HIS TENDER TOUCH

by Sharon Mignerey

  She took off her jacket and put it over the woman's shoulders, who seemed only then aware of her nakedness. Another contraction gripped her. Audrey held out her hand in reassurance, and the woman took it.

  Gray left the bedroll and added another log to the fire. A cascade of sparks shot into the sky, which caught the Indian woman's attention. He came around the campfire and knelt next to her. "If she can see you, you'd think she could see me, right?"

  "You'd think." She patted the woman's shoulder and pointed at Gray. "This is my friend."

  Her gaze followed Audrey's finger, but she seemed to see nothing at all. Audrey turned to look at Gray, needing to make sure he was still there, suddenly terrified she might have been consumed by whatever it was that connected this woman's world with hers.

  He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and she swallowed, grateful for his touch.

  Shrugging, the Indian woman turned away and gathered the jacket more closely around her shoulders. Seconds later, another contraction seized her.

  When the contraction passed, Audrey smiled reassuringly at the woman. "You're doing fine," she said, aware she was probably telling a blatant lie. She had no idea whether the woman was fine or not. Almost before the contraction ended, another one began, this was intense enough to draw a long, anguished groan from the woman.

  Pulling a buckskin bag toward her, she reached inside. She removed a knife, which she set in the coals of the fire next to the pot.

  Audrey's gaze went from the knife to Gray. "What—?"

  "To cut the umbilical cord," he said. "Maybe to cauterize the baby's so it won't bleed after it is born."

  "Oh, God," she murmured. She had wondered how women had given birth without benefit of hospitals or doctors, but she had never thought through the details. Face-to-face with the prospect of birth, she was reminded just how out of her element she really was.

  Another spasm gripped the woman, and Audrey once again offered her hand.

  Noticing that the light above them had changed, she glanced at the moon. The eclipse was beginning to pass, and a brilliant white halo appeared on one side.

  The contractions came one after another over the next few minutes. Sweat beaded on the woman's forehead, and she wiped it with the soft chamois cloth, dipping it in the astringent-smelling liquid in the pot.

  Minutes flowed one into another. The woman's pain transcended the moment, bringing into sharp focus another woman's pain—in death, though, not in the process of giving life. Now, as then, Audrey felt helpless. A woman suffering, and nothing she could do to help except offer her hand in support that was pitifully too little.

  This was a feeling she had never wanted to experience again, and for an instant, she wished she had agreed with Gray—they should have left. The instant the thought surfaced, she felt ashamed. Whatever her discomfort, it was insignificant compared to what this woman endured. It wasn't enough to be a presence, offering her hand and her support, while someone else faced unbearable fear and pain. She wanted to shout her frustration at her own impotence to really make a difference. Instead, she blinked away the tears burning at her eyes and squeezed the woman's hand, murmuring words of encouragement and reassurance.

  Audrey felt the woman's emotions as if they were her own. Fear at being alone when a woman was at her most vulnerable. Worry for the unborn child. Loss of her man. Isolation and loneliness so huge she didn't know how it could be borne. The woman straightened suddenly, squatting over a much stained square of buckskin. Audrey knelt behind the woman, supporting her, holding her hands. The woman groaned, gripping Audrey's hands as though they were a lifeline. Then she screamed, the sound splintering down the canyon walls and drowning out the mournful wails of the coyotes.

  Audrey felt Gray behind her, holding her body as she supported the woman. She glanced over her shoulder, tears in her eyes blurring him. So strong. So solid. As long as he was here, she could do this.

  New images filled her mind—just as real as the moment now, just as powerful as the woman's grip on her hand. Images of Gray holding her, supporting her … cherishing her … when the labor to deliver a child into the world was her own.

  The woman cried out again, perhaps calling the name of her warrior husband who could not come to her. So powerful was the connection, Audrey felt a cry tear up her own throat, felt the overwhelming grief of continuing this life without love and companionship. She leaned her back into Gray's solid form, seeking the reassurance of his presence. His warm hands slid down her arms, bracing her trembling muscles as she supported the woman.

  Overhead, the moon grew steadily brighter, the shadow of the eclipse gradually fading. The light reassured her, and she talked to the woman, soothing incessant sounds, encouraging her, goading her, sure that life—not death—was the reward at the end of this struggle. Surely the child would ease the woman's isolation and loss and loneliness.

  "Just a little more," Audrey urged.

  The woman's hard labor intensified. How much more could she bear? Audrey wondered. She felt the woman's energy change, as though she had nothing else to give the labor. A thousand anxieties for the woman's safe delivery chased through her.

  Suddenly, the woman slumped within Audrey's arms as though she had no more energy left.

  "You can't quit now, you can't." Audrey lifted her eyes to the bright moon, the eclipse nearly gone. The bright light felt cold, empty, flat. A shiver of apprehension chased through her.

  In one instant, her body supported the woman. In the next, she didn't feel her at all. No heat. No touch … no pressure from the grip of the woman's hands. Only the chilly evening air and the faint heat from the campfire.

  The woman shifted, looking over her shoulder, meeting Audrey's gaze. She murmured something, squeezed Audrey's hand and simply, instantly disappeared.

  Vanished.

  Numbly, Audrey looked down. Everything—the chamois cloth she had held, the pot in the fire, the stained buck-skin—was gone. Only her jacket lay in a heap at her feet.

  Unbearable loss welled within her.

  "No," she wailed, holding out her arms.

  Gray's arms came around her, and she turned toward him.

  "She was here," she cried. "She was here. I saw her. I held her. I touched her!"

  "I know," he answered. "Look at your hands."

  Bruises were beginning to form where they had been squeezed. Gray examined first one hand, then the other, gently smoothing his thumb over the marks. She wasn't crazy, and she hadn't been dreaming.

  "Oh, God," she moaned, turning into Gray's arms. "What happened to her? Did sh-she have th-the baby? Did she … live or … die?"

  "I don't know, love."

  "Hold me." She clasped Gray around the neck. "I felt her, Gray. She … was fl-flesh and … blood. And here."

  "I know she was," he murmured.

  His arms came around her, and she held him more tightly. He was real. Solid. Warm. As warm as the woman had been. She gripped him tightly, half expecting him to vanish. Without him, her world would be utterly bleak. Just as the woman's had been without her man.

  "She was so alone." Tears welled from beneath her eyelids. "No one should be so alone. Oh, Gray…"

  "It's all right. I'm here."

  Primal emotions erupted from the depths of her soul. More tears squeezed beneath her lids. Turning Gray's face toward her, his cheek feeling like sandpaper beneath her hand, she brought her mouth to his. Surprise held him rigid beneath her touch.

  Instinct and raw need guided her. Boldly, she brushed her lips over his, savoring the texture. Briefly, she touched the seam of his mouth with her tongue, then withdrew. Once, twice, she repeated the action, needing his deep, hungry kisses more than she needed her next breath. A third time. Solid. Real. Warm. Resilient beneath her touch. Feeling as though she needed to absorb him within herself, she pressed herself closer.

  Greedy need built as she explored all the textures and tastes he had to offer. Someone groaned, and she didn't know if it was him
or her. She didn't care. She wanted more.

  Her hands slid into his hair, her nails running over his scalp. He shivered in response, and her kiss, if anything, became bolder as an ache of longing spread from her center. His heat, his response, reassured her, made her feel as though she had arrived at home after a long, trying journey. He felt right.

  The world shifted suddenly, and she realized Gray had picked her up. A few steps later, he laid her on the pine-bough bed and stretched out beside her, returning her hungry kisses. Turning, she put her arms around his shoulders, urging him closer.

  He slipped a leg between hers, and she wrapped one of hers around him, shifting to her side. The pressure of his knee against her pelvis eased the emptiness, but not enough. She leaned into him. Urgent need flared again, leaving her feeling even more hollow. She held him tightly, but it was not enough.

  His hand traced the line of her collarbone, his touch generating a trail of awareness. She ran a finger down the strong column of his throat, touching the fringe of hair that extended above his shirt. And through it all, she continued to kiss him deeply, drinking from him as though his taste were the sustenance of life itself.

  Her hand feathered across the expanse of his chest, then to his back, trying to find the tail of his shirt. Warm skin, not cloth, was what she needed. She found a way through his clothes to the warm, smooth skin of his back. Touching him this way was exciting, frustrating and satisfying all at once. She loved the feel of him, but she wanted more.

  His skin felt so good. From back to side to front. Beneath her fingers, she found his chest covered with surprisingly soft hair. In stark contrast to the silky hair was the tight nub of his nipple. He shuddered when she lightly ran a finger over it, and so she returned to it again … and again.

  Rolling her onto her back, he broke the kiss, and grabbed her hands, holding them above her head. He gazed down at her, breathing hard. She lifted her head to kiss him, settled for sampling the texture of his neck when she couldn't reach his lips. He shuddered as she tasted him.

  "Tell me what you want, Audrey."

  The words he had uttered earlier echoed through her mind. And you're so, so tempting. And I won't be able to stop with a kiss… Tempting. He absolutely was. That she might be equally tempting was new. More than anything, she wanted to be just as alluring as she found him to be.

  Slipping one of her hands from his grip, she touched his cheek. "You."

  Wrapping her other leg around his, she returned his intense stare. She tried to pull his head down for another kiss, but he was immovable, so she lifted her head and kissed him, teasing his lips, encouraging him to open his mouth and give her what she wanted.

  Never in his life had anyone wanted him like this. She was a siren in his blood, belying the feeling that she was an innocent. She couldn't be—not kissing like this.

  He was at once reassured and disappointed. He'd gotten used to thinking of her as an innocent, and he liked that. How much simpler, though, that she knew satisfying mutual desire wasn't the same as a commitment to anything beyond the moment. He had been crazy to think they could sleep together without giving in to this.

  He returned her kiss, allowing his own hunger free rein. Desire clawed through him, testing his determination to go slow. Except she didn't want slow. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders as though she must touch him or die.

  He knew exactly how she felt.

  He somehow removed her calico shirt and the sleeveless sweater under it. Her skin felt satiny smooth and soft, but only for an instant before goose bumps rose on her arms.

  She inhaled deeply, absorbing his scent. Nothing had ever felt as sensuous as the texture of his hair against her cheek. His hands roamed over her, cupping her bottom, sliding down the outside of her thigh, up the inside, across her bare midriff. Touching everywhere, lingering nowhere, feeding the inferno of longing that consumed her.

  She needed to touch him in the same way, needed to show him with her own hands how much she enjoyed his caresses. She worked free the tight buttons of his jeans, warm from the heat of his body. Finally, one popped free. Then a second. After an eternity, a third. She reached inside, found more cotton, softer than the denim, but not the resilient skin she needed to touch. She found the waistband of his shorts and slipped her hand inside.

  His breath hissed out.

  She kissed his neck, feeling powerful and feminine, then tested his skin with her teeth. He tasted good, felt good. She smoothed her hand over his hip bone, then followed a ridge of muscle across his lower back to the base of his spine.

  Once again, his breath caught, then rushed out on a sigh that sounded like "Good. So … damned … good."

  His pleasure excited her, making her tremble, intensifying the ache within her.

  She flexed her fingers into the muscles of his buttocks and abruptly stilled her exploration when she felt his hand on her breast. He fingered the silky fabric of her bra, then found the fastening between her breasts. Her breath caught, held as he slid his palm over her skin. Heat was her first impression, closely followed by another intense rush of desire at the feel of his thumb drawing tight circles around her nipple.

  He trailed a line of open-mouthed kisses down her neck and the swell of her breasts. For an instant, he held her in suspense as he paused at the valley between her breasts, his breath hot. Then his mouth was over her nipple, tracing it lightly with his tongue. Deep inside, her muscles quivered, and a rush of heat poured from her.

  Every caress made her need more, but calling it simple need was too tame. Slowly, he increased the intimacy of his mouth against her breasts, a pace that was sure to make her lose her mind.

  A single thought surfaced. More. It beat to the galloping cadence of her heart. More. Swamped in the sensations of his touch and the powerful emotions gripping her, she knew only one thing. She needed more.

  She shoved his jeans down his legs.

  She wanted more.

  His mouth against her breast was more beautiful than anything she had ever imagined.

  She wanted more.

  His kisses drugged her and excited her.

  She wanted more.

  Sensations blurred one into another. The touch of his palms beneath her panties warm against her bottom. The rasp of his hair-covered leg against her smooth ones. The feverish heat of the bunched muscles of his shoulder. All focused into a sole nucleus when he pulled the panties from her, then cupped her intimately. Her breath caught, then expelled in a rush when his fingers slid between to touch her where no one else ever had.

  She opened her eyes and found him watching her, his eyes very bright. His caress, if possible, became even more intimate, and she spread her legs wider, looping one of them over the top of his leg, inviting him to touch her more deeply.

  He did.

  She shivered as a tiny piece of the pressure splintered and washed through her.

  Gray had never seen any woman more beautiful to him, her eyes dark and mysterious. She seemed surprised at each response of her body, which told him something of the pleasure he was giving her. Just now, nothing seemed more important, not even satisfying his own hunger.

  She reached for him, her fingers curling around him, cool in comparison to the heat of his skin. And he knew he had been lying to himself. Nothing was more important than burying himself in her until they were closer than a heartbeat.

  He closed his eyes and pressed himself into her palm. She explored all the textures of him as though nothing were more important to her. Beneath his fingers, he felt the flooding warmth of her arousal, knew she was ready to accept him, wanting her to climax again and again before he took her. Carefully, he teased her sensitive flesh, adjusting his pace and his touch in response to the tiny surprised catches in her breath.

  Suddenly she stiffened, and he bent to kiss her. She curled against him at the first pulses of her release. He had intended to wait, had intended to bring her repeatedly to the brink. Urgent, undeniable need clawed through him.

&
nbsp; He loomed over her, parting her legs with his knees, needing the completion he would find within her.

  At the touch of his blunt flesh against her softness, her eyes flew open. He bent and kissed her, taking her mouth deeply, and pressed into her.

  And found she was a virgin.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  He was the first. The realization pierced him to his soul. He had never been the first. Ever.

  Thinking was impossible.

  Stopping was impossible.

  Still, Gray poised at the brink, barely comprehending what he was feeling.

  "Please," Audrey whimpered.

  Please what? he wondered, alarm settling in his gut. Stop? Continue?

  Her hands curled around his waist, then slid to his buttocks, and she pressed against them, urging him forward.

  "Please," she whispered again.

  She wanted him. He was the first. And she wanted … him. He would make this right for her. Better than right. Perfect.

  Lifting his head far enough to see her, he followed the insistent demands of her hands and pressed into her. Her eyes widened when he again reached the barrier. He withdrew slightly, then pressed forward … gently … with more control than he knew he had. Nothing had ever felt this good to him, but not hurting her was more important, so he patiently inched forward, then withdrew, then forward, feeling her body gradually accommodate his.

  "Oh, please…"

  "Soon," he promised, recognizing that renewed desire, not fear, was the source of her breathy request.

  His slow taking of her was the sweetest torture he had ever indulged in. Her ragged breathing and the heat of her body told him all he needed to know about her pleasure. With slow, careful strokes, he eased into her a bit farther, hoping to find a way past the barrier without hurting her.

  Beneath him, she felt soft, totally feminine. Woman. The aroma that rose from her heated, aroused body was uniquely hers. Nothing had ever smelled better to him. Until the day he died, he'd remember this.

  She put her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to her. In the moonlight, her eyes were fierce, but no more so than the grip of her legs as she suddenly shifted and wrapped them around his waist. He stilled, her movement opening her wider and bringing them even closer.