Storming Whitehorn

by Christine Scott

  Only, what if she was the one who was wrong? If sitting next to him in a crowded restaurant had the power to set her pulse racing and her blood warming, goodness only knew what would happen when they were alone. Especially with no one but herself to save her from his obvious charms. A tiny sliver of excitement traveled down her spine, setting second thoughts tumbling around in her confused mind.

  Too soon, Room 147 came into sight. Jasmine slowed her pace. She swallowed hard at the lump in her throat as she studied the black numbers on the faded gray door. Gathering her flagging courage, forcing herself to move, she lifted a trembling hand to knock.

  Seconds seemed like hours before Storm answered the door. The shocked look on his face was almost worth the butter flies dancing in her stomach. Taking advantage of his stunned state, she eyed him from head to toe. Sans jacket, he still wore the light weight black sweater and the pleated charcoal gray pants from dinner, both of which emphasized his dark coloring, the width of his shoulders and the slenderness of his hips.

  He looked dangerously handsome.

  Storm’s expression slowly changed. Impatience replaced his surprise. He glared at her, his face darkening with ill-temper. “What are you doing here?”

  Jasmine winced inwardly. Not quite the welcome greeting she’d hoped for.

  “What I’m doing is a favor for you. Though I doubt if you’ll be grateful,” she said, her calm voice belying her jittery nerves. The gold credit card glittered in the light streaming out from the door of his room as she held it up for his inspection. “Remember this?”

  Recognition flickered in his dark eyes.

  A satisfied smile stole across her face. “It would seem this time I’ve got something that belongs to you.”

  With an irritated breath, he reached for the card.

  Jasmine side stepped his attempt to reclaim his property. Instead she brushed past him into the room, her body sizzling wherever they touched. The musky scent of his cologne filled her nostrils, making her light-headed. Second thoughts pushed their way into her mind, forcing her to reconsider her actions.

  What in the world was she thinking? Did she have any idea what she was getting herself into?

  Ignoring the nagging voice of reason, she continued her single-minded trek until she stood in the middle of the room, inches from the king-size bed. Only then did she turn to look at him.

  His hands on his hips, he stared at her in disbelief. His big body dwarfed the small room, making him appear even more formidable. The scowl on his face did little to settle her qualms of uncertainty. Finally, his voice deep and forbidding, he said, “There must be a misunderstanding. I don’t recall inviting you inside.”

  She forced a smile. “Well, now that I’m here, I think it’d be a perfect time for us to continue our discussion.”

  “There’s nothing more we have to say to each other, Ms. Monroe.”

  “Wrong again, Mr. Hunter.” Her attempt at a lighthearted chuckle sounded strained even to her own ears. “You do have a tendency to jump to the wrong conclusions, don’t you?”

  His eyes narrowed. “When have I been wrong?”

  “Lots of times. This evening, for one. You said you were a man of many…” Her voice caught beneath the strain of his unwavering gaze. Nervously, she licked her lips, then plunged on. “Of many experiences. And that I wasn’t old enough to handle someone like you. Well, I beg to differ. I may look young, but I assure you, I’m old enough. I’m not scared of you, Mr. Hunter. No matter how hard you try to frighten me away.”

  He raised one dark brow. “Are you sure you’re not scared?”

  She shook her head, not trusting herself to answer.

  With exaggerated care, he closed the door. His eyes never leaving her face, he stepped toward her. “I want you to be absolutely certain, Jasmine.”

  He spoke her name slowly, softly, drawing it out like a caress. She shivered, feeling as though he’d physically touched her.

  “Because in another moment,” he said as he narrowed the distance between them, “it’ll be too late to change your mind.”

  The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. Goose bumps speckled her skin, her body’s way of warning her what her heart didn’t want to accept. Despite all of her blustering to the contrary, she knew she wasn’t ready to deal with someone as sensuous and as strong-willed as Storm Hunter.

  Before she could give voice to her second thoughts, he was standing in front of her. She felt frozen to the spot, unable to move, watching him. Gently he lifted a hand and stroked her face with the knuckles of his fingers, letting them travel down her cheek, her chin, stopping only to settle at the slender column of her throat.

  Shock waves of desire coursed through her body. She closed her eyes and gasped at the shuddering impact of his soft touch.

  The sound shattered the strained silence.

  Suddenly the mood shifted, letting the pent-up gates of tension explode wide open. A primal growl of frustration sounded low in Storm’s throat. With a ragged breath, he slipped his fingers behind her neck and pulled her roughly toward him.

  Her hands were caught between them, pinned against the solid strength of his body. She felt winded, her breath stolen by the quickness of his actions.

  Before she could protest, he took her mouth with a savageness that both scared and aroused her. His kiss was hot, possessive. Impatiently he stroked her lips with his tongue, forcing her to open to his demands. She was unable to stop him. He plundered and took with a fierceness that sent heat and awareness throbbing through her.

  His big hands slid up and down the length of her body, grazing her breasts, cupping her derriere. Her sweater slid from her shoulders, falling in a silken puddle to the floor. Pulling her snug against him, she felt the hardness of his body, the strength of his arousal. His touch was intimate, turning her muscles to jelly and setting her blood on fire. She clung to him, feeling weak with undeniable desire.

  But this wasn’t what she’d intended.

  She’d thought her first time with Storm, with any man for that matter, would be different. She had wanted it to be special, not a groping match in a hotel room. The embrace felt wrong, sullied in its intent.

  “No,” she whispered, dragging her mouth from his. Knowing she’d been the catalyst to this onslaught of passion, she turned her head, unable to meet his gaze. Greedily, he took advantage. His lips brushed her neck, nibbling the sensitive spot behind her ear. His breath felt hot against her skin, his tongue warm and moist. Her body trembled at his probing caress.

  Shamed by her lack of will power, she tried to push him away. But she couldn’t find the strength to accomplish the task.

  He seemed unaware of her change of heart, holding her tighter, his hands growing even bolder. He fumbled with the top snap of her dress.

  Desire and fear rose up inside her as she heard the rasp of her zipper. She felt torn by the clashing emotions, weakened by her own inability to think, or to act. Finally, a whimper of a plea escaped her lips. “Storm, stop… please, stop.”

  Through the fire storm of passion crackling in his ears, he barely heard the soft whisper of her voice.

  “No, Storm. Not now, not like this.”

  As if drugged by the intoxicating lure of her body, he struggled with his own desires. He forced himself to pull away, to put an unwanted distance between them. His body burned, aching with a need for release. With the loss of her body heat, cool air slapped against his hot skin, chilling him, making him realize just how close he’d come to losing complete control.

  Even now, as he stared down at her and saw the evidence of his mindless assault, he knew he still teetered on the edge of repeating his lapse in judgment. Her lips were red and swollen, her hair and makeup mussed, her clothes rumpled. She was trembling. Self-consciously she wrapped her arms around her waist and held herself tightly. She looked so young, so far out of her element.

  Jasmine had taken him up on his challenge. Wisely or not, she’d come here to prove herself mature enough to
handle him. He’d intended to teach her a lesson. To show her that there was a difference between tempting a man and a boy. Only the lesson had back fired. He’d been the one to be seduced. Holding her in his arms, he’d lost all sense of restraint. If she hadn’t stopped him…

  Storm clenched his jaw against the anger rising up inside him. Anger directed more at himself than at her. No matter how bold she’d been in coming here, he should have known she wasn’t prepared for what had happened. She was just a child, a scared, frightened child. And instead of sending her packing out the door, he’d taken advantage of her naiveté.

  “I warned you,” he said, unable to keep the accusation from his voice. Remorse made his tone bitter. “I told you you weren’t ready.”

  “Not for this. I didn’t know—” Her voice broke as she looked up at him. Moist tears filled her big green eyes. Her chin trembled as she struggled for composure. “I hadn’t expected—”

  “To be treated like a woman?” The corner of his mouth lifted into a sardonic grin. “What did you expect when you came here to my hotel room, Jasmine? That I’d be a gentle man? That I’d treat you like a prom queen? With kid gloves and genteel manners?”

  Her face flushed a deep rosy hue.

  “I’m not one of your wet-behind-the-ear suitors.” His cynical smile faded. “Or did you forget? I’m an Indian. Honor isn’t supposed to be high on my list of qualities, is it?”

  Before she could answer, he moved to step around her, heading for the door. As he brushed past, she flinched, shrinking away from him. Storm’s heart tightened at the fear he saw in her eyes.

  Not allowing himself to reconsider, he threw open the door and turned to face her. “I warned you I wasn’t to be trusted,” he said, the words harsh even to his own ears. “Now run, Jasmine. Run before I change my mind and take what you were so willing to offer.”

  Blinking back tears of shame and embarrassment, she refused to look at him. Instead, with her eyes downcast, she stumbled to the door and escaped into the night.

  For a long moment he stood in the doorway and listened to the rapid click of her heels as she ran down the walkway from his room. He listened until the distant taps faded to a dull and painful memory. Then he closed the door and leaned against its solid strength.

  Shutting his eyes, he sighed wearily. He’d made such a mess of things. From the very beginning, Jasmine had been nothing but honest about her feelings toward him. Instead of returning the favor, he’d used those feelings against her. He’d been too afraid to face his own emotions. Too afraid to admit that he might be attracted to her.

  Like a bully, he’d used his size and brute strength to frighten her. As a result, he’d destroyed the self-confidence of a woman who’d shown him nothing but respect. Ironically, Jasmine was the only person in town who hadn’t treated him like a specter from the past.

  His heart thumped a hollow beat against his chest. Opening his eyes, he glanced around the room, forcing himself to face the scene of his own crime. He frowned as he spotted something white on the floor in the middle of the mauve carpeting. He pushed himself away from the door.

  It was Jasmine’s sweater.

  Reluctantly, he picked it up and held it in his hands. The delicate material felt silky, cool to his touch, reminding him of Jasmine’s smooth skin. Burying his face in the sweater’s softness, he inhaled its sweet floral scent and felt as though he were still holding her close in his arms.

  A sharp and jagged pain jigsawed through his heart as he realized what a fool he had been. Even now he couldn’t admit the truth, just how much he had wanted her to stay.

  He hadn’t wanted to let her go.

  Gravel spewed from the tires of Jasmine’s Jeep as she made the turn too quickly into the long driveway of the Big Sky Bed & Breakfast. Easing up on the gas pedal, she told herself to slow down. That no matter how much she wanted to she couldn’t run away from what had just happened.

  Her head lights cut a narrow beam through the thick darkness. She shivered as cool, crisp air poured in through the open window. A complete and utter stillness filled the night, doing little to quiet the troubling thoughts echoing in her head.

  There was no denying she’d made a fool of herself over a man. Not just any man, but Storm Hunter. A man who held her entire family in such disdain.

  She gave a bitter sweet smile. Well, she’d certainly done little to change his opinion of her. Or the Kincaid clan, for that matter. If anything, she’d given him even more reason to believe the worst of them. He’d made her feel like a spoiled child who couldn’t handle not getting her own way.

  Once again Jasmine felt the tears well up in her eyes. She pounded a fist against the steering wheel, refusing to give them release. Her feminine pride wouldn’t allow the show of weakness.

  Silently she vowed no man would ever make her cry.

  A light shone from the front porch of the B and B. Upstairs, the guest rooms were dark, their occupants asleep for the night. Navigating her Jeep around to the side of the house, she parked and let herself in the back door.

  Thankfully, the kitchen was empty. At the moment she didn’t think she could face her mother. She was in no mood for another lecture. Slipping off her heels, she tiptoed through the dark and silent house. Midway up the stairs to the third floor, a loose board creaked beneath her weight. She froze, straining her ears for signs of life.

  The house remained quiet.

  Relieved, she continued upstairs, longing for a soak in a hot tub. After her encounter with Storm, she felt dirty, soiled. Disappointment rested heavily against her heart, making it hard to draw a breath. Disappointment not because of what had happened, but because of what hadn’t.

  Despite everything, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she and Storm had missed a chance at something special. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on her part, but she still believed they were meant to be together.

  Wearily, she moved past her sister Cleo’s empty bedroom. The light shining from beneath her mother’s door told her she wasn’t asleep. Guiltily, instead of stopping to say good-night, she continued on. Jasmine took only two steps past before her mother’s door swung open, startling her. In the swath of light coming from the room, her mother stood in the doorway, wrapped in a cream-colored dressing gown.

  “Jasmine, it’s late.” Concern laced her mother’s voice. “Where have you been?”

  Instinctively, Jasmine backed away from the light, unwilling to let her mother see her disheveled appearance. “Dinner, Mother. I told you I was going to meet Summer—”

  “Summer called nearly an hour ago. She wanted to make sure you’d gotten home all right. And to apologize for having to cut dinner short.”

  Jasmine nearly moaned in dismay. Earlier this evening she’d told her mother she’d be dining with Summer and Gavin. Not wanting to upset her mother further, she hadn’t mentioned her other dinner companion, Storm. Now, barring another lie of omission, she had no excuse for her tardiness.

  “Is anything wrong, Jasmine? Why are you hovering in the dark? Come closer, where I can see you.”

  Reluctantly, Jasmine stepped forward.

  Her mother’s sharp gaze scanned her from head to toe, lingering on her mussed hair, her swollen lips and rumpled dress. With a tsk, she shook her head. “You’ve been with that man, haven’t you?”

  “’That man’?” Used to her open-mindedness and free thinking, Jasmine was stunned by the condemnation in her mother’s tone. “He has a name, Mother. It’s Storm Hunter.”

  “I know his name. I know all about him and his family,” she said, her voice quavering, her expression hard. “I told you to stay away from him. He’s too old for you, Jasmine.”

  “Too old? Mother, I can’t believe you’d mean that.”

  “I refuse to argue with you.” Celeste turned from the doorway. In a flurry of cotton and lace, she swept across the carpeted length of her bedroom floor.

  Reluctantly, Jasmine followed her inside.

  Candles lined t
he fire place, setting shadows dancing against the floral-and-striped wall paper. The pungent scent of incense spiced the air, telling her that her mother had once again been calling upon the spiritual world for guidance.

  “Why can’t you understand?” Celeste demanded, calling her attention. “It would never work between the two of you. You and Storm come from two entirely different worlds.”

  “Surely you don’t mean because he’s a Native American?”

  “No, of course not,” Celeste said impatiently. She stopped, narrowing a gaze to study her. “I’m talking about life experiences. You’re so young, Jasmine. He’s nearly twice your age. Is it any wonder that I’d be concerned?”

  “Mother, really.” Jasmine sighed. First Storm. Now her mother. When would everyone stop bringing up her age as though it were a handicap? “I’m not a child. Nor am I completely inexperienced. You know as well as I do that I’ve been dating since I was sixteen.”

  “You’ve dated men your own age. That isn’t the same as seeing a man as old as Storm Hunter.”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s better.” Ignoring her mother’s shocked expression, she added, “Mother, I’ve never felt the way I do when I’m with Storm. Not with any other man. You’re right. He is different. But not in a bad way.”

  Her mother’s hand shook as she raised it to her throat. She looked stricken. “I don’t want to hear this. How can you even consider a relationship with him? There’s too dark a history between the Hunters and the Kincaids. It wasn’t all that long ago that his brother’s affair with my sister nearly destroyed my family. I lost my sister because of Raven Hunter. I won’t stand by and let it happen again.”

  “Mother, that was another time, and another place. Prejudices of the past stood in Raven and Blanche’s way, not their love for each other. Blanche died from complications of child birth. There wasn’t anything anyone could have done. It wasn’t Storm’s fault. Nor was it Raven’s—”

  “Stop!” Celeste’s eyes took on a wide-eyed fearfulness that Jasmine had never seen before. “I don’t want to talk about Raven. I just want you to promise me that you’ll never see Storm again.”