He looked like a fallen angel, she decided. His mysterious eyes and the cut of his angular features gave him a dangerous look that defied any woman to dare to tame his wild heart and bring out his good side. Lost thus in introspection, Annie was surprised how quickly they reached Jewell’s house. Without further ado, Johnny parked the vehicle, opened her door for her, and insisted on escorting her to the front stoop.
Despite the fact that her date had acted in none other than a gentlemanly way toward her, all the way home Annie had secretly entertained daydreams about this man pulling over to the side of the road and having his way with her. Since it was simple fantasy and nothing more, she allowed her alter ego to succumb with minimal resistance. Nonetheless, her imagination had made her jumpy.
Not to mention hot and damp all over.
Something told Annie that Johnny Lonebear was not the kind of man who would be satisfied with a chaste peck on the cheek before the door was shut in his face. It was the same something that made her suspect that asking him into her home for a social drink would be nothing short of inviting trouble right into her life, and more specifically her bedroom.
Clearly amused by her fumbling attempts to unlock the front door, Johnny couldn’t refrain from remarking, “I suppose you’d better ask me in. Just in case you need help ejecting that roving band of drunk Indians who got lost on the way to the powwow and are looking to ravage a white woman.”
Stung by the assumption that her precautions in locking the front door stemmed from anything other than the common sense gleaned from living in the city, Annie considered his reverse discrimination completely unjustified. She gave him a sidelong glance. She hadn’t yet made up her mind whether or not to invite him in, and Annie seldom let herself be goaded into anything.
“There’s a leap of logic for you. Following that line of thought, I suppose my not asking you in would verify your sister’s opinion of me as a bigot,” she asserted, not bothering to hide the disdain in her voice. Giving up on the blasted key altogether in frustration, Annie brandished it like a weapon in his face.
Johnny held his hands up in surrender.
“Whatever you say,” he replied with a lopsided smile that made Annie’s heart list a little to one side in her chest.
Johnny regretted putting that wary look back in Annie’s eyes with his teasing. It was all he could do to refrain from pointing out that if she was unable to deal with such innocent banter there was very little point in her attempting to teach native children much of anything. A keen sense of humor had all but replaced the bow and arrow for his people. Those among their ranks incapable of laughing at themselves were likely to succumb to the despair that led far too many young people on reservations all across America to suicide or a slow death through alcohol or drug abuse.
Taking the key out of her hand, Johnny inserted it into a lock that was stiff from lack of use. He couldn’t help draw a grim comparison to himself. Blaming his self-imposed celibacy for the completely undisciplined manner in which his body was reacting, he considered the wisdom of engaging in a simple roll in the hay with the fair-haired creature who had him so hot and bothered. As much as he wanted to believe the consummation of his desire would put an end to his longing once and for all, he had his doubts about whether a sexual dalliance with Annie Wainwright could possibly be that simple.
The door swung open to reveal a tidy abode that bespoke little about its present occupant. Johnny could see Jewell’s hand upon everything and precious little of Annie’s that met the eye.
“Would you like to come in for a drink?” she asked in a tone too hesitant for Johnny’s liking.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll turn into the stereotypical drunk Indian that you have your door locked against?” he asked with a sneer.
“I’m not afraid of any stereotype,” Annie replied coldly. “Except the one in which I’m cast as a racist by whatever I do or don’t say. Just in case you’re unaware of the fact, I’m getting damn sick and tired of your unwarranted prickly attitude.”
Coming from such a refined lady, the use of the mild expletive stunned Johnny. A lesser man might have used the rebuke as an excuse not to ever step over her threshold again. But Johnny Lonebear wasn’t one to back away from the truth when he was standing eyeball to eyeball with it. He didn’t need Sigmund Freud to tell him that he was unduly defensive and, as such, often tried beating others to the punch. In this particular case he regretted his rudeness but still couldn’t keep from wondering if this seemingly gentle woman wasn’t secretly harboring a little prejudice that she didn’t want to admit to herself. Despite the enthusiastic welcome she had received from his friends at the powwow, Ester’s comment about “do-gooders” inadvertently doing more harm than good reverberated through Johnny’s mind, reminding him not to let down his guard until he had a chance to get to know her better.
“Fair enough,” he said, following her inside as if nothing negative had passed between them. “I’ll have a Jack and cola if you’ve got it.”
Annie’s bright smile negated the need to turn on any lights. “I’ll have to check to see what I’ve got,” she said, realizing she had yet to acquaint herself with Jewell’s liquor cabinet.
While she poked around in the kitchen, Johnny took the opportunity to seek out clues that would give him a better insight into who Annie Wainwright really was. A stack of catalogues and design books of stained-glass patterns were neatly piled up beside the couch. A portfolio of her work lay on the coffee table. Johnny picked it up and perused it. All in all he was impressed, but still no closer to understanding her as anything more than a member of his highly respected staff.
A set of framed pictures prominently displayed atop a china hutch was more promising. A family photograph in which a younger Annie smiled at the camera illustrated a striking similarity among family members. Both a brother and a sister shared her light complexion and fair hair. All of them had inherited their mother’s vibrant blue eyes. To a boy who had lost both of his parents in a drunk driving accident when he was barely eight years old, the picture represented that which Johnny could never have: the stability of a whole and complete family and a middle-class background.
Johnny set the photograph down and picked up the smaller one next to it. The portrait was encased in an expensive oval frame made of inlaid silver. It was of an infant. Although the baby was certainly beautiful enough to fit into the smiling Anglo family in the larger frame, its complexion was a shade too dark for Johnny to believe the infant was a blood relative. Maybe one of Annie’s siblings married outside their race to produce this angelic-looking child, and in the process created an aunt who was truly colorblind. Maybe the infant had been adopted.
And maybe it was none of his business, Johnny told himself as Annie stepped back into the living room carrying a drink in each hand. The look upon her face when she saw what he held in his hand compelled him to immediately put the picture back where he had found it. For the life of him, she looked as if she had just caught him playing with a sacred object.
Or disturbing the dead.
Annie clenched the drinks in her hands so tightly that Johnny thought she might actually break the glass. Although he gave her a searching look as he attempted to pry the beverages from her, she refused to acknowledge his curiosity. Instead she merely loosened her white-knuckled grip on his drink, handed it to him and gestured for him to sit down on the couch. Johnny reached out to encircle her wrist with his free hand. Their gazes collided and held for a look before a gentle tug pulled Annie into the seat next to him.
The two measly plastic trays of ice in her freezer didn’t stand a chance of cooling things off between them, Annie realized watching the cubes in her drink melt. One big gulp of her drink convinced her that she hadn’t made it nearly strong enough. The mere proximity of the man sitting beside her made her feel nervous. And feverish all over. There was little hope that scintillating conversation would be of much use in this situation. Try as she might, Annie couldn’t think of a si
ngle thing to say, and Johnny didn’t seem much inclined to polite chitchat. As usual he took a far more direct route.
“Where exactly do you think this is going to lead?”
The question took Annie aback. Not simply because it was the same question that she had been asking herself ever since she had agreed to go out with him, but rather because the answer that immediately popped into her head was so utterly shocking.
In my bed!
Setting her drink down next to his on the coffee table with a shaky hand, she admitted honestly enough, “As a matter of fact I don’t know.”
“Well, I do, my little wind dancer,” Johnny said, wrapping a tendril of her blond hair around his index finger and drawing it sensuously across his own lips. “And I’m not at all sure you’re ready to go there.”
Annie felt the air catch in her throat. Hypnotized by eyes that invited her to look into the unexplored universe of this man’s soul, she felt inexorably compelled to follow his lead. Tentatively she reached out to touch his hair. It felt as thick and soft as black velvet. Trailing her nails along the exposed nape of his neck, she made Johnny groan softly. The sound stirred the blood coursing through her own veins in hot, intemperate spurts.
She wet her lips with her tongue. Unmistakable yearning flashed in Johnny’s eyes as he abandoned the single tendril that he held. Firmly but gently he grabbed an entire handful of golden hair. Annie heard herself whimper as he tilted her head back. It was not a sound of pain but rather one of longing emanating from a secret place deep inside her that she kept from even herself. Never before had Annie felt such a needy ache.
“You’re wrong about that,” she assured him in a throaty whisper.
Instantly Johnny loosened his hold on the golden mane threaded between his fingers, and Annie realized that he had misunderstood her.
“I’m as ready as I’ve ever been or will be,” she clarified for the record.
To Annie’s surprise instead of sounding like a frightened spinster, she heard the voice of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it.
It was all the encouragement Johnny needed. His mouth found the vulnerable angle of her neck and caressed it so tenderly that Annie thought she would have to beg him to stop.
Goose bumps betrayed flesh that was all too willing to submit to this man’s will. Her own ill-fated past left Annie unprepared for the feelings welling up inside her. Suddenly the world simply ceased to exist outside her skin, as a wanton, wonderful creature of the senses triumphed over the analytic part of her brain, who so convincingly warned others to stop and think before making any life-altering decisions.
“Are you sure?” Johnny asked, wanting to be positive that she understood the implications of the question by firmly guiding one of her hands toward the rock-hard bulge between his thighs.
Annie’s eyes widened. Her own sexual experience was limited. Clearly Johnny was more generously endowed than any man she had been with before. And although it suddenly occurred to her in addition to complicated emotional considerations she might not be physically up to the task, the roaring in her ears assured her that it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the compelling need she felt to join with this man in the most intimate way.
To unite her body with his.
“I’m sure,” she lied, closing her eyes and pulling Johnny’s head toward a kiss that was certain to change the course of destiny.
Six
Johnny’s lips covered hers, sending Annie into a free fall that left her so dizzy she could do little but hang on to the strong column of his neck for fear of flying right off the face of the planet and entering uncharted space. When his tongue stroked hers, demanding access to her very soul, she put up no resistance. Rather she gave as good as she got and was rewarded for her efforts with the sound of a masculine moan against her lips. Trembling in his arms, Annie succumbed to the realization that she had never in her whole life experienced such a kiss.
It was the kind of kiss a girlfriend might describe to another over coffee as knocking her socks off. Considering the fact that Annie was about to lose a whole lot more than just her stockings, Johnny’s kiss was appreciably more powerful than anything she could hope to put into words. Something about the exposed back of this man’s neck brought out the primal in her. The feel of closely cropped hair along his neckline was incredibly sensual as she continued upward, running her hands through his silken thatch of black, black hair. Clinging to him, Annie gave herself permission to revel in the heady sensations of the flesh without regard to any emotional consequences.
When he finally broke that kiss, Johnny was breathing hard. He paused to study her as if looking for the reserved teacher he had taken to the powwow. Who was this wanton creature that had switched places with her? Surprised by the intensity of the chemistry between them, he sought answers in eyes the color of cornflowers.
Those eyes shimmered with undisguised longing. Annie instinctively understood that from this point onward there would be no backing down. Silently praising herself for having enough self-control not to rip Johnny’s clothes off him right there in front of the living room’s picture window, she decided against giving any passersby a cheap thrill. Somehow she managed to disengage herself from Johnny’s arms and attempted to stand up. The light-headedness that forcefully set her back down upon the couch had absolutely nothing to do with low blood pressure.
Or cold feet.
It had everything to do with the enormity of the step she was preparing to take. Steadying herself against Johnny’s hard chest, she asked for his help. He was on his feet in an instant, pulling her gently up beside him. Taking his hand she led him down the hallway to her bedroom.
The trip took no longer than eternity.
To Johnny the step across the threshold covered the span of two very different worlds.
A yellow coverlet on Annie’s bed matched the curtains fluttering against a partially open window. Johnny blinked his eyes against the cheerful color. Feeling out of place, he couldn’t help casting himself as some kind of dark interloper against the forces of light: a native version of Darth Vader forcing himself upon sweet, innocent Pollyanna.
Correction: Polly-Annie.
An antique brass headboard gleamed beneath the sunlight spilling into the room. In the light, Annie’s hair formed a luminous halo about her face, making her seem all the more angelic. Flushed with the prospect of making love to him, her skin glowed. Her bright eyes glistened with vulnerability.
Losing himself in those eyes, Johnny felt something hard inside him crack open. Like a baby bird poking though the shell that had protected it so very well against the outside world, it was a feeling that refused to be contained or repressed. Johnny wasn’t sure that he even wanted to so much as acknowledge the emotions that he had deliberately put aside such a long time ago, let alone resurrect them. The thought of opening himself to the possibility of actually caring for a woman beyond the bedroom was unnerving. Frightening. He thought he might just as well rip open old scars with a bowie knife to probe the wounds that time refused to heal as subject himself to such certain heartache again.
All of a sudden he was transported across time and space. Back in uniform again, he saw himself as a green recruit separated by an ocean from the country he had pledged to protect. All that connected him to everything he held dear was a letter from home. He held it reverently in his hand before opening it. He was not been prepared for the words written by the fickle fiancée who had promised to marry him when his tour of duty was over. She had found someone else and hoped Johnny wouldn’t take it too personally. It was a scene immortalized on a film that periodically ran through Johnny’s mind whenever he needed a reminder to never again play the part of a fool.
How hopelessly naive he had been, leaning up against the PX, holding his heart in his hands for everyone to see and reading the words forever carved upon it. Her letter began with two little infamous words:
“Dear John…”
; All these years later the memory was almost enough to send Johnny running from Annie’s cozy bedroom without so much as stopping to explain the vow he’d made to himself that day. A vow to never let himself become so emotionally susceptible to another woman for as long as he lived.
All thoughts of retreat disappeared in an instant, when Annie startled him by taking charge of the situation. Playfully pushing him down on the bed, she proceeded to divest herself of her shirt. The moment she pulled that demure little T-shirt over her head and tossed it his direction, Johnny was her willing prisoner.
Propping a lacy pillow sham behind his head, he settled in for the show of his life. Whoever would have guessed that behind the face of innocent, shy Polly-Annie beat the heart of Gypsy Rose Lee? That she would actually strip for him came as more than a mild surprise. One that aroused and tested the limits of his endurance beyond anything the Special Services had ever required of him.
Dropping a skinny bra strap down to her elbow, Annie flung a provocative moue over one shoulder. Had she not seen such pure male appreciation reflected upon Johnny’s angular features it was likely that she would have immediately dropped all pretense of being a sensuous vamp and crawled right back inside herself. Whatever it was about Johnny Lonebear that brought out the temptress in her was as intoxicating as fine wine. As compelling as an addict’s need for a fix.
Annie felt heady with a sexual power that she hadn’t realized she possessed. A moment later her bra and jeans came off in an equally entertaining fashion. Before she quite knew what had happened, Annie was standing in the middle of her bedroom wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of panties.
Fearlessly facing the sexiest man on earth.
His candid admiration made Annie feel no less than a goddess. Removing her hands from where they covered her breasts, she peeled off the last of her underwear and sidled over to the edge of the bed. There she flipped back the comforter, abandoned her more daring alter ego and dived for cover.
Warrior In Her Bed (Silhouette Desire) Page 6