by Nan Ryan
“What the hell’s that dirty savage doing here?” Wilde whispered to Lois, his jaw rigid.
“Now, you knew very well Shanaco was coming this evening,” she said. “Father thought it would be a good idea to invite him and I wholeheartedly agreed.”
“Yes, well you better stay away from him. He’s dangerous, mark my words.”
“Don’t be silly, Danny.”
“Don’t let the fine clothes fool you. That Indian’s a barbaric bastard and no white woman is safe around him.”
“Really?” Lois murmured, hoping that it was true.
The dance continued.
Maggie and Dave Finley spun about the floor, laughing and talking. Warm from the champagne she’d downed—and from the mere presence of the Comanche chief—Maggie felt breathless and gay. As if she could dance forever. Again and again as they turned about, Maggie kept getting glimpses of the tall, imposing Shanaco, and just the sight of him made her feel flushed and overly warm.
He was not on the dance floor. He stood, arms folded, against the wall, looking bored and uncomfortable.
A half hour into the ball, Maggie looked across the room at Lois Harkins. She saw Lois hug her father’s arm and whisper something in his ear. The colonel shook his head no and Lieutenant Wilde looked angry.
Maggie decided, “She’s a Lorilie up to her old mischief.”
“Father, I think we are being rude to Chief Shanaco,” Lois had whispered to her father. “Look at him. Our guest of honor is standing over against the wall all alone. Nobody will have anything to do with Shanaco and that’s a shame. I feel that I should dance with him since no one else will.”
“Well, now, Lois, I don’t…I…”
“For God’s sake, Miss Harkins,” Captain Wilde muttered under his breath.
But Lois was gone.
Satin skirts lifted, she anxiously made her way through the crowd. Her heart was beginning to beat rapidly as she approached Shanaco. He stood at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed over his chest, a faraway look in his eyes.
Lois hurried up to Shanaco, smiled and said, “Chief Shanaco, my father thinks it would be wise for you and I to dance. Show everyone, including the officers’ wives, that the whites and Indians can coexist peacefully.”
“I appreciate the gesture, Miss Harkins,” Shanaco said politely, uncrossing his arms, “but I don’t dance.”
“Of course you do. Why, everyone knows that even Indians dance.”
“I don’t.”
“You will. With me,” she said, then took hold of his right hand with both of her own. “You’re going to dance with me and you’ll enjoy it, I promise.”
Refusing to take no for an answer, the determined Lois dragged the reluctant Shanaco onto the floor. Other dancers stopped dancing and stared. The officers and their ladies whispered, surprised and disapproving.
Lois never noticed. She had eyes only for Shanaco.
“I knew it,” she accused as they turned about the floor. “You do dance. And you dance divinely!”
And he did.
Shanaco moved with the unconscious grace that was so much a part of him. Lois was in heaven. She draped an arm around his shoulder, clasped the strong column of his neck with possessive fingers and pressed her voluptuous body close to his.
For a time she made small talk, asking questions, but getting no response. Finally she stood on tiptoe, put her lips near his ear and whispered, “Feel me moving against you, Chief? Wouldn’t you like to feel me moving against you when I’m not wearing clothes? When you’re not, either? When you’re hot and hard and I’m soft and wet?” Her eyes flashed when she added, “I know you would. And you can. My father’s duties often take him away from the fort for days at a time.”
“Miss Harkins,” Shanaco said through thinned lips, “behave yourself.”
“I don’t want to behave and you don’t want me to. Do you, Chief?” No reply. Undeterred, she murmured, “When my father is gone, I’m alone in our residence. And, oh so lonely.”
Shanaco did not encourage her. Did not respond to her brash overtures. But Lois was used to getting what she wanted and she wanted Shanaco. She continued to tease him, moving her body suggestively against his, insinuating her gowned knee between his long legs in an attempt to arouse him. She was quite adept at playing provocative games. She could make the most outrageous moves on her dance partner while outwardly appearing to be circumspect.
The dancers who had paused to stare and whisper were now dancing again, supposing that the commandant’s young daughter had her father’s blessing and was only attempting to make the half-breed chief feel welcome.
Not Maggie.
She knew better. Watching the pair over Dave’s shoulder as they spun about, Maggie bristled. Astute, she had a very good idea of what Lois was saying—and doing—to Shanaco. She knew as well that if he responded, it could cause all kinds of trouble.
As if he had read her thoughts, Dave Finley said, “Shall we help out Shanaco?”
“Someone needs to,” Maggie said.
Dave Finley maneuvered Maggie across the crowded floor to Lois and Shanaco.
“May I cut in?” Dave said, tapping Shanaco on the shoulder. Before she could object, Dave took Lois in his arms and danced her away. Maggie automatically stepped into Shanaco’s arms. He held her at arm’s length and thanked her with his eyes. Unnerved by him, and more attracted than she would ever have admitted, she immediately began lecturing him.
“You had better be careful, Chief Shanaco. Lois is lovely, I know, but she’s the commandant’s daughter and she will get you into serious trouble.”
Shanaco easily replied, “And you? Will you get me into trouble, Maggie?”
She blushed hotly. “That’s Miss Bankhead to you, and no, there is no chance of that ever happening.”
Eighteen
She purred and stretched like a lazy cat. And she realized, with a small degree of surprise, that she was no longer dressed. She didn’t recall discarding her elegant ball gown, lacy underwear, shoes and stockings. But they lay on the floor by the bed and she wore only a nightgown.
Perhaps he had undressed her. If so, she would return the favor. It would be, she decided, a sensual delight to strip him bare.
“You are going to get me in trouble,” he smilingly accused, his voice low and with a dark resonance that sent chills up her spine.
“Perhaps,” she said with a teasing laugh, and, looking into his hypnotic silver eyes, added, “but it will be worth it, I promise you.”
“Then go ahead,” he urged, “get me in trouble. Do what you will to me.” And as he spoke, his dexterous fingers tugged at the delicate ribbon tied at her throat.
She lay on her back atop her soft feather bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, leaning over her, his fierce eyes burning with an intense light that made her heart throb.
He was still fully clothed. His dark evening jacket stretched across his wide shoulders, the silk cravat untied and hanging loose, white shirt open at the collar, exposing his bronzed throat.
Across the room, the fire in the grate was slowly dying, the low-burning flames casting deep shadows on the hard planes of his handsome face.
The yoke of her nightgown was now open. He brushed back both sides of the delicate fabric, lowered his face and placed a kiss in the sensitive hollow of her throat. She thought her heart would beat its way out of her chest when she felt his lips open and his sleek tongue lightly paint her flesh with searing liquid heat.
He lifted his head and looked at her. His pale eyes flashed in the shadows, like a hungry wolf’s. “Un-button my shirt,” he ordered. “Touch me. Feel my heart beating.”
Mesmerized, she lifted both hands and began unbuttoning his shirt. When it was open down his coppery chest, she pushed it apart and laid eager fingers on the hard band of muscle. His flesh was satiny smooth and incredibly hot to the touch. His heart beat heavily against her open palm.
“Let me feel your heart beating against mine,” he
commanded as he roughly took hold of her upper arms and drew her into a sitting position facing him.
He swept her opened gown apart. She clasped his hard biceps and pressed her bared breasts against his naked chest.
“Like this?” she asked, and provocatively brushed her left breast back and forth against the solid wall of his chest.
Loving the touch of his warm, bare flesh against her own, she inhaled deeply of his clean, unique scent and sighed with rising pleasure. After a few seconds she pulled back a little, looked into his eyes and said, “Oh, please. Kiss me. Kiss me now.”
Shanaco’s strong arms went around Maggie and his lips captured hers. Just as it had been that day at his cottage, the kiss was hot and invasive and incredibly stirring. Maggie responded with a passion that rivaled his, and when finally the prolonged kiss ended, she sagged weakly against him, gasping for breath and shaking with emotion.
She winced when Shanaco grabbed a handful of her flowing hair at the back of her head, yanked her face up and stared hungrily into her eyes. “I am,” he warned, “going to make love to you right here in this bed until you are mine and mine alone. If this is not what you want, tell me now.”
“It is what I want,” she replied breathlessly, captivated but mildly fearful of that elemental savagery that was surely so much a part of him.
His long fingers tangling tightly in her hair, he ground his hot mouth down on hers again and Maggie felt his heart pound against her breasts. She trembled. When he tore his lips from hers, she was again lying on her back. She held her breath when he laid his cheek against her naked breast and asked, his voice vibrating against her, “Are you afraid of me?”
“No, I’m not,” she whispered.
But she shivered and her breath came out in a whoosh when he turned his face inward and kissed her left breast. Her eyes slid closed and she dug her fingers into the muscles along his wide shoulders. She murmured his name.
Shanaco’s mouth moved back up to hers and he kissed her trembling lips. He kept kissing her, over and over, and soon Maggie became aware of his lean fingers pulling at the long tail of her nightgown. She felt the soft fabric sliding up to her knees. Then higher. She stiffened slightly but made no attempt to make him stop.
Her weak arms lifted and wound tightly around his neck; her lips opened and moved beneath his as Maggie was carried away on a rising tide of passion. When Shanaco impatiently shoved the gown up to her thighs, she tore her lips from his and buried her face in his throat.
She shuddered when she felt his hand go beneath the bunched gown to touch her bare stomach. When his spread fingers began to slide possessively down her quivering belly, Maggie whispered, “Yes, oh yes.” Her breathing became shallow and labored and she was so hot, she felt as if she would burst into flame. “Oh, oh, oh…” She squirmed and thrust her pelvis forward.
“Shanaco, Shanaco, Shanaco…”
Calling his name, Maggie awakened with a start.
Eyes opening wide, heart hammering, she lunged up in bed and looked anxiously around, expecting to see Shanaco. She swallowed hard. She saw that she’d kicked all the covers off. Worse, her long nightgown was wadded around her thighs and her bare legs were slightly parted. Maggie slammed her knees together and shoved her nightgown down.
Her face scarlet, her entire body perspiring, she sat there shaken and trembling. The dream had been so real. Too real. It was as if he had actually been in the room with her. She could feel his hot lips on hers, feel his warm hand on her stomach.
Never in her life had Maggie had an erotic dream. She was disturbed by the dream’s sexual content and intensity. Shocked at herself. The carnal dream had been so incredibly real, it had left her feeling drained. Yet at the same time, aroused. A feverish, almost painful yearning lingered.
She wondered if the shameful dream was a manifestation of an unconscious desire she harbored for the Comanche chieftain. No, of course not, she assured herself. Yet she was burning hot in the coldness of the room. So uncomfortably feverish, she had to check the strong urge to strip off the choking nightgown and toss it to the floor.
Heart pounding, she rose from the bed, crossed to the armless rocker and sat down. Her knees together, bare feet planted firmly on the floor, she hugged her arms across her breasts. She rocked back and forth, gritting her teeth, willing herself to calm down, to relax and forget the appalling dream. That’s all it had been, a dream. Just a dream. She was not to blame for what she had dreamed.
Nothing to worry about. No one knew what she had dreamed. No one would ever know. It was only natural that such a graphic sexual dream about a particular person would leave her feeling flushed and uneasy. The effects would be gone within minutes and the dream soon forgotten.
Not so.
The fire in the grate had totally died and turned to cold ash before the night’s deepening chill drove Maggie back to the warmth of her bed.
And even then the dream was as vivid as ever.
There was a burning in the blood that Shanaco could not deny. Long after he’d briefly held her in his arms at the ball, he continued to think about her, to smell the perfumed hair, to feel the softness of her small hand in his, to hear her musical voice.
Shanaco harbored a carefully suppressed passion for the independent young woman with the flaming red hair and flashing blue eyes. Why, he didn’t know. But from the first moment he’d seen her running across the pasture with the wolfhound at her heels, he had wanted her. Desired her. Yearned to hold her in his arms.
Maggie Bankhead fascinated him, enchanted him, excited him. She was incredibly appealing, and not just because she was beautiful, but because she did not behave as other women. She was neither afraid of him nor attracted to him. She was not uneasy in his presence, never flinched when his eyes met hers. Had no qualms about scolding and lecturing him. Hadn’t hesitated to tell him that “she would do all the deciding when she wanted to be kissed.”
Shanaco smiled at the recollection.
He lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips and took a long pull. He sat leaning comfortably back in the only upholstered chair at his secluded cabin. He stared into the dying fire. He had been sitting there alone since leaving the officers’ ball a couple of hours earlier.
His custom-cut evening jacket tossed aside, his white shirt open down his chest, leather shoes kicked off, Shanaco reflected on the events of the evening. The few fleeting minutes with Maggie had been enjoyable, even though she had spent all her time warning him to stay away from Lois Harkins.
Maggie was perceptive. And right. The commandant’s blond daughter worried him. Lois Harkins had made no bones about the fact that she wanted to make love to him. The voluptuous blonde had an overly developed body and underdeveloped morals. She had, with her father looking on, brazenly propositioned him on the dance floor. Had he given the nod, he would have her here right now. With no more than the snap of his fingers, she’d have quickly agreed to spend the night in his bed.
Shanaco shrugged and took another drink of whiskey.
The woman he’d really like to have here with him was the fiery, flame-haired Maggie Bankhead. The thought of making love to her made his lower belly tighten and his groin stir. He wanted her. But he would never make any attempt to seduce her. Shanaco smiled sardonically.
He wouldn’t dare touch Lois Harkins because she would cause him too much trouble. He wouldn’t dare touch Maggie Bankhead because he would cause her too much trouble.
Shanaco shook his head and poured himself another shot of whiskey.
When the ball finally ended, Captain Daniel Wilde had, like the loyal aide-de-camp he was, escorted his commanding officer and the colonel’s daughter back to their residence.
Colonel Harkins was yawning sleepily by the time the trio went inside. “I hope you won’t think me rude, Captain,” said the colonel, “I’m utterly exhausted. It’s off to bed for me.”
“Good night, Colonel,” said Daniel Wilde.
“Lois will see you out,” said the co
lonel. “Or pour you a nightcap if you wish.” He kissed his daughter’s cheek. “Good night, dear.”
“’Night, Father,” she said.
Captain Wilde waited barely long enough for the older man to get out of the room before he crossed to Lois, put a spread hand on her bare throat, urged her head back with his thumb and said, “I’ll go now and leave my door unlocked.” He grinned then and added, “I’ll expect you in five minutes.” He bent, started to kiss her.
Lois turned her head. “I’m not coming tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
She pushed on his chest, turned away from him. “Exactly what I said, Danny. I’m tired.”
Wilde’s jaw hardened. He took Lois’s arm and spun her to face him. “What are you trying to pull, Lois?”
She smiled sweetly, laid her hands on his chest and said innocently, “Nothing, Danny.” She slipped her arms up around his neck and playfully bit his chin. “I’m very sleepy, that’s all.”
“Well, all right, baby,” he said, finally softening. He kissed her, then lifted his head and smiled at her. “Lois, I don’t think you realize just how desirable you are.”
“Oh, Danny, you’re sweet.”
He pressed her close. “Listen, darling, I know you’re a friendly girl and that’s one of the things about you I find so charming. But, Lois, you’re not aware of just what you do to men.”
“I know what I do to you,” she teased.
“Dammit, listen to me. You need to watch your step around that sullen half-breed Comanche. You should never have danced with him tonight. He might well have gotten the wrong idea.”
“I seriously doubt it,” she said, keeping a straight face despite the double meaning of her statement.
“All the same, I want you to stay the hell away from him, you hear? It’s not safe for you to have anything to do with him.”
“You’ll protect me, won’t you, Danny?” Lois took his arm, propelled him toward the door.