Hannah's Half-Breed

by Heidi Betts

  She grinned, her mind spinning with all the wicked, forbidden, erotic games she could play with him. No doubt both of them would crumble and give in out of sheer desperation before any of them reached their ultimate conclusions. But they had time, and hopefully many opportunities to try again and again. A shiver of anticipation raced down her spine.

  With his blessing, she unlaced the strings at the front of his buckskin trousers. Following the line of thin, dark hair that trailed down his abdomen, the backs of her fingers rested against his coal-hot flesh. Delving even farther, she loosened the ties more and dipped her hand all the way into his pants, fondling his throbbing member.

  David growled again and his nostrils flared. The top row of his straight white teeth appeared to bite down on his bottom lip. She watched blood rise to the surface of that delicate skin. Not wanting him to leave marks, she stretched up on her knees and kissed him.

  Keeping him distracted this way, she managed to skim the rough material of his trousers down his thighs, baring him to the meager sunlight filtering from the small window near the door. Still, she had no trouble seeing everything that mattered.

  "Lie back,” she whispered against his lips.

  He did so without question and only gave a slight grunt and grimace when his head cracked into the too-short wooden bed frame. Hannah giggled, amazed at how much mistreatment he was willing to overlook while she had her hand down his pants.

  He gave her a long-suffering look and then returned her grin. “You're a bad girl, Hannah Blake,” he told her. “Father Ignacio and the sisters over at the Home would be horrified if they knew what you were up to."

  She tugged at his boots and removed his trousers the rest of the way. “I've always wanted to create a scandal,” she tossed back impishly.

  He gave a hearty chuckle, his hands spanning her narrow waist, stroking the baby-soft skin below her rib cage. “Well then, you've hooked up with the right man for sure, notsa?ka?. And if a scandal's what you want, I'll be more than happy to oblige."

  "We'll see about that,” she said, thinking of how high he was likely to jump if someone came knocking at the door in the next few minutes. He'd be hopping into his pants, racing out the back before she had a chance to ask who was there.

  Then again, if anyone discovered she was in bed with a man without the benefit of marriage, she'd find herself out of a job faster than a flea could jump off a wet dog. If someone came to the door just then, she'd probably be right behind David, dashing for cover with a sheet wrapped under her arms.

  Crouching over him, she ran her hands through his hair, letting the long, silky strands fall through her fingers. She pressed her lips to the hollow behind his ear and then took the lobe into her mouth, suckling gently. His hands on her waist tightened, but he didn't try to stop her.

  Good boy, she thought with a devilish smile—one she hid behind the veil of her own hair, of course.

  From his ear, she followed the line of his jaw, the pulse at his throat, the fluted prominence of his collarbone. She kissed and licked every spare inch of his body, ignoring the clutch of his fingers at her hips. She thought the piercing dig of his nails might leave bruises, but she knew from previous experience with this man that any injuries she incurred during their lovemaking would be well worth the pleasure he could provide.

  Her tongue dipped and whirled around his tiny male nipples. Her teeth nipped at the ladder like ridges of his ribs, sticking out in sharp relief against his golden skin as he drew in an agonized breath. She explored the indentation of his navel and smoothed her palms over the twin rises of his jutting pelvic bones.

  He gave an audible hiss as her fingers dusted the short, crisp hairs that formed a triangle around his hardened length. Her heart was pounding at the idea of what she might do next, but she loved David and knew she was safe with him. No matter what she might say, or do, or think, or ask. He would never demean her or make fun of her for her actions or beliefs. She was also pretty sure he would enjoy what she had in mind, which only increased her level of courage and peace of mind.

  Lifting her gaze, she cast him a timid smile before lowering her head once again. She'd never done anything like this before, wasn't sure she knew quite how to go about it. But she often told her students to take chances, to try new things, and it seemed now was the time to put her words into deed.

  With her hand at the base of his manhood, she lightly kissed the tip. She stiffened, startled, when he gasped and his hips arched off the mattress.

  "Are you all right?” she asked, concern etched between her brows.

  "Not even close.” His tone was harsh and halting.

  Unsure, her hold on his member loosened. “Do you want me to stop?"

  "Never."

  She took a moment to absorb that, “Hold still, then,” she told him, readjusting her grasp and inclining her head.

  This time, she took more than just the tip into her mouth. Making a moue of her lips, she slipped them over the plum-shaped head of his manhood, letting her tongue taste and caress.

  She felt David struggling for air, his body heaving as his fists curled savagely into the bedclothes. A blossom of power bloomed in her chest and spread out in all directions as she realized the powerful influence she had on him. Continuing her delicate ministrations, she licked the full length of his arousal. Up. Down. Around. Up again.

  Her fingers fell away from the root of his shaft and drifted south until they gently tickled his velvety pouch.

  "That's it!” Bolting upright, he clamped his hands around her upper arms and forcibly pulled her away from his groin. “I can't take anymore."

  Instead of pushing her to her back and hovering above her as she'd expected him to do, he dragged her toward him, until she reclined across his chest, her breasts pressed flat between them.

  "I want you to try something new,” he said. “This time, I want you on top."

  Chapter Twenty-four

  A spiral of desire unfurled low in her belly at the image his words invoked. He was the only man she'd ever been with, so all of this was new to her. But she was willing to try anything once—with him. She wanted to memorize every line and groove of his well-built frame, find out what made him sigh and moan and go tense beneath her touch.

  His hands stroked over the rounded mounds of her backside and between her thighs to spread her legs and move them to straddle his hips. She'd always been a fast learner and didn't need to be told to slide up just a bit farther, center the cleft of her feminine opening over the head of his shaft, and slowly sink herself down on him.

  Hannah bit her lip, fighting a sigh of complete and utter bliss. Her blood flowed hotter than the Texas sun. Her body was connected with David's in the most intimate fashion, in a position that made her feel dominant and in control. It was a heady sensation.

  Placing her hands flat on his smooth, broad chest, she began to move. Slowly at first, forward and back, just enough to create a tempered friction.

  David's fingers flexed and relaxed, flexed and relaxed in the cushiony swells of her hips. “I like this,” he said, sounding slightly breathless. “You look good from down here."

  She grinned, landing particularly hard on the downslide. “You look good from up here."

  "Maybe we should make a pact to never"—grunt—'leave this bed. We could"— deep breath—"stay this way forever."

  The heavy rise and fall of her chest matched his as the speed of their movements increased. “People would start to wonder"—inhale—"where we'd run off to. And"—up—"we'd likely starve"—exhale—"to death"— down—"if we never left the bed."

  "We'll live on love"—sigh—"and whatever unlucky little birdies"— moan—"happen to fly through the window."

  Grinning at his idyllic meanderings even as shocks of indescribable delectation rippled through to the tips of her fingers and toes, Hannah didn't know if she'd ever felt such pleasure. His hands on her hips tightened, governing more of her motions.

  "Whatever you want,” she agre
ed, her body alive with molten delight.

  When he answered, it was with a deep, rolling rumble of three simple words. “I want you."

  With that, he grabbed her by the shoulders and flipped her beneath him, thrusting faster and harder until neither of them could speak even if they'd wanted to. Hannah closed her eyes, arching her neck and back and locking her legs high about his waist.

  Walker kept his eyes open even as the lightly veined, almost transparent lids over her own cornflower blue irises fluttered closed. Her long, sand-blond lashes curled delicately against her cheeks.

  "Nu? kamakuru mui,” he whispered, knowing she wouldn't understand the meaning. “ Nu? kamakuru mui, nu? kamakuru mui, nu? kamakuru mui,” he whispered over and over again.

  Slipping his hand between their bodies, he found the tiny bud of her greatest pleasure and teased it with the tip of his finger, drawing a gasp of surprise from her lovely, dew-kissed lips as her body began to convulse in climax. A moment later, he bowed his head to join their mouths and followed her over the edge into ecstasy.

  * * *

  "Where are your sister and nephew, by the way?” she asked a good while later. She lay stretched across his long, hard body, drawing nonsensical designs along his chest and around the dark medallions of his nipples. He'd warned her a couple of times not to taunt the beast, but she ignored him and continued her cruel game.

  "They're with my parents,” he answered drowsily. “I don't want to leave them alone for long in case Lynch finds his way over there, but I thought they'd be all right for a few hours."

  "You should bring them back here. If Lynch asks about you in town, people will point him directly to your family's home. But no one knows you've been staying here; they'd never suggest he look for Bright Eyes and the children anywhere near me."

  Lifting her head, she propped her chin in the center of one well-defined pectoral muscle. He gave a small grunt of pain as the point of her jawbone dug in but didn't make her move.

  His eyes drifted open, slowly revealing dark chocolate pools of cunning intelligence. He was entirely too handsome and too charming for his own good. And her virtue.

  "That was before. Now that you've paraded me through Purgatory in the full light of day, tongues will be wagging about how well we've been getting along since our days at the Purgatory Home for Unwanted Children, and just what we've been up to more recently. Your name is bound to be mentioned somewhere along the line, and Lynch will surely hear it."

  "So where are you going to hide them until he gives up looking?"

  Lines of worry bracketed his soft mouth. “I have no idea."

  Closing her eyes, she turned her head and rested her cheek on his chest. And then they popped open again as an idea came to her.

  "Isn't your father friends with Wade Mason?"

  "Who?"

  "Wade Mason. He was sent to prison for murder and then later proved his innocence. I think your father helped him. He's married to Callie Quinn now and runs a very successful ranch."

  David nodded in remembrance, but his brow was still pinched in confusion. “I know who he is, but I'm not following you. Why bring up his name?"

  "Well. . ."

  Drawing out her response, she sat up, stealing the crumpled sheet from where it covered his lower anatomy and tucking it about her breasts. David never even blinked, not the least bit abashed by his naked—and semi-aroused, she noted as warmth stained her cheeks—state.

  "As I understand it, he has line shacks on his property so he or his ranch hands have a place to stay if they're out overnight repairing the fencing or looking for lost steers. Wouldn't a tiny shack that belongs to someone you barely know and have never had any real connection to be a good place to secure your sister and her children until the danger of Lynch finding them has passed? And if that doesn't work, I believe Mr. Mason owns a mine of some sort, too. Surely no one would think to look for a woman and two small children in a place like that."

  A slow smile began to spread over David's face. He said nothing as the corners of his lips curled upward and his eyes took on a devilish glow.

  "What?” she asked warily, leaning back even farther on the narrow mattress.

  Propping himself up on his elbows, he asked, “Has anyone ever told you you're the brightest, most beautiful woman in all creation?"

  She flushed self-consciously. “Not that I recall."

  "Well, you are. The entire town of Purgatory is going to be university-bound with you as their teacher."

  She averted her gaze, more flattered by his praise than she cared to admit.

  "Don't turn shy on me now, notsa?ka?.” He levered himself closer to where she sat cross-legged at his side and ran the tip of one finger over her cheek, down the column of her neck, along one pale swell of breast sticking out above the edge of the sheet that covered her.

  "Since you've got such a smart head on your shoulders, I'll let you tell me what you think we should do next: Go over to my mother's to collect Bright Eyes and the kids, then take them to Mason's ranch and see if hell hide them for a while . . . or stay here a bit longer and make love again."

  "You're asking me what I think we should do?” she charged, not at all happy with the decision she was apparently supposed to make. Already her heart was beating faster, and a slow, needy warmth was beginning to simmer in her belly.

  He nodded, his wicked, dangerous fingertip sliding into the valley between her breasts and then back up over the opposite rise.

  "My brain says we should probably leave for your parents’ house now, before we get . . . distracted."

  "And your body. . .?” he prompted, pressing harder and letting his finger delve just beneath the doubled-up ridge of the bed linen.

  She didn't even think about trying to lie to him or denying her own reactions. “Wants to stay right here, in this bed. Possibly for the next several days."

  David chuckled, moving his face so close to hers, their noses brushed. His breath fanned her lips as he looked deep into her eyes. “We may not have days,” he told her quietly, “but I think we can spare a couple more hours."

  "I'm not sure that will be long enough, David,” she said in a hushed voice, looping her arms about his neck.

  The air caught in his lungs for a moment at her use of his Christian name. He opened his mouth to speak and ended up clearing his throat twice before the words came out.

  "Why do you call me that?"

  Her eyes rose to meet his. “Gall you what?"

  "David."

  She laughed, a short huff of breath. “It's your name, isn't it? Why shouldn't I address you by your given name?"

  "I told you to call me Walker.” He wasn't angry with her, simply making a point. He didn't feel like David anymore; that frightened, outcast child with questionable bloodlines. He was Walker now, and no one in a long time—save his mother—had disputed his decision. That Hannah would caught him off guard and made him uneasy.

  She sat up straighter, her shoulders tensing and her lips going flat. “Just because you tell me something, David Walker,” she told him primly, “doesn't mean I'm going to do it."

  He shook his head. “That's not what I meant. It's only . . . when I ask anyone else to call me Walker, they do, even if they're aware that I used to be known as David.” Meeting her eyes, he asked quietly, “Why don't you, Hannah?"

  Reaching out, she brushed her knuckles softly across his temple. “Because you're not Spirit Walker or Walker to me. You're just David, David. The boy I grew up with. The adolescent I dreamed about and followed around like a lovesick puppy dog. The man I fell in love with. You'll always be simply David to me."

  His chest hurt. Drawing a breath was impossible and his head began to spin. His hand darted up, grabbing her wrist as she caressed his scalp. But he wasn't upset, he was . . . moved. Profoundly humbled and unsure of how to respond.

  Bringing her hand to his mouth, he kissed the palm and then the pulse point half hidden by his grip. He loved her, too. And though the words
were clawing their way up his throat, he couldn't seem to say them. Not in a language she would understand. He was still too scared and floundering from everything he'd learned today. The trip to town, Hannah's revelation. It all coiled together, putting him off balance and muddling his thoughts like the aftermath of a hailstorm.

  But he could tell her in Comanche, as he had before. And he could show her with actions what he couldn't seem to say in plain English.

  He pressed his lips to hers and whispered, “Nu? kamakunt mui, Hannah."

  She pulled away slightly, looking at him askance. “You've said that before. What does it mean?"

  With a shake of his head, he repeated, “Nu? kamakuru mui,” and pressed her back into the mattress.

  He covered her mouth with his own before she could question him further and used his hands and body to convey the emotions he was still too weak a man to confess.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  It was just past lunchtime when Hannah and Walker finally began to make their way to his parents’ house. She'd insisted on washing up and changing clothes after they'd made love a second and then a third time. He'd been happy to remain reclining across the lumpy, narrow mattress, the covers even more rumpled than before and twisted over the more prominent parts of his form.

  He enjoyed watching her, studying her lithe, graceful movements, and even offered to brush her hair before she plaited the long, silken tresses into a loose braid and fastened a bright yellow ribbon on the end.

  When she was dressed and ready to go, he rolled out of bed and tugged his shirt and trousers back on. With his old, dusty boots on his feet and his own shoulder-length hair tied back with a thin strip of rawhide, he held out his arm to her and they set off.

  Along the way, they chatted and laughed and exchanged kisses that were positively chaste compared to the kind they were used to sharing. But Walker knew better than to let things get carried away. If he did, they might never make it to his mother's.

  High-pitched, excited children's voices reached their ears long before the sprawling, two-story house came into view. As they neared the yard, Little Bear charged around the corner of the barn, closely followed by Walker's much younger sisters, Olivia and Emily. Both wore plain, unadorned dresses that fell just below their knees, splotched with dirt and grass stains. Both wore their curly, dark red hair in double braids halfway down their backs.