by Renee Simons
"Let's not."
Warmth and pleasure lit his eyes, igniting the tentative flame that had flickered deep within her like a candle fighting the wind, too delicate to burn brightly, too stubborn to die. His smile sent molten rivulets through her veins, and heated the places she'd so recently rediscovered. An inner glow lit the cold, dark recesses of mind and body where ghosts of the past had hovered.
"My God, Red," he whispered. He pulled her closer. "You look . . . I don't know what I'm seeing in your eyes."
"Exactly what's there." She leaned against him and kissed his mouth. "Let's not lose this moment. Let's find a place and make it last a little longer."
He turned toward the house. "What if my grandmother comes home?"
"And my RV's too close to Mike."
He helped her to her feet and led her down the steps and around the corner of the house to the barn. The last slanting rays of the sun warmed her back and she welcomed its touch like that of an old friend.
Once inside the weathered but sturdy building, Zan waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. A horse snuffled; another whinnied. Stormwalker went to the stalls, murmuring to the animals, then turned to her and waited for her to make the first move.
It had to be that way, she knew. She knew, also, that once she took the first step, there would be no turning back. She took it as he stood like a powerful magnet pulling her closer until she was in his arms and his lips claimed hers.
The hunger was mutual, as well as the passion. What each offered was received gladly by the other and returned until they pulled apart, weak and trembling with the feelings they had aroused in each other. Zan buried her face in his shoulder.
He pulled back and looked at her. "I don't think I can let you go this time, Red."
"I don't want you to."
"Have you considered the consequences?"
"Every one," she whispered.
"And...?"
She returned to his arms and slipped her hands around his narrow waist. "Make love with me."
Chapter 8
Stormwalker took Zan's hand and led her to a ladder at the rear of the barn. "That's a loft," he explained. "I spent last night up there."
"Why?"
He shrugged and gave her a shy, boyish smile. "I couldn't sleep with you so close by, so I came out here."
Zan kissed him lightly. "I'm sorry to have put you out of your bed."
They climbed the ladder and in a crouch, moved to the small window. The late afternoon sun swathed the blankets and pillow just beneath with a golden glow. She imagined she could make out the indentations where his head and his body had rested and felt her legs go weak again. She sank to her knees on the sweet-smelling straw that covered the wooden planks.
Stormwalker knelt beside her and searched her face. "Why are you here?" he asked, as he had once before.
"Because it's where I want to be."
She leaned forward, molding her body to his and letting him feel her firm breasts against his muscular chest. His breath caught in his throat as her lips caressed his. She slipped her arms around his waist and waited, but he held back.
She smiled against his mouth and whispered, "I won't break."
He drew away and took her face in his hands, his heated gaze boring into hers. "I could hurt you. I've been alone a long time, and the feelings are strong."
She drew her mouth back to his. "I've been alone, too."
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. Her lips parted and welcomed his tongue as it drove inside to seek the moist warmth of her mouth and slid along the slick inner surfaces, stroking, beckoning until her tongue followed every movement.
His heartbeat drummed wildly beneath his ribs as his hands traced the sensuous curve of her hips. He pressed her tightly to him, revealing the fierce power she had awakened that now throbbed between them. The movement changed the balance of her body, tearing her lips from his and forcing her head backwards on the slender column of her neck, exposing her throat to a shower of hot, hungry kisses that stopped only when his mouth met the barrier of her open-necked blouse.
Zan brought her head forward and watched his eyes as she slowly undid the buttons until her cotton shirt lay open to the waist. Her gaze held his as he pulled the garment free, slipped it off her shoulders and lay it aside. She did the same for him with hands that were unsteady but determined, that warmed him as they brushed his bare skin. She undid a wisp of lacy bra and added it to the small pile of clothing in a corner of the loft.
His gaze caressed her breasts, then his hands followed with the gentle touch he might have reserved for a precious treasure. Finally his mouth nuzzled the firm white flesh and teased her nipples. She trembled and he drew away so he could watch her expression. He found a strange light in her eyes, as if a flame flickered in their depths, that seared his blood and caused his pulse to race.
"You don't mind it?" she asked.
"What?"
"The scar."
When he'd brought her coffee, he'd noticed the hairline track that ran from breastbone to naval and had given it one fleeting thought . . . that it was connected to the "close call" she'd had.
"You're lucky to be alive, from the looks of it."
"Yes."
"Then I'm lucky, too."
"It doesn't . . . bother you?"
In response, he eased her backwards onto the mat, slowly, with all the control he could manage, following her down and covering her with his body. His fingers laced with hers as he raised her arms above her head. His skin drank in the scent and feel of her. His lips covered her face and throat with kisses, branding him with the memory of her taste.
When he released her hands her fingers threaded themselves through his hair. Her mouth searched hungrily for his. A soft moan throbbed against his lips. He captured it and took it inside as his breath mingled with hers and their tongues joined once more.
He slipped a hand between them, undid her jeans and eased them down over her hips to brush the velvety skin of her abdomen that first quivered beneath his fingers and then warmed to his touch.
She slipped her hands beneath his own butter-soft denims and caressed his buttocks with gentle palms. Her touch caused him to tighten against her belly. Her breath hissed between her teeth and a groan tore from her throat.
"Stormwalker?" she said softly, "I don't want anything between us."
"All right," he said, and together they removed the last of their clothing.
He lay beside her and took in the beauty of her body.
"How can you look at it?" she whispered. "That scar is ugly. It's made me ugly."
With one finger, he traced the long, slender ridge of hardened flesh that ended just above her navel. She shuddered and pulled in her stomach muscles as if to escape his touch.
He passed his palm lightly over the skin stretched tautly across her pelvic bones, soothed with a gentle circular motion that relaxed her though she fought to resist, while his skin tingled from touching her. He moved his hand across the smooth expanse of warm, vibrant flesh and let it trail down her side from breast to thigh.
He urged her legs apart, tested their strong muscles and caressed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Her legs closed reflexively and trapped his hand in a powerful grip he did nothing to break. Instead, he shifted position; his mouth completed the circle back up her body to the creamy breasts that held such fascination for him.
His tongue traced the scar as his finger tip had done. A strange feeling cut through him, like lightning, piercing and searing as it went. Zan broke the silence with a soft moan, arched into his touch and finally released his hand.
He watched her face as he whispered, "That 'ugly thing' has a strangely erotic effect, doesn't it?"
"I wonder why," she said as she watched him with a sultry, dark-eyed intensity.
"Because nothing about you is repellant to me, not even that scar, and you're no less beautiful or desirable because of it."
"A little like my being here with
you even. . . ." As if afraid to spoil the moment, she went no further.
". . . even though you have doubts about me?"
"Does that make you angry?"
Stormwalker slipped one leg between hers and let his hand travel lightly down her body once again to rest quietly but temptingly on the mound of curls brushing his thigh.
"Red, honey," he crooned against the corner of her mouth, "there are too many other feelings in this body to have any room left for anger."
"Tell me."
He found the words difficult to frame, and he knew that once he said them, he would be forever vulnerable to her, but he needed to say them and she needed to hear.
"Fear and gratitude, pleasure and pain, wanting and needing and something I'm afraid to name," he whispered, "that I've never felt before with any woman I've known . . . not even my wife."
She touched his cheek. "Try?"
He covered her hand with his and looked into her dark eyes, imagining he could see acceptance, a soft welcome, a need to share what he felt. "Being with you feels like . . . coming home."
As if his words had touched some dark, previously untouchable place, silent tears began to flow. He kissed them away, murmuring soft words of comfort.
She opened herself to him and joined with him, receiving the sensual pleasure and the caring that lay within every kiss, every caress, every softly whispered word. In the sharing, she returned warmth and renewal and a gentle passion he would cherish whether or not the future held any hope for them. Or him.
*****
Zan woke to the feel of Stormwalker's arms around her, his breath feathery soft on the side of her neck, his strong body nested against hers like one spoon against another. Rather than wake him, she lay quietly, remembering how they'd passed the night, or a good part of it. She felt again the heat, the urgency, the passion they'd aroused in each other and then satisfied. Her nipples hardened and moisture started in that place he had so recently filled.
Chagrined and more than a little afraid of her response to the memory of their lovemaking, she shifted out of his arms. They'd made no commitment to each other. If she slipped away now she wouldn't have to see regret in his eyes that they'd come together at all.
"Where're you going?" he asked in a sleep-roughened whisper.
"Back to my place. I have to check something in the computer." She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Come over for coffee, if you care to."
His lips touched the back of her hand. "I have to work this morning. Meet me at the plant," he said and drifted off.
She found her clothes and dressed as quietly as she could before climbing down the ladder. In the doorway of the barn she paused to let her eyes adjust to the bright light of early morning. Anyone in view of her would have fun speculating about what she was doing here.
"Too late to worry about appearances," she muttered and walked out into the street.
Back at the camper, she started the coffee maker and booted up the computer. As she'd awakened, a memory had flashed through her mind that had caused her gut to flip-flop and to keep on flip-flopping until nausea set in.
She loaded the diskette containing trial transcripts and scrolled to an account of Stormwalker's alleged betrayal of the Agency. There, just as she'd remembered it, was a piece of information crucial to the case against him.
She went over the data twice, to be sure she understood it, then stared at the screen as the printer produced a hard copy of the page. A half hour later, combed, dressed and fortified with a slice of dry toast to calm her queasy stomach, she stopped by Mike's office.
"I'm gettin' used to your popping in and out," he said. "You leave and I'm gonna miss our visits."
"As long as they aren't disruptive."
Zan looked at the wall of glass and the sweep of land beyond it. The faint blue silhouette of a range of hills, their outline softened by distance and the blur of atmosphere, marked the horizon.
"What mountains are those?" Zan asked, pointing south.
"The Black Hills," Mike answered.
"They're sacred to your people aren't they?"
"They have been as far back as anyone knows." He shook his head. "I just wish we could have kept white folks out."
"Then I guess you wouldn't want me there."
"You're not white folks. You're just folks. Ask my nephew to take you. He knows them well from his youth."
"Thanks for accepting me," Zan said.
"Yeah, well, I'm a pragmatist. So what can I do for you this morning?"
"I'm looking for Stormwalker."
"He's in the storeroom. He'll be right back. How about some coffee?"
"Whatever you do, don't drink his coffee." Stormwalker stepped inside the small office. "And Uncle, I'd be obliged if you didn't subject my girl to your poisonous brew."
Mike lifted one eyebrow but took no other notice of Stormwalker's casual reference to his relationship with Zan. "What's wrong with my coffee?"
"Is today Thursday?"
"Nope."
Stormwalker turned to Zan. "Once a week, on Thursday, he makes a fresh pot of coffee. After that, he just adds new grounds and water to whatever is left. By Wednesday, the stuff is thick enough to support a spoon and acidic enough to peel paint. The caffeine can bug your eyes out of their sockets."
Zan's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, as she looked at Mike. "Tell me he's exaggerating."
"Not by much," Mike said with a grin. "But if I did things any other way my brain would shut down like a rusty power plant and my insides would rebel out of sheer boredom."
"And if I'm here long enough," Stormwalker said, "I'll be just as addicted as he is."
"Thanks for the warning." His reference to time reminded her of why she'd come. The nausea returned.
"What's wrong?" Stormwalker touched her arm. "Did I say something?"
She shook her head. "We need to talk."
Mike excused himself and shut the door behind him.
"Is it about last night," he asked.
"Why would you think that?"
"When you left I thought you might be having regrets, that last night was a disappointment to you, that I'd been too rough or too impatient. Or maybe you were angry because we didn't take any precautions."
"We didn't need them. I'm on the pill."
"There are other reasons to be careful, but just so you know, in prison, they tested us every six months."
"Then I'm safe and you're healthy. What a pair." Her attempt at humor fell flat.
"You're upset about something." He touched her cheek with the back of his hand "Is that why you left?"
She leaned into his touch although she'd promised herself to keep away. "I was afraid you would think last night was a mistake."
He took her in his arms for a kiss that echoed the passion and hunger they had shared. "Last night was perfect." He examined her face. "What else?"
"Do you remember the conversation in the parking lot between the man with the voice box and the other guy?"
He nodded.
"Tell me what they said."
"That trying to use sex would never work because you hate me too much." He grinned broadly. "Let's not tell them how wrong they are."
Zan laughed despite the hollow feeling in her chest. Her memories of love with Dar had died this morning and she was afraid to hope she had something to take its place.
"Not yet, anyway." Was she talking about his problem or hers? "What else?"
He thought for a moment. "That in Vlad they'd tried without success to get to me through a woman?"
"Exactly." She took a folded sheet of paper from the back pocket of her jeans. "Take a look at this."
Stormwalker scanned the page. "This says I was involved with one of the female agents."
"That's from a report Dar filed. He lied."
"I'm sorry," he whispered against her hair.
"Why? This is good for you."
"I know, but you believed in him."
"Apparently, I'm not a
very good judge of character."
"Don't be too hard on yourself. He had everyone fooled." He hooked his hands in his belt. "This does us no good. We can't prove what we heard."
"If he lied about this, then he lied about other things. We'll dig until we find something we can prove."
"I'd better let you get back to your work."
"One question," she said. "What kind of support was he supposed to give you?"
"Backup in case of trouble, and a way out if I couldn't make it on my own."
"And he knew what your mission was?"
"Yes."
"Why do you think he lied?"
"That's three questions. You're over the limit."
"Why do you think he lied?"
How much she could handle? How much would she believe? He decided to trust the bond forming between them.
"I think he lied because he was a double agent."
She caught her lush bottom lip between her teeth and a frown wrinkled her forehead. He knew she was fighting to stay in control of her feelings, but he needed to bring the truth out where she could see it and deal with it.
"Red, you have to know I wasn't the only one to think he'd turned, but when we set out to try and prove his guilt, the evidence got me deeper and deeper into the hole. When he was killed, the truth died with him."
"We'll bring it back to life," she said.
Now tears filled her eyes and Stormwalker silently cursed himself for having caused them. "If this is too difficult," he said, "I'll talk to Mac. We'll find some other way."
"No. I need to know if Dar was dirty and how I could have been so wrong about him."
She sighed and fought back another rush of threatening tears. He kissed her trembling mouth and watched as she left to return to the RV.
*****
Hours later, Zan heard a knock on the door. She hit a key to save her work and shut down the PC. Stormwalker stepped inside.