Could she begin to use this paradigm to explain how she felt about this unusual man? That some of her feelings about him were stronger, some conflicted?
Daggert whistled for Sancho and wandered away, kneeling beneath one pine, then another. He studied the ground and searched the low-hanging branches before coming back to join her.
"I'm starving," he said, reaching into his saddlebags and pulling out three of his magic food pouches. "I want a real meal. While I'm getting the fire going, why don't you take a dip in the river? It'll be colder than hell, but…" He shrugged.
"You're sure we can spare the time?" Leeza asked, eyeing the water wistfully.
"See that tree over there?"
"Yes?"
"Enrique slept under it last night. I'm guessing we're only a few hours behind him."
"Footprints?"
"Right. And hoofprints. The ranch's farrier always turns one nail backward. It's as distinctive as signing a portrait."
"And Enrique wears Nikes."
Daggert grinned. "Did I say you're a quick study? More like greased lightning."
Leeza smiled and was rewarded with a quick flick of his forefinger across her cheek. She felt the smile on her face slipping as reaction shot through her. It was just a touch. A careless, yet intensely intimate touch.
"Enjoy your bath," he said.
"Oh, I can promise you I will," Leeza said, summoning her voice, her smile.
She relinquished the horses' reins to him and quickly removed a small backpack from one of Belle's saddlebags. She was behind a stand of trees flanking the river before he could tie the horses to a branch near some thick, tasty-looking grass.
She stripped out of her clothes with more speed than grace and decided not to pussyfoot getting into the water. She grabbed a washcloth, aimed for a clear, quiet section of the river, turned her back on it and allowed herself to fall backward, landing in the icy water with an enormous splash. She was on her feet in less than a nanosecond, gasping for air and giving a short shriek of pure shock.
Daggert materialized on the shore, poised for rescue, ready to fight whatever had made her scream. A saddlebag dangled from his hand. He slowly straightened.
Leeza couldn't move. The ridiculously small washcloth she held in her hand wouldn't cover much more than the wedge of blond hair at the apex of her legs.
She'd never been wholly naked with a fully dressed man before. It made her feel strangely galvanized and shy simultaneously. Her heart thundered in her chest. Come to me, she pleaded silently.
Daggert's eyes caressed her, touching the puckered aureoles and the hardened nipples of her breasts, slipping down her flat belly and lower, lingering there as the heat rose in him. She could see him swell, could feel the heat in his gaze. His eyes continued down the length of her legs and seemed to pierce the water that lapped about her knees.
And as he studied her, he dropped the saddlebags and began slowly removing his clothes.
A frisson of pure heat swept over her and she felt her legs tremble.
He never took his eyes from her as he dropped each article of clothing to the grassy slope above the river.
His body proved to be tanned all over, and with a jolt Leeza realized it was no tan but his natural skin color, a warm earth tone. Every inch of him was as beautiful as his voice. Broad shoulders winged out over muscled arms; tiny dark nipples were the only adornment to his smooth, hairless chest. Well-defined abdominal muscles tapered past his waist, and the muscles in his thighs rippled as he moved forward.
He was fully aroused, and the sheer evidence made a molten river rush to Leeza's core. She moistened her trembling lips with the tip of her tongue and knew she would soon taste him instead. She shivered, not from the river's chill but from undiluted anticipation.
He seemed impervious to the icy cold of the water or the sharp stones on the bed beneath. He came slowly, steadily, inexorably toward her—three or four steps that seemed to take forever. With every gliding movement, Leeza's breath came more raggedly, and her knees wanted to buckle.
She could feel the heat radiating from Daggert, as if he was feverish. And when he stopped inches from her, she felt as though he were a magnet and she the metal pulled to him. She rocked a little, the river pushing her, the feel of him drawing her. When he touched her, a single fingertip to a rock-hard nipple, she gave a half sob of pure longing. He slid his hands across her face and into her hair and drew her to him for a kiss filled with such raw hunger that she felt as if she might explode with the echoing need. But the heat in his mouth, the velvet softness of his tongue, shaped the ache into passion that matched his in every way.
His hands lowered to her shoulders, her breasts, her waist. He stroked her, exploring every curve with a firm, sure touch. And all the while, his mouth plied hers, demanding, exhorting, giving and taking simultaneously.
His hands grasped her rounded bottom and kneaded gently, questingly, before pulling her sharply to him, letting her feel his arousal. She moaned and reached out to discover the secrets of his body. He drew his breath in with a sharp hiss when her cold, wet washcloth met the small of his back. Stepping back from her, he took the cloth from her unresisting hand, dipped it into the water and gave it a swift squeeze before lifting it to her breasts. She gasped as he ran the icy washcloth over her nipples, then followed with his hot mouth. He suckled and laved until she was cupping his head and arching into him.
Daggert caught her at the waist and lifted her out of the water into his arms. He carried her to the grassy bank and set her down. She could barely stand. He yanked open the saddlebag he'd dropped earlier and pulled out a Polartec blanket that he shook free and spread on the ground.
He took her hand and held it against his chest, sandwiching it between his heart and his hand. "Denzhoné Bidáá, come to my bed."
Leeza, mesmerized by his soft voice, his use of Apache, his body and the way he made hers feel, nodded and allowed him to pull her down to the blanket. It was warm and soft, and his body pressing against hers was hot and hard.
He ran the freezing washcloth across her belly and again chased the chill away with his heated tongue. He gently plied the cloth lower and kissed away its sting. He parted her legs and teased her with the cloth there as well. And with his mouth incited a riot.
She shouldn't be doing this, she thought chaotically. Every part of her screamed with need, while her mind raged against it. She shouldn't pause in her search for Enrique, but couldn't think about Enrique with Daggert's lips on her.
"James," she cried out as he found the very center of her and caressed her with his wicked tongue.
The combination of making love outdoors, her deep ache for him and his kissing her so intimately swept away all thought, focusing her awareness on one thing only: that single point beneath his lips. Her legs began to quiver and her body to contract. He continued to caress her, faster and deeper, then abruptly stopped, not taking his mouth from her body, but keeping perfectly still against her.
Leeza cried out in surprise as a primal orgasm as strong as any tsunami swept through her. It caught her unaware, unprepared, as relentless and pure as the most exquisite force of nature could be. She felt lost in it, ripped from the earth and hurled into some other plane of existence.
He encouraged her to ride the tidal wave, touching her, kissing her, then slowly soothing her, catching her effortlessly and bringing her back into this world from the other dimension he'd sent her to. He massaged her belly, kissed her heaving breasts, nuzzled each nipple with thorough attention. She clung to his shoulders and blinked back tears of sheer release.
He raised himself over her, curtaining her with his long, black hair which smelled of sunshine and the man himself. Leeza took in his glittering gaze of need. She lifted her hands to his face and stroked the long hair from his smooth cheeks and angular jaw.
He caught her fingertips with his lips and sucked at them gently.
"Come inside me," she murmured. "Please." She opened her legs to him and
felt him throbbing against her.
He hesitated.
Heedless of consequences, she took the decision from him by wrapping her legs around him, impaling herself with his shaft and sheathing him with her liquid warmth.
"Denzhoné," he growled, his jaw clenched, his face contorted with what looked like stunning pain as he filled her.
He sank into her dewy body, encased by her, enfolded into her warmth, her honeyed core, her silken skin. She took him fully, expanding to fit him within her, gasping as he drove deeply and slowly into her.
Daggert could feel her tightly holding him, her elegant long legs around his back, her inner muscles clenching and imploring him. Her lips lifted to his and she echoed her movements with her mouth, drawing his tongue inside and sucking softly.
A moan of pleasure escaped her and unlocked the control he'd been exercising to keep from plundering her. Leaning on his forearms to avoid crushing her, he covered her breasts with his hands, molding them with his fingers as he rocked into her, thrusting, penetrating, losing himself in her incredible body.
He still had enough awareness left to know that what they were doing was dangerous. Aside from physical considerations, he knew she didn't understand that his heart was irrevocably committed to his search for Donny's killer. He knew this, knew the pitfalls it created, and still relished the wonder of her beneath him, in his arms.
"James Daggert," she murmured, arching up to meet his thrusts, pushing her firm breasts deeper into his hands.
He left her lips to suckle her turgid nipples as he arched and drove into her with even more force. She gasped and thrust upward, joining him with a need as great as his own. Clasping her to him, holding her shoulders, he drove ever deeper, ramming into her with an almost desperate urgency.
She cried out, inchoate in her desire. Suddenly she clenched around him, her inner muscles squeezing, contracting, drawing him inevitably over the edge.
He arched suddenly, calling her name as he released into her, and his shuddering explosion propelled her into another climax as well. She gasped and shook beneath him, around him, with him.
He felt barriers dropping inside him. If kissing her had tasted like promise and possibility, making love to her felt like the very essence of hope.
She'd matched him stroke for touch. She'd accepted everything he had offered and had given herself readily and without games.
Tears trailed down her temples now, dampening her hair.
"Why are you crying?" he asked, stroking away the tears, the sight of them chiseling away at his heart.
She shook her head. "It was just so beautiful. So perfect."
He smiled a little. "And this makes you cry?"
"It's never happened before."
He stilled. "What hasn't?"
She opened her eyes and met his. Though he'd been calling her "Beautiful Eyes" for the past day and a half, he'd never seen anything quite as luminous as hers were now.
"I used to think there was something wrong with me," she said. "I even asked my friends about it. They didn't know what to tell me."
"I don't understand," Daggert said, stroking her face, caressing her skin, still buried in her and wanting even more.
Color stole into her cheeks, but her eyes didn't waver. "I didn't know making love could feel so…so wonderful. Thank you." A tear snaked toward her hair and he caught it with his finger.
The tear—tangible evidence of emotions she wouldn't reveal beyond their union—glittered in the sunlight and seemed to burn him every bit as much as her thanking him did.
This woman had followed him into the hills, into the mountains, not knowing at all what to expect. She'd been totally out of her element. And for much of their journey, he'd treated her like an extra saddlebag on an already packed horse.
He'd only lightened up a bit today, lying about being hungry, knowing she couldn't handle jalapeño-doused beef jerky again and that, without food, she wouldn't make it through another day. Figuring she would relish a dip in the stream, he'd persuaded her to try the cold waters of the river, and had forced himself to close a door against the thought of her naked body.
And he'd managed it until she screamed.
He'd run for her, as he'd run for no one else besides his family before. He'd pictured Donny's killer with a knife at her throat, mountain cat claws tearing the flesh from her body.
Daggert hadn't even been aware he was still holding one of the saddlebags in his hand until he saw her.
She should have looked like a drowned rat, spent and frozen stiff.
But she hadn't looked that way at all. She'd looked a lot like Venus rising out of that shell. Instead of copious amounts of flowing titian hair, Leeza's short locks had been plastered to her head, turning the golden silk to a tawny-brown as river water trickled down her incredible body.
But she'd been every bit as naked as Botticelli's Venus.
And beautiful in a way that had robbed Daggert of speech.
Naked as the day she was born, but filled out and all woman.
It would have taken one of the miracles Rancho Milagro doled out with such alacrity to make him turn back to fixing their lunch.
If she'd told him to leave, he might have. If she'd ordered him to turn his back, he probably could have done so. But she'd stood there gazing at him, and nothing on God's green earth could have stopped him from wanting her.
And he wanted her still, even knowing he had nothing to offer this woman who had everything, this woman who didn't even know how easily she pierced a man's heart. If he still had a claim to his heart, he would gladly give it to her, lay it at her feet and beg her to be his forever.
But his heart wasn't his to give. He'd exchanged it for the power to find Donny's killer. And that was all he had room for in that place in his chest. The place that used to hold compassion, hope, faith and trust.
She made him want those things, and wanting them felt like a betrayal of his vow to Donny. Daggert couldn't feel anything until the day that his son was truly avenged, that the truth of his death was revealed for all to see.
Couldn't she sense that?
Perhaps she could. She hadn't asked anything of him, hadn't sought affirmation or commitment.
She'd said she'd never experienced anything so wonderful before. Until now. Until him.
This made him feel like a god. A Pure-D, amazing god.
And it shamed him because he had nothing more than incredible chemistry to offer this lovely woman. He could find the boy she sought. He could do a thousand little things that might make her ice princess heart yearn for his, but the end result would always be the same: he had no room for anything but finding the man who'd killed his son.
"I was adopted," she said.
He felt the sun on his back, the soft blanket beneath his legs, her satin skin against his, and her words made him feel off-kilter, as if the world had slipped sideways. But he couldn't say anything.
"When I was nine."
He gently kissed the hollow of her collarbone.
"I was so scared," she said, and he could hear the fear still lurking in the little girl inside her. "I felt purchased. Paid for. Felt that if I screwed up, I would be turned out into the streets, a problem no more, abandoned like some people dispose of unwanted pets. I didn't screw up. Not that I would have been allowed to. In the world according to John and Cora Nelson, making mistakes indicates imprecise thinking, the worst indictment they could imagine."
"Did you love them?" Daggert asked, and wondered that the word could even be ripped from his mouth.
She frowned. "Love them? I don't know."
"Where are they now?"
"Out of my life," she said, and her flat tone of voice as she uttered the phrase told him more than a thousand impassioned statements might have. Whatever she felt about them wasn't resolved, any more than whatever she felt for little Enrique could be categorized easily.
Daggert felt he had to give her something. A gift beyond the one that left him feeling a god, bec
ause she'd appreciated it so.
He shifted away from her somewhat, and felt a frisson of desire when her muscles clenched around him as if she was wordlessly trying to keep him with her. He pressed his lips to the spot just below her full breasts, then said against her satin skin, "Roll over, Denzhoné."
Making him smile, she languorously did as he asked. He frowned when he noticed the shadow of a bruise at the base of her beautiful, well-rounded bottom. He kissed the faint strip of purple. She sighed.
He began to slowly, carefully knead her overworked muscles, beginning with her shoulders and neck, massaging away the knots and the tensions of the past couple of days. He murmured to her in Apache, telling her how lovely she was, how soft her skin, how incredible her eyes and how perfect the hollow at the very base of her spine.
She was asleep before he finished, her body relaxed, a faint smile on her lips.
He spread his hands over her back like a shaman psychically exploring hidden pain. "If I could give you anything, Denzhoné, I'd give you back your faith in your heart, the heart those cold people stole from you."
He felt her give a silent sigh, and saw her fingers twitch slightly as if accepting his gift in her dream. And for some reason, he felt like crying.
* * *
The hunter petted Daggert's dog and shook hands with him as he always did whenever they met. The setter whined, as he always did.
Soon he would tie the dog to a tree—he wouldn't hurt the animal; he would have to be a monster to hurt a good dog—and leave him with a piece of the boy's clothing. He'd found a discarded child's glove only that morning and knew Daggert had already found the mate, if Sancho hadn't brought it to him between his white teeth.
Daggert would be frantic to find his dog. The hunter chuckled aloud, picturing the tracker's dismay when he discovered that his worst nightmare was two steps ahead of him.
The boy was only a couple hours up the mountain from him and Daggert and Leeza Nelson just a few hours behind. He had to slow them both if the lesson he wanted them to learn was to be of any amusement. They would be feeling safe now, sure of finding the boy, and they would be careless. And the loss of the ever-faithful Sancho would confuse the tracker.
A Warrior's Vow Page 8