“I’d like to meet him also,” Storm said, an undeniable ring of sincerity in his deep voice. “Perhaps we should arrange another meeting soon?”
“Why not tonight?” Summer suggested, her enthusiasm bubbling. “I’m sure I could find a baby-sitter. We can go out for dinner. Give our selves a chance to relax and talk without worrying about Alyssa interrupting us.” A worried frown touched her brow as she glanced anxiously at Storm. “That is, unless you have other plans.”
His smile was one of patient indulgence. “No, not at all. Dinner tonight sounds like a wonderful idea. I’ll look forward to it.”
Summer’s own smile returned. She glanced at Jasmine. “And, of course, Jasmine will have to join us. Then we’ll be an even four for dinner.”
“D-dinner…tonight?” Jasmine stammered. She nearly dropped the teacup in surprise. Her gaze flew to Storm’s stunned face. He appeared almost as pleased as she was by the unexpected invitation. Obviously he wanted her to say no. “I—I don’t know, Summer.”
“Jasmine, please,” Summer persisted, a silent plea in her eyes. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
“It is late notice, Summer. I’m sure Jasmine has made other plans,” Storm said, smoothly providing her with a way out.
Jasmine glanced at him sharply, wary of any sort of helpful overture on his part. His expression had shifted from one of surprise to one of complacent smugness. He looked so damned certain that she was going to refuse Summer’s invitation.
If she had half a brain, that was exactly what she should do. After all, what woman in her right mind would want to spend any more time than necessary with a man who was rude, over bearing and impossible to deal with?
But no one ever said Jasmine was smart when it came to dealing with men. Instead, as was too often the case, she let her emotions override her good judgment. Before she had a chance to reconsider, she smiled brightly and blurted, “Dinner tonight? Sounds good to me. Just tell me when and where.”
For that one moment in time, Jasmine decided, the vexed look on Storm’s face was almost worth the misery she’d surely suffer tonight. If only she knew how she’d explain to her mother that her dinner partner was to be Storm Hunter.
Later that evening, feeling the need to vent some pent-up tension, Storm decided to walk to the restaurant. Neela’s, the restaurant, was only a few blocks from his hotel room. A short distance, one that would only take minutes to accomplish. Besides, he could use the exercise. The last few days he’d spent too many hours cooped up in his hotel room on the phone, handling his law practice in New Mexico via long distance.
With the sun down, a chill had settled over the town. The cool night air felt invigorating. He breathed deeply, welcoming its mind-clearing embrace. The longer he was in Whitehorn, the more confused he seemed to become. He didn’t understand what was happening to him.
Normally he was a man who prided himself on complete control of his emotions. But now, if he wasn’t losing his temper at some in competent police officer involved in his brother’s murder investigation, he was mooning over a woman. One particular woman, that is. Jasmine Monroe.
She was driving him crazy. No matter how hard he tried to avoid her, she kept popping up wherever he went. If he were a superstitious man, he’d say it was fate’s way of telling him they were meant to be together. An idea that, considering the troubled history their families shared, was utterly ridiculous.
Even worse, he seemed to be enjoying their chance encounters. Whenever she was near, he felt energized. She challenged him on a level that went beyond a mere physical attraction. Despite her youthfulness, she was smart, witty and totally unpredictable. No woman had ever made him feel the way she did. Whether it was trading barbs, or simply staring into her large, doelike green eyes, he looked forward to being with her.
Before he was ready, he arrived at his destination. Reluctantly, he stepped out of the night’s soothing darkness and into the harsh lights of the restaurant. Neela’s, as Summer had explained to him, was a cut above the Hip Hop Café. Owned and operated by a fellow Cheyenne, Neela Tallbear, it was comfortable yet classy, boasting a rough-hewn plank flooring and polished wood tables. As a French-trained chef, Neela had made locally grown beef her specialty. The restaurant had quickly grown in popularity, often becoming crowded.
Storm, as he soon realized, was the last of his party to arrive.
Seated at the table was his niece, Summer, and a fit-looking Native American man, whom he presumed to be her husband, Gavin Night hawk. And last, but not least, was his dinner partner for the evening, Jasmine.
Dressed in a simple, sleeveless burgundy dress that emphasized the darkness of her hair and the paleness of her skin, she took his breath away. No matter how hard he’d tried to fight it, the pull of attraction was just as strong now as it had been the first moment he’d met her.
Storm felt as though he were fighting a losing battle.
Gratefully, he hid his unease behind the polite motions of an introduction to the man who had married his niece. He studied Gavin Night hawk as they shook hands. Gavin’s grip was strong, self-assured. He wore his hair short, anglo-style. His taste in clothes was casual yet expensive. From what Summer had told him, he was a surgeon who split his time between work at the Whitehorn hospital and the clinic on Laughing Horse Reservation. While his features were that of a Cheyenne, he appeared to be a man comfortable with the white man’s ways.
Frowning thoughtfully, Storm took his seat as he realized that he and Gavin Night hawk had much in common.
As he settled himself at the table, his knees bumped against a pair of smooth, silky legs. An electrical shock of awareness traveled up his thigh. He glanced at Jasmine as she sucked in a sharp breath and shifted in her seat, her actions telling him what he already knew. She’d been the owner of those slender legs.
“Summer tells me you’re a lawyer,” Gavin said, unaware of the sensual undercurrents traveling between Storm and Jasmine.
“That’s right, I’ve set up a practice in Albuquerque.”
Gavin nodded. “That’s quite a way from home.”
Storm’s muscles tensed defensively at the remark. “New Mexico is my home. I’ve lived there for almost thirty years.”
“I meant, from your family here in Whitehorn, those still living on the Laughing Horse Reservation,” Gavin said. He placed a protective hand over Summer’s, his meaning clear, his expression unapologetic.
Storm hesitated before answering. Obviously he’d misjudged Gavin. His ties to life on the reservation were still strong. His loyalty to Summer, unquestionable.
He didn’t blame Gavin for being protective of Summer. If the roles were reversed and someone he cared for was faced with a relative who, after almost three decades, decided he wanted to establish a newfound relationship, he’d question the man’s motives, also.
Aware of Jasmine sitting next to him, her gaze curious, Storm quietly said, “I was thirteen when I left Whitehorn. At the time the reasons for going seemed compelling. There have been many times that I wished I had reconsidered my decision. But, as we all know, what is done is done. No man can change the past.”
“No, but they can change the future,” Gavin murmured, lacing his fingers with Summer’s. “I’m curious. Why did you choose New Mexico to work, instead of Montana?”
Because New Mexico was as far as he could run away from Whitehorn without leaving the country in which he’d been born, he admitted to himself. Out loud, however, he said, “There were many more opportunities in New Mexico. I was able to put myself through school and earn my law degree. Even now I find the work in Albuquerque challenging.”
“That’s too bad,” Gavin said with an even smile. “We could use a good lawyer here on the reservation. Jackson Hawk is the tribal attorney at Laughing Horse. Now that he’s assumed the duties of tribal leader, he’s having a hard time juggling both jobs.”
Again, Storm hesitated. He’d heard of the tribal leader’s burden some schedule firsthand, from J
ackson Hawk himself. Jackson had been a childhood friend. Recently they’d reconnected when he’d tracked down Storm to tell him of the discovery of Raven’s remains. Since his arrival in Whitehorn, Jackson had already made a play to convince Storm to return to Laughing Horse, using guilt as his tool of choice.
Now, in the presence of his last remaining family, Storm had no intention of showing any false interest in returning to a life that had caused him nothing but pain. He’d made his choice to leave the reservation many years before. He saw no reason to change his mind now.
As though sensing his growing discomfort, Summer released an impatient breath. “Gavin, please. Just because you’ve returned to the reservation and have accepted the ways of our people, that doesn’t mean you need to pressure everyone else into doing the same.” Her eyes twinkled with undisguised mischief. “Give Storm sometime. Perhaps he’ll change his mind on his own.”
Gavin laughed, a deep hearty laugh that chased away any tension that remained between the men. “Forgive me, Storm. I’ve become something of a zealot, when it comes to talking about the res. Summer tells me you’ve done pro bono work for the Navajos in New Mexico. And that you’ve taken on some civil liberty cases. Tell me about them.”
For the next hour, between ordering their dinners and tackling their food, Storm, Gavin and Summer embarked on a lively discussion on the right and wrong ways to help their people. A conversation that revolved totally upon the world of the Native American.
During this time, Jasmine remained noticeably silent.
Storm tried not to feel guilty. While he hadn’t set out to exclude her from the conversation, he hadn’t made an effort to include her, either. Though she seemed to listen with polite interest, he wondered if she felt bored, or uncomfortable. He almost wished she did.
It would reinforce what he’d known all along. That they were from two entirely different worlds. Jasmine from the privileged world of the white man. Himself from the hard, struggling life of a Native American. It wasn’t surprising that they would be unable to relate to each other on an everyday basis.
Just as they’d finished ordering dessert, Gavin’s pager went off. Unclipping it from his belt, he held it up to the light and glanced at the number. “It’s the clinic.”
Before the words were out of his mouth, Summer’s pager chirped a warning beat. Frowning, she said, “The clinic’s paging me, also. If they want us both, there must be an emergency.” She sighed as she rose to her feet and joined her husband, looking from Storm to Jasmine for understanding. “I’m sorry for leaving so early. But we really must go.”
“Don’t be silly, Summer,” Jasmine assured her, breaking her silence. “Of course, you have to leave.”
“I enjoyed the dinner, and our discussion. I hope we’ll be able to spend more time together before I return to New Mexico,” Storm said, surprised to realize he’d meant the polite words. He scooted his chair back and started to rise to his feet, preparing to leave.
“Stay,” Summer insisted, shooing him back to his seat. “Just because Gavin and I have to miss dessert, that doesn’t mean you must, too. Finish your coffee, eat your apple pie. Enjoy your selves. There’s no need to rush off.”
Slowly, Storm returned to his seat. He glanced at Jasmine, sitting next to him. If she felt uncomfortable at the prospect of being alone with him, she gave no outward sign.
Instead she focused her attention on saying good-bye to her cousin. It wasn’t until they were finally alone that she turned her head to look at him. If he thought she would remain the shy, retiring woman who’d said little for the past hour, he’d been wrong. Her cool, confident gaze sent a shiver of trepidation down his spine.
Leaning an elbow on the table, her chin resting on the palm of her hand, she looked him in the eye and said, “So, tell me, Mr. Hunter, what sort of game do you think you’re playing?”
“Game?” Storm sat back in his chair and studied her carefully. “I assure you, Ms. Monroe, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She raised a finely sculpted brow. “Don’t you?”
Not trusting himself to answer, he raised his hands in mock surrender, feigning a confusion he did not possess. “Really, I haven’t a clue.”
She ran a slender finger over the rim of her water glass as she considered his response, the action catching his attention. Finally, without so much as a blink of an eye, she said, “You kissed me yesterday. An unexpected experience, yes, but special, nonetheless. Both of us seemed to have enjoyed ourselves. Since that time, however, you’ve been avoiding me. I’d like to know why.”
Storm’s breath caught at her bluntness. Taken aback, once again, by her penchant for complete honesty, he was at a loss as to how to answer. The truth was, she scared the hell out of him. The kiss they’d shared had been more than special. It had been magical. An experience he’d like to sample again and again. But he’d be damned if he was going to admit that much to her.
Buying himself time while he thought of a way out of this tenuous situation, he lifted a hand and motioned for the waitress. When the heavy, round faced Cheyenne woman arrived at their table, he said curtly, “We’re finished. I’d like the check.”
The waitress blinked in surprise. “But what about dessert? I was just about ready to bring out the pies—”
“We’ve changed our mind,” he said, refusing to look at Jasmine for her reaction. “You can add the cost to the bill, but we won’t be staying to eat them.”
The waitress heaved a tired sigh and shook her head. “Yes, sir, whatever you want.”
Flipping through her receipt book, she totaled up the cost of dinner and handed him the check. Without looking at the amount, Storm handed her his credit card, not wishing to delay his departure a minute longer than necessary.
Raising a brow, the waitress said, “I’ll run this through the machine. Be back in a jiffy.”
With that, he was alone once again with Jasmine. And he realized he could no longer avoid what must be done. Once and for all he must make it clear to her that there was no possibility of a relationship between them. There were too many obstacles standing in their way.
Whatever means he must take, it was Jasmine’s turn to be scared away.
Leaning forward in his chair, keeping his tone confidential, he said, “I’d be careful what I ask for if I were you. You might not want to know the answer.”
A slow smile stole across her beautiful, exotic face. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, my dear Jasmine, that you are just a child,” he said, keeping his voice smooth and silky, like a caress. “And I am a man of many, many experiences. The kiss that we shared was nothing compared to the things I know to please a woman. And you, little one, are nowhere near ready to handle what I can do for you.”
The smile faded. Her lips parted in a silent gasp of surprise. She looked…stunned.
Satisfied, Storm rose to his feet. Tipping his hand in mock salute, he turned and left, not daring to glance back at the woman he was leaving behind, lest he changed his mind.
Her mouth still drooping in surprise, Jasmine stared after Storm’s departing figure. He moved through the crowded restaurant with the primal grace of a predator. With his wide shoulders and narrow hips, he reminded her of a sleek mountain cat, coiled and ready to spring into attack.
Suddenly the room felt as though the heat had been cranked up by at least twenty degrees. Feeling flushed, on a shaky breath, she murmured, “Oh, my.”
The waitress chose that moment to return. She glanced at Storm’s empty chair. “What happened to tall, dark and in-a-hurry?”
Jasmine’s face warmed with embarrassment. “He had to leave.”
“What am I supposed to do with his credit card?” She held up the gold card for Jasmine’s inspection. Its shiny surface glittered beneath the muted lights of the restaurant.
The slow smile returned. Jasmine told herself he may be cool and collected on the outside, but Storm Hunter wasn’t as in control
of his emotions as he’d like for her to believe. She held out a hand for the forgotten card. “I’ll take that.”
The waitress frowned, looking uncertain. “I don’t know. The restaurant policy is—”
“Mr. Hunter and I are close friends, practically family,” she assured her, giving the woman what she hoped was a most sincere look. “His niece is my cousin.”
“Family, huh?” the waitress asked, her gaze skeptical.
Jasmine nodded. “Family.”
“Well, okay.” Reluctantly, she handed Jasmine the card. “The bill’s still going on his account, with or without his signature.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him that. Just as soon as I see him again.”
Anxious to leave, Jasmine scooted her chair back. Her legs felt wobbly as she stood. The sound of her heart pounded so hard in her ears, she could barely hear the voices of the restaurant patrons around her. Gathering her sweater, she hurried for the exit.
Storm was a man who obviously had pressing things weighing on his mind, proof of which was resting in her hand. She hadn’t bought his Casanova routine. Beneath that cool exterior, she sensed there was a man with deep emotions just waiting to be tapped.
It was time she found out if she was right.
Chapter Four
Jasmine’s heels clicked against the concrete floor, echoing in the quiet night, sounding much too loud in the walkway of the dimly lit hotel. Her stomach fluttered with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Thanks to the help of a former class mate working the front desk, she’d learned the room where Storm was staying. Now she just needed the courage to follow through with her decision to find him.
Shakily she inhaled a calming breath. Never before had she had the nerve to follow a man to his hotel room. Especially not a man as over whelming as Storm Hunter. Defiance, pure and simple, had brought her here. Earlier, before abandoning her at the restaurant, Storm had told her in no uncertain terms that she was a child. And that he was too much man for her to handle. She was determined to prove him wrong.
Storming Whitehorn Page 4