Tallchief for Keeps

by London, Cait

  Why was she here, in Alek’s bed, waiting for him? The answer came back, true and strong. Locked deeply inside her was the need to hold Alek close…to have him so close that nothing could separate them…not the past, or the future he kept pushing at her…. She wanted…no, she needed to be complete once more, as a woman felt with a special man. And for whatever happened in the future, tonight Alek was very special.

  She wouldn’t be pushed; she would make up her own mind about Alek and what he was to her.

  He’d wooed her with his love of family treasures, the simple things harvested into his home. He’d touched her with his children, obviously cherished.

  Deep inside Elspeth lurked the fear of Alek leaving her again…devastating her with words. She acknowledged that fear and tended it, even as she knew that Alek moved gently through her heart. She would keep that part of her locked safely away.

  Yet here she was, waiting—naked—in his tiny cot for him. Elspeth drew the shawl against her as she thought back to Una’s legend, which she had reconstructed with the aid of Sybil’s photography trick.

  When the Marrying Moon is high, a scarred warrior will rise from the mists to claim his lady huntress. He will wrap her in the shawl and carry her to the Bridal Tepee and his heart. Their song will last longer than the stars….

  Tallchief had wanted Una to add the Bridal Tepee to the legend so that the legend became a blend of their bloods. Sybil had cried and held Elspeth’s hand as the legend was revealed before their eyes. Una had cried as she wrote, the teardrops blurring the ink. A hand stronger than hers and untutored with a pen had drawn Tallchief Mountain and a man and a woman by the tepee.

  In the end, Una had captured her captor, and the shawl had been her weapon.

  A tiny shiver skimmed along Elspeth’s bare skin. The legend didn’t—couldn’t—apply to Alek Petrovna and herself.

  Elspeth surveyed the spartan room, littered with Alek’s battered suitcases and clothing. She recognized the huge bureau of the Samuelsons and framed pictures of Alek and Talia with their family. Propped against a picture of Talia and her sister was a picture of the Tallchiefs at the wedding. A circle had been drawn around Elspeth’s face, the enlargement resting next to it.

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  He’d come through years and crossed continents to find her.

  Elspeth lifted her head as his footsteps rose surely to the door of the room. He paused, then, moved into the bathroom, and the shower ran. The water stopped, then silence.

  Alek loomed in the doorway, framed by moonlight skimming his shoulders and down his spread legs. He hadn’t given her the concession of a towel around his hips.

  She wasn’t making concessions, either. “You will not come to this bed with thoughts of your wife, Alek Petrovna. Not with my weaving on your wall.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it.” His tone bore arrogance and a taunt and just enough uncertainty to curl around her heart.

  He moved to her, filling the room. He’d hurried, droplets gleaming on his shoulders. A deep scar crossed his ribs, another rode his hip and the moon-light caught the smooth expanse of healed burns. Alek appeared battered and toughened by years, his cheek-bones rugged and darkened by stubble, his jaw tense. The dim light angled off his broken nose, LaBelle’s earring gleamed in his ear and Elspeth ached to feel the soft flow of his curls against her breasts.

  She gripped the shawl tightly and forced herself to continue, ‘That is my price, Alek Petrovna. I will not have you take me with a sense of guilt. I’ll know it if you do and I will not forgive you. Pretty apologies won’t work.”

  “Pretty…?” He tensed, the moonlight shafting over angles and taut muscles and cords that ran down his arms to his fists. His feet locked to the pool of moon-light on the old braided rug. The heavy muscles of his legs stood out in relief; his desire jutted into the silvery light, startling Elspeth. Or did her body startle her, desire streaking through her, cords igniting, clenching, heating?

  A shudder ran down Alek’s body. “I can promise not to hurt you…but I can’t promise to forget that night completely.” His voice was ragged, rimmed with naked, deep emotion.

  “You won’t hurt me. I ask that you try to forget.”

  He took a step. “They say you inherited both seer and shaman powers. What do your senses tell you about me, Elspeth?”

  She already knew. “That whatever happens, you will try to please me.”

  “I will be careful.” His promise came firm and raw.

  “Do and I’ll kill you.”

  Alek’s grin was slow in coming. “Now, that’s my girl.”

  For a moment, Elspeth was startled. She’d never been anyone’s girlfriend; she hadn’t allowed the possessive tone from anyone, not even her brothers. She found herself blushing as Alek came to the cot and stretched out slowly beside her, his hands behind his head. She lay there, the shawl drawn to her chin, and wondered what to do; her confidence of moments ago had vanished.

  “We can lie here and admire your weaving technique, or you can simply take me…I’m yours,” Alek murmured, his body heating her side like a furnace. He lifted a challenging eyebrow at her. “Lost the mood? Have a headache?”

  “You’re taking up all the space.” She couldn’t breathe. Alek smelled like soap and man, his heat warming the shawl. Her breast brushed his arm, and he tensed. Alek tugged her over him and wrapped his arms around her. Beneath her, he was all hard power and vibrating male, hot and rigid against her stomach. One hand stroked her bottom leisurely while his other hand prowled dangerously close to her breast.

  He tugged at the shawl. “You wouldn’t want it damaged, would you?”

  She drew the shawl from between them and let him take it. His eyes flicked down her body; his features hardened, a flush rising up his cheeks. There was nothing sweet about Alek, nor in the desperate way he wanted her.

  “What now?” he asked with interest after tossing the shawl to a folding chair. “Ready to make your move?”

  Elspeth settled closer, placing her flushed face in the shelter of his throat. Alek’s hand smoothed her side, lingered along her ribs, then rose to cup her breast. “You’re trembling.”

  He kissed her forehead, her lids. He tasted her gently, brushing his lips across hers, tempting her. She could have killed him for being so tender…for taking time to place protection between them. For trembling so badly that he ruined his first effort, cursed and had to try again.

  Elspeth smoothed the taut cords of his neck, his shoulders and the hair covering his chest. As her fingertips brushed his nipple, Alek went taut, shivering. His look at her was fire and desperation, his body burning hers.

  She lay quietly as he moved over her. “Open for me, Elspeth,” he murmured when her thighs trembled, then closed against his intrusion. “It’s all right, love. We’ll do what you want, when you want.”

  Braced awa
y from her, Alek ran his hand down her side, pressing his fingers into her softness, lingering on the curve of her thigh. The night breeze coursed through the window’s curtains, bearing the scent of the mountains, an elemental blend of time and passion, and Elspeth gave herself to it, allowing Alek’s touch to open her legs.

  He held very still, then bent to place his lips upon her throat. “Your heart is leaping out of you. You can touch me.”

  She placed her hand on his chest, and beside her throat, Alek’s mouth curved into a smile. He nipped the side of her jaw. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant.”

  He cupped her breasts, cherishing them, lifting them to torment with gentle bites and then catching the peaks deeper, suckling her until she cried out, holding him to her.

  He tensed as she moved, his body intimate against hers. She accepted the tip of him, holding her breath, and fought the slight pain of his intrusion. “Am I hurting you?” he asked.

  There was pain, but she wouldn’t let him leave her, not now. Elspeth pressed her legs against his hips, her face hot against his throat. “Don’t leave me.”

  Alek groaned and, when she raised her hips slowly, taking him fully, he cried out, trembling. This was what she wanted, Alek close to her, a part of her, despite the slight pain.

  His body began to move, hips thrusting down on hers, filling her. She held her breath, aware of the mechanics of sex and yet startled that he desired her.

  “Elspeth!” Alek’s hushed shout tore from him, his hands clamping on her thighs.

  Elspeth smoothed the heavy muscles of his shoulders, rested her palm over his racing heart.

  “Elspeth-mine…” Alek struggled for breath, and Elspeth shivered as her body heated, moistened and tempted. Her nails dug slightly into his flesh as she bent to kiss the scar running across his shoulder and the one slicing his eyebrow. Her breasts dragged slowly, softly against his chest, the hair sensitizing her nipples, hardening them. The new sensation caught her, and she moved beneath him.

  “Elspeth,” Alek began, and stopped when she kissed the scar on his bottom lip. He groaned and held very still. “Do not move. Just don’t move.”

  He trembled, cords standing out in his arms, his throat, his body barely joined to hers. Alek’s fist wrapped in her hair, turning her face to him. He took her lips deeply, answering the savage need. He shook violently, trying to lie still, his hands braced at her head. “Don’t you dare move, Elspeth.”

  His desperation was a challenge that she took, lifting her hips to capture him.

  She’d forgotten, the weight and heat of him stretching her, and fought the cry tumbling from her lips.

  Alek muttered a frustrated curse, then he found her breasts, kissing and suckling them quickly now, his body urgent; the sound of her hunger came, shocking her. This was Alek, Alek soothing her, caressing her, telling her—telling her what? She’d captured him, run him down through the years and tethered him. Elspeth rose to find his face, the pounding within her too loud to hear his words. She stroked the scar on his eyebrow with her thumb and slid her fingers through his hair, locking his to hers. She lifted again, her body taut and pounding, but she had to see him, to watch him move through his passion. Alek was beautiful above her, his face all rugged angles and tense cords. His eyes were brilliant, black and hot as he lifted his hips slightly. He stretched her gently, filling her until she cried out again.

  His body plunged into hers, and she tossed him back. Again. Then the frantic, desperate rhythm began, Alek breathing as if his heart had run the fastest race, as if he ran to the edge, waited for her and then shot off into the heat. His cry came from the depths of his soul, as if he’d shattered there, lodged in her.

  Just beyond her reach, whatever she sought taunted her. Alek drew her shaking body to him, his heart pounding beneath her cheek. He ran his hand down her back, caressing her and then covered her with a quilt that had warmed other lovers.

  Elspeth snuggled close to him, mourned the moment of separation and sighed as Alek kissed her. She gathered him to her; for the moment, he was hers and the shadows were gone.

  Una’s shawl moved in the night, the moonlight playing over the shimmering colors, the fringes swaying gently in the breeze.

  When the Marrying Moon is high, a scarred warrior will rise from the mists to claim his lady huntress. He will wrap her in the shawl and carry her to the Bridal Tepee and his heart. Their song will last longer than the stars….

  For a moment, Elspeth fought tears and wished the shawl’s legend was true.

  Eight

  Alek allowed Elspeth to slip from the cot. He fought the urge to drag her back to him—as if he had the strength to do anything but drag air into his lungs and regain his sight.

  Elspeth had taken him and left the shawl as if it meant nothing to her. As if making love with him meant nothing.

  He lay in the shadows, his arms behind his head, winded, filling his senses with their past lovemaking. Beyond his window, Elspeth’s screen door creaked, and the night settled around him.

  Alek rose to study Elspeth’s dark house; there was no light. She liked moving through shadows, becoming one of them. He reached for a bottle kept on his dresser and poured a quick neat whiskey. He hadn’t had a drink since December—when he’d first seen Elspeth in Talia’s wedding picture—and he badly needed one now. The glass was halfway to his lips when Alek realized that Elspeth had not climaxed in his arms.

  Nor had she on that night in Scotland

  She’d accepted his passion, soothed him later, but she had not fully entered the fire….

  Alek sat abruptly, locked his fist to the sheets bearing Elspeth’s scent and shook his head to clear it.

  He began tracing their passion. He’d been intent on her pleasure that first time, then had lost himself and gone over the edge. He plopped the whiskey glass down on a stack of magazines and licked a drop from his wrist.

  Alek forced himself to breathe. Melissa had been more like his sister than his wife. Their lovemaking had been tender and sweet, and Melissa had been shy their entire marriage. They’d been cautious, wanting children, but when wasn’t he blazing a career in foreign wars? He’d known the moment he’d poured himself into Elspeth that he’d given her the deepest part of his being….

  Elspeth wasn’t sweet; lava ran beneath the surface. Yet she had waltzed through their lovemaking twice, never experiencing the full measure. Her heat ran just below the surface untested, and his body knew it.

  Alek lay back carefully on the cot, bracing the glass on his naked stomach.

  Elspeth had had him and left him. She’d gone back to her safe shadows and left him with the shawl, a reminder that she kept her secrets, and the Tallchief legend, to herself.

  Preoccupied with the wrongs done to him and feeling fragile, Alek almost admired the curses boiling out of him. He threw the glass against the wall, glared at the shards mocking him in the moonlight and lurched to his feet.

  He jerked on shorts and stepped out of his window and onto the huge oak-tree limb. Two more limbs, and he was within jumping distance of Elspeth’s roof.

  He stepped into her bedroom window and listened to the sound of her shower. Alek waited, prowling in the room scented of her and the lily of the valley blossoms in the old vase. Moonlight filtered through the window, running across the bed’s old, hand-stitched quilt. He scooped her blouse and slacks from the bed, caught the scent of their lovemaking and crushed the material in his fists, flinging it to a chair. Because their precious daughter was about to be exposed—her cool veneer ripped away—Alek draped a lacy handkerchief over the framed portrait of the Tallchiefs.

  Elspeth entered the room in a scent of soap and lavender. The sight of her naked body—breasts tilted high, the dip of her stomach, the curve of her hips—caused him to suck in his breath. Alek’s hand latched to her wrist. “I don’t like being used.”

  She turned on him, damp hair flying around her bare shoulders. “What?”

  Alek stood back and kicked the
door shut with his heel; he crossed his arms, fearing that he’d shake her. There was no kindness roaming in him now for Elspeth Tallchief. “What just happened in my bed?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Anytime you want to play games, honey, just let me know the rules first, okay? You wanted to exorcise that night. Get rid of me, then come home, tidy up and forget the whole thing happened, right? Well, it did. It happened with me.”

  She frowned and backed up a step when he advanced. “Of course it did”

  Alek picked her up and tossed her to the bed, following her down. He held her damp hair in one fist and braced above her. “It goes like this, Elspeth. When you come calling for me, plan to share breakfast with me.”

  She moved beneath him, the scent of her soap sending him precariously near taking her right then. He studied her. She wasn’t afraid; rather, a keen anger had begun to brew. Good. He could deal with her anger, not her fear of him.

  She shivered, control skimming along her voice. “Alek, I didn’t know there were rules to this.”

  “You thought you’d just wander over, have a bit of sex with old hungry Alek, lay there, let him take—” Alek bit off a curse, then continued. “You come home, take a nice shower and drop off to sleep, right? Or was it more like, “I think I’ll give Alek whatever he wants and then he’ll go away.’ I’ve never been a nice guy when I want something, Elspeth darling. Don’t count on my sympathy.”

  He was just getting wound up. He wanted Elspeth to understand everything boiling out of him. “You play hardball, Elspeth-mine, and I don’t like it.”

  He’d never talked to a woman like this, pushed her, held her forcibly still beneath him. Of course he loved Elspeth Tallchief—that was a given—but a man had his pride. He’d just realized that he’d never given Melissa the deepest part of him, poured into her everything that he was, that he would be.

  A fresh tide of anger and frustration ripped through him. Elspeth’s face registered shock. He bent nearer to hear her whisper. For the first time, Alek began to realize that Elspeth had no idea of true fulfillment.