had no beginning and no end, swept her into his arms and carried her through the opulent suite to the bedroom.

  Like the sitting room, it glowed with the reflected lights of the city. He put her down, slowly, never letting her body escape the kiss of his.

  He heard the hiss of her breath as his erection prodded her belly.

  She was trembling, her breathing was fast. He kissed her again and again, traced the outline of her breasts with his hands. She wore a bra, a dress, a jacket. Still, he could feel her nipples against his palms as she gasped against his mouth.

  “If this isn’t what you want,” he said, his voice urgent with need, “tell me now.”

  She moved against him, her hips undulating against his.

  “I want you,” she whispered. “You, Jesse. You. You…”

  He framed her face between his hands. Kissed her. She returned the kiss and sucked the tip of his tongue into the warm depths of her mouth. It seemed impossible for his erection to grow harder but it did, and he groaned with the pleasure-pain of it.

  He told himself to slow down. Slow down. They had all night. He drew back, just a little. Opened the buttons of her jacket one by one. Pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, felt the hot gallop of her blood beneath his mouth.

  The jacket fell to the floor.

  The outline of her breasts was clear through the clinging silk of her dress. He cupped them, feathered his thumbs
over her straining nipples, exulting in her sharp little cries of pleasure. He was driving her crazy and driving himself crazy in the process, but it was worth it to hear those cries, to see rosy color stain her cheeks.

  The dress closed with buttons. Small ones, damned near too small for his big fingers. He wanted to tear them apart, but even more, he wanted to prolong Sienna’s pleasure.

  He undid them carefully, but halfway down, he could take no more. He had to feel her naked skin, so he slid his hands inside the open bodice of the dress, felt the coolness of the silk, the heat of her skin, and gloried in the sensuous contrast.

  “Jesse,” she murmured, lifting her face to his.

  He looked at her. Saw the glitter of desire in her eyes, the way her pupils had widened until only a rim of violet was visible around them. Her hair was loose and wild and incredibly sexy. Her bra was cream-colored lace, the darkness of her nipples shadowed like the outline of the sun in eclipse.

  “Sweetheart,” he said thickly, “you are so beautiful….”

  Her hands rose, framed his face. She brought his mouth to hers, kissed him, nipped his bottom lip. He felt a fever rising inside him, the need to take her, possess her, mark her as his.

  He growled, tore the dress from her shoulders. She moaned, nipped his lip harder as the fragile silk fell away.

  Mercifully, the bra had a front closure. It gave way easily and then her breasts tumbled into his hands.

  Sienna cried out. Whispered his name. Put her hands over his, held his hands to her. He dipped his head, kissed her throat, the sweet juncture of neck and shoulder.

  Her hands fell away. Jesse looked at her. His heartbeat stumbled.

  She was so beautiful. So feminine. So perfect.

  He told her so, his voice hoarse with emotion, watching her face as he stroked her pale pink nipples. A sob rose in her throat; his name trembled on her lips and he bent his head to her breasts.

  To the tightly furled tips.

  He licked her flesh. Tasted it. And when she cried out again, he sucked at one sweet bud while he caressed the other.

  Her moans became a keening cry of ecstasy. Her knees buckled. Jesse caught her, captured her mouth with his, held her close as he tumbled onto the bed with her in his arms.

  “Jesse.” Sienna was sobbing. Panting. Her lips were parted, swollen from his kisses. “Jesse, please, please, please…”

  Her words, her yearning cries, fractured what little remained of his self-control. He stripped away the rest of her clothes, rose from the bed and tore off his. Then he came back to her, to her open arms, her soft mouth, clasped her wrists and drew her arms high over her head.

  There was nothing gentle in him now. All of it had been consumed by his fierce need for her.

  Only for her.

  And she reveled in his hunger, matched it with her own, arching toward him, seeking his tongue, his heat, his passion. His lips moved over her, down and down and down as she writhed against him, aching for his possession.

  “Please,” she said again, and he reached out, found his jacket on the floor, found one of the little packets he’d bought in the hotel pharmacy. He tore it open with his teeth, rolled on the condom and then he moved between her thighs, his swollen sex brushing against her. She was hot and wet, the exquisite proof of how badly she wanted him. He let go of her wrists, slipped one hand under her bottom, spread the other over her, his palm against her weeping flesh, watched her face, saw her eyes widen, heard the long expulsion of air as he parted her, sought her clitoris, stroked it…

  She screamed. And he…he was going to explode if he didn’t end this torment.

  “Sienna,” he said, “my Sienna…”

  And he thrust deep, deep inside her.

  She cried out, shattered instantly. Somehow, he held back. Stayed hard. Stayed buried inside her and moved again. And again. And again until he thought he might die of the pleasure of it, until he felt her womb starting to convulse around him.

  “Look at me,” he demanded.

  Her eyes flew open, met his as her second orgasm tore through her.

  “Jesse,” she whispered, and he knew that was what he’d needed. His name on her lips as he claimed her body, her soul…

  Her heart.

  Jesse flung his head back and soared with her into the moonlit night.

  Minutes later, hours later, Sienna drew a long, shaky breath.

  Jesse was sprawled over her, his face buried against her throat. Her arms were wrapped around him, holding him to her. His skin was damp, as was hers; their racing heartbeats seemed to be slowing in unison. The scent of him—sinfully sexy, musky and male—was in her nostrils.

  She didn’t realize she’d whispered his name until he stirred and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

  “I know, baby. I’m too heavy for you—”

  “It isn’t that. I just…I just like saying your name.”

  He kissed her collarbone; she felt his lips curve in a smile.

  “And I love hearing you say it. But I’m still too heavy for you.”

  Her arms tightened around him. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Not without you. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

  He rose from the bed, went into the adjoining bathroom. Seconds later, he came back to her, gathered her so that he held her in the cradle of his arms, their bodies touching, their faces inches apart. He smiled into her eyes, lay one hand against her cheek in a caress so gentle it made her throat constrict. She turned her head and kissed his palm, and he angled his head above hers and gave her a soft, lazy kiss on her mouth.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  Another tender kiss. “I wasn’t too fast?”

  “You were wonderful.”

  He flashed a sexy grin. “All compliments noted and happily accepted, ma’am.” Slowly, his smile faded. “What’s wonderful is you.”

  “Jesse.” She felt her cheeks flush with color. “I’ve never—I mean, I’ve never before felt—”

  “No,” he said softly, “it’s never been like that for me, either.” He dropped another soft kiss on her lips. “I feel as if I’ve known you for a hundred lifetimes.”

  Two, anyway, she suddenly thought, and shuddered as the sudden coldness of reality intruded.

  Jesse rose on one elbow, frowned and searched her eyes with his.

  “Baby? Baby, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just—I just…” She took a breath. “What’s that old saying?” she said with forced lightness. “Something about a goose walking over my grave.”

  He grinned. “No gooses here. Just me.”

  As he’d hoped, that made her laugh. “It’s geese.”

  “Nope,” he said, deadpan, “not a one. No gooses and no geese, either. The only other critter here is me.”

  Sienna batted her lashes. “Well, yes. You. And me, of course. But…” Her hand slid between them. His breath caught and she smiled. “But then, there’s this.”

  In a heartbeat, Jesse had rolled her onto her back.

  “Be careful, woman,” he said in a teasing growl, “or be prepared to pay the price.”

  “What price would that…? Oh. Oh, God, Jesse…”

  A second raced by while he sought another condom, sheathed himself again. Then he wove their fingers together, held their hands at their sides as he entered her.

  “Here’s the price,” he whispered. “This. Always this.”

  Always, she thought… But how could there be an “always” for them?

  Sienna let their passion sweep away the sudden despair that threatened to destroy her.

  It was dark when Jesse awoke.

  “Sienna?”

  She was gone. The sheets, the pillows, still held her scent, but he was alone in the bed.

  Fear clawed his throat. He rose quickly, pulled on his jeans, hurried through the dark suite…and saw a bright light beyond the sitting room.

  He paused, blew out a breath and aske
d himself just what was he doing, feeling as if the earth had given way under his feet because a woman he barely knew might have slipped from his bed….

  And his life.

  Ridiculous. They’d slept together, that was all. He wasn’t looking for involvement. What for? Life was simpler without it, neater and cleaner and…

  And, he walked into the pool of light, saw Sienna seated at the white marble counter, wearing an oversized terry-cloth robe, her face buried in her hands, heard the muffled sounds of her sobs, and he knew he was the greatest liar on this lonely planet.

  Life might be simpler without involvement, but it was also meaningless.

  “Baby,” he said, and went to her, and even as she said “No, don’t, just leave me alone,” he was taking her in his arms, she was spinning toward him, winding her arms around him, weeping as if her heart were about to break.

  He crooned soft words to her. Stroked her hair, her shoulders, her back. He gentled her as he would have a filly in desperate need of a tender touch, and after a while, her sobs eased.

  Her grip on him did not.

  Carefully, he lifted her from the stool, carried her into the sitting room, settled into a big chair with her safely in his lap.

  “What is it?” he said. “Sienna, sweetheart, talk to me.”

  She shook her head, kept it buried against his chest. He cupped her cheek, urged her face to his. Her hair was wild and tangled, her eyes were violet pools of sorrow, her nose was pink and running. She was beautiful beyond belief, and with stunning suddenness, he knew that finding her had changed his life forever, that what he felt for her went beyond passion and desire.

  It scared him almost as much as it filled him with joy, he thought, and he gathered her even closer.

  “Don’t cry,” he said. “Baby, please. Tell me what it is. I’ll make it better. Just tell me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. Whatever it is, sweetheart, I promise, I’ll make it better.”

  She gave a sad little laugh. “But you can’t. No one can make it better. If I were to tell you—if I were to tell you about me…”

  Hell. She was talking about why she’d come to the canyon. The sacred stone, the ledge, all that nonsense that didn’t mean a damn to him anymore, that could never, even when he’d bought into it, mean half as much as she did.