The large veranda extended around the entire two-story building and fortuitously was ill-lit beyond the ballroom doors. Shrubbery screened the porch, and if a rendezvous was imperative, as Lucy’s note implied, at least the location was private. Hazard purposefully strode to the small alcove near the back entrance; he and Lucy had swung on the swing on that veranda, hidden behind the tall bushes, the night they first met.
He found her near the back door, her forehead pressed against the jamb, a lacy handkerchief held up to her tear-stained cheeks. As he came up behind her, his flaring temper over the callous indiscretion of her note diminished. She looked so sad, so forlorn, and he knew her life with Attenborough wasn’t all she wished. Gently gripping her soft shoulders, he buried his face in the curls at the back of her neck, murmuring comfortingly into the perfume of her skin, feeling the tension ease from her strained shoulders. Turning in his grasp, she threw her arms around his neck and cried, “Jon, I can’t bear to see you and not touch you.”
Looking into moist eyes, he said, “I’m sorry I avoided you, sweet.” His voice was low, level, friendly. “But you must have heard the gossip tonight. It’s bold as hell, and if Attenborough is pushed enough, he might feel obliged to call me out.” Judge Attenborough was from an old Georgia family and still felt honor was defended with dueling pistols. “I don’t want that and you don’t want that. He could get hurt, maybe killed. Please, Lucy,” he cajoled, “be sensible.”
Whether Hazard would be defending his mistress, his courage, or merely his right to live his own life, the result would be the same. The Chief Justice would probably be dead and his wife the cause. Scandal could make her life unbearable.
While craving Hazard with a wanton desire bordering on obsession, Lucy was not prepared to relinquish her place with her husband and his three million dollars. After all, George couldn’t live forever, and beautiful and ardent as Jon was, he was, by contrast, virtually penniless. Sighing heavily, she looked up through tear-splashed lashes and quietly said, “I know, Jon, you’re right. I just want you so and you’re going away tomorrow. Couldn’t you stay another day?”
His mind quickly negotiated all the urgencies and obligations of his schedule against Lucy’s tears, desires, her unnerving lack of discretion under stress. With an accepting smile he capitulated. “I can’t stay another day, but I could postpone my departure until afternoon. How would that be?”
“Oh, Jon,” she cried, her face alive with happiness. “Would you?”
He nodded once, saying in a gentle voice, “I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow morning. Come whenever you can get away.”
She laughed, triumphant as a captive let loose. “I’ll be there at the break of dawn. That way I’ll have you longer.”
He smiled at her enthusiasm. “One thing, Lucy,” he softly admonished, gently unlacing her hands from his neck and placing them in his own. “Take care, will you. A little prudence wouldn’t be out of place. If I don’t have to keep one eye on the door, I can devote more attention to you.”
“I promise, sweetheart. I’ll be caution itself. No one will even know I’m at the hotel.”
“That would be nice, love, because today everyone sure as hell knew.” He bent, softly kissed her lips, and then, opening the door, lightly pushed her through. “Get back to your guests. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Turning, she blew him a kiss and obediently returned to the ballroom.
Hazard leaned heavily against the door and slowly exhaled. A very touchy disaster had been averted. He’d rather not be forced to shoot the Chief Justice, judicial justice on the frontier being what it was and prejudice against the Indians escalating in direct proportion to the white man’s greed for land and gold. Taking out a cigar, he struck a match, lit it, and lazily drew in the smoke. It was peaceful out here. The summer night was perfection and he needed a moment for the adrenaline levels to return to normal. He was thankful Lucy was so easily assuaged. The hysterical tone of her note had alarmed him; he had feared some public scene or impossible demand. While Lucy was an undeniable pleasure in bed, that was all she was, and for a disquieting moment he’d been afraid she was about to demand something foolish.
Recalling the swing in the corner, he decided to sit outside, smoke his cigar, and allow Lucy time to recirculate in the ballroom before reappearing himself. Summer moonlight rimmed and illuminated the tall man as he strolled toward the dimly lit corner of the veranda. Reaching the extremity of the alcove, he stopped dead, a sliver of moonlight illuminating his face. “Hell,” said Jon Hazard under his breath, “bloody hell.” Snatching the cigar from his mouth, he growled caustically, “Not only a stupid bitch, I see, but an eavesdropping one as well. I hope you were pleasantly diverted.”
Sitting on the swing, shimmering white and pale in her silk gown, Blaze stiffened at his words and a thousand seed pearls glistened like fireflies in the moonlight. “I did not intentionally eavesdrop,” she curtly replied. “If you could have kept your lecherous hands off the chief justice’s wife for a few seconds,” she witheringly continued, “I would have made myself known when you first arrived, made my excuses, and left. It’s your own goddamned fault.”
There was a hostile silence. The profanity checked his response momentarily. It might have been better phrased, he thought, but at least it reminded him of what she was. He had forgotten that beneath the simmering silk and shapely form was an imperious temperament. He had never been kicked by a woman before; had never been drawn on by a woman; had never been dismissively treated by a woman, he reflected in a rush. And until now, he had never been cursed by a woman. This willful female was single-handedly setting records of a kind that stoked his fiery temper. Swallowing alternative responses with supreme control, he merely said, “You have a vulgar tongue.” But his face was dark with annoyance.
“And you have a vulgar mind,” Blaze coldly replied.
Hazard’s gaze was disconcertingly sharp. He smiled unpleasantly. “You find sex vulgar? Sinful too, no doubt. I pity your husband. The nights must be cold.” His English was educated, his voice a derisive drawl, his accent softly western.
Her chin came up contentiously at his bad manners, and the moonlight caught for a dazzling moment on the lush curve of her neck and rising breasts. A man had never spoken to her so discourteously, and her voice, when she spoke, was icily correct. “Sex, as you so urbanely put it, is still a moot concept for me. Sin, I’ve discovered, is most often the obsession of small, wretched minds with nothing better to do. You needn’t pity my husband. I don’t have one. And when I do, I’m sure I’ll be able to keep him warm in some adequately wifely fashion.”
“Your blistering tongue’s wifely enough,” Hazard rudely said. “Unfortunately, men prefer other types of warmth.”
Blaze shot to her feet in a flurry of shimmering pearls, fury sparkling in her eyes. “Mr.—”
“Black,” Hazard supplied politely with a small bow.
“Mr. Black,” she retorted, white-hot and hostile, “I find you contemptible!”
There was a pause. Hazard looked down at the glow of ash on his cigar and then his glance returned, enveloping Blaze in a shrewd, dark gaze. “And I find you”—his voice dropped to a whisper—“dangerous.”
The word arrested her rising ire. “Dangerous?” she asked.
“Extremely,” he replied drily. After a brief silence his face altered and she saw a polite charm he was in the habit of using effectively. “Will you give me your word you won’t repeat anything you overheard tonight?”
The overture was coldly received, the request misread as a slap in the face. Blaze drew in a sharp breath of affront, which did alarming things to the high, soft rise of pale breasts pushing above the ivory silk and lace. Unconscious admiration shone in Hazard’s dark eyes and he briefly forgot his heated anger.
“Would you like a signed statement?” she asked, the slightest malice in her tone. “Or can you read?” Her voice turned oversweet, “As I recall, at Diamond City, without evening
rig and diamond studs,”—her small jeweled hand gestured vaguely—“you posed as a very different type of man. Do you read?” she insolently repeated, the provocation deliberate since neither his speech nor his dress suggested otherwise. “Or are you better at wrestling women to the ground?”
Hazard heard the caustic words with a rising sense of outraged disbelief. His lips parted and then closed in a straight, tight line. He had control of himself in a second and in another had matched her insolence. “I read a little,” he murmured in a cool, constrained voice, fighting for equanimity before the female’s unprecedented conduct, “and do all sorts of things to women, in addition to wrestling,” he added in a husky rasp. She had finally goaded him past the point of acquired civilities. Sensitive of his Indian heritage, the relegation of unwritten Indian tradition and lore to some inferior position beside that of the white man’s rapacious theme of progress was always guaranteed to provoke the worst in him. And that imperiousness was tiresomely excessive, he thought. For a woman. Within his own tribe he was a chief, well-born, a superlative warrior, trained to his fingertips, superior in standing to this spoiled white woman with all her wealth.
A glimmer of deadly derision appeared for an instant in Hazard’s black eyes. “Why don’t I show you,” he said slowly, mockery tracing every syllable, “what I do to women? Show you those things that bring women like Lucy to heated indiscretion.” His eyes scanned her slowly from head to toe, lingering leisurely on the stylish décolletage. “Why not sample firsthand some of the savage red man’s beastly animal drives—our alternatives to reading.” The delicately derisive voice ended in a low, sensuous whisper, his eyes narrowing, becoming predatory. Tossing aside his cigar, he moved forward smoothly.
With a rustle of silk, Blaze retreated into the swing, staring defiantly back. “I’ll scream,” she managed, aware for the first time in her pampered life that she was facing a man she couldn’t handle.
“Feel free. You wouldn’t get the sound out of your throat before I silenced you.” His voice was unhurried, his bronzed face under the thick black hair calm. “White men’s schools may teach you to read, but the Indian ways teach you to move swiftly and silently. And up against danger, try using a book for defense.” As he moved closer the smell of brandy was unmistakable.
“You’re drunk!” Blaze cried half in affront, partly in dismay. “A damn dr—”
“Don’t finish that,” Hazard said sharply, his black eyes burning. If a man had so accused him, it would have cost him blood. “I never get drunk,” he added in clear, explicit syllables. “Unlike other tribes, the Absarokee have never been ruled by the Masta-cheeda’s liquor. It’s a matter of pride,” he finished simply.
He was still slowly advancing on her with a particular fluid grace, actually enjoying the fear in her eyes. The revelation that under the facade of imperiousness was only a trembling woman was unkind, but welcome, and it pleased him. That disclosure, or perhaps her stunning beauty and voluptuous opulence, more than the discovery, sent out familiar signals of desire. He felt the swelling against the fine wool of his trousers.
His hand slowly came up with a hushed delicacy, and as his slender fingers gripped her chin lightly the extravagant diamond pendants in her ears swung as prisms of light. “First,” he said very quietly to the rigid woman, “I kiss them.” And his head lowered to hers, half expecting her to pull away from his grasp. When she didn’t, his other hand slid across the silk of her back and gradually pulled her close.
Blaze felt the gentle hands on her flesh, the fingers, work-hardened, not a gentleman’s fingers, holding her chin lightly but ruthlessly, not inclined to let her get away. An extraordinary state of flurry overcame her senses, a confused rush of feelings, the same kind of thrilling longing and shivering fear she’d experienced when he carried her in Diamond City. And then she had no more time to think, for his warm lips touched hers, brushed back and forth against the soft fullness of her mouth, forced her lips apart in a breathless dissolving silence. The scent of him washed over her and the sense of a physical presence so much greater than her overwhelmed her mind.
She heard him groan softly, then with extreme and deliberate care he forced his tongue inside her mouth, tasting, licking, twining in a long, savage, sensuous pattern of withdrawal and penetration. And while his mouth and tongue ate at her, kissed and tantalized her warm, honeyed mouth, he gently accommodated her body to his, lifting her a little on tiptoe to fit more fluidly against his unmistakable arousal. “Then,” he murmured in a particularly lush resonance against her mouth, “after I kiss them here, I kiss them …” His hand released her chin and slid down the warm, lilac-scented column of her throat, over the soft swell of breast where slim bronzed fingers, crushing a handful of silk and seed pearls, pushed down the décolletage and freed her of the confining fabric. The night air washed warm over her breasts in a languid pleasure before his dark head dipped. Just before his mouth covered one pink nipple already peaking in warm anticipation, he continued, “… here.”
Blaze felt the soft brush of his breath just as his mouth closed wet and hungry on the cresting tip. The sensation streaking through her body was so excruciatingly violent her knees went weak, and if Hazard hadn’t supported her, she would have fallen. Spontaneously relinquishing a multitude of genteel strictures drilled into her since childhood, flooded with thrilling new sensations ignited by Hazard’s expert, coaxing touch, his relentless mouth and the unbelievable feel of him, Blaze’s hands came up, slid into the overlong black hair, and pressed the tantalizing mouth closer. Hazard’s mouth and nose and chin pressed into the ripe abundance of her breast, and fires burned in her blood; her pulse was racing into oblivion and she was tingling in hot waves of strange, exquisite longing deep inside.
With customary facility, Hazard was quickly past the point of prudence and, reading the signs expertly, lifted Blaze into his arms. He glanced around quickly, then down at her halfnaked body in his arms, and he knew he couldn’t take her far. A rapid decision made, he walked down the steps and across the short stretch of lawn to the summer kitchen. The door was locked but he set his back to it, still holding her in his arms, and threw his weight against the molded pine. The flimsy lock gave way and they were inside. Heeling the door shut, he stood unmoving briefly until his eyes could distinguish shapes in the darkness. While he waited, his mouth toyed with hers, self-assured, confident, possessive. He sucked at her tongue until she whimpered a soft, breathy sound of capitulation, and finally, because he couldn’t wait much longer, he cautiously moved toward the outline of a table.
He knocked over a chair getting to it, but kicked it out of the way and then moved the last few steps to the table. The fall of his splendid black hair brushed her cheek as he gently lowered Blaze onto the wooden surface and, bending low, brushed her lips with his. She clung to his face with warm hands when he tried to rise, so he kissed the graceful line of her mouth again, moving over a short moment later to trace the delicate border of her jaw and then languid his mouth slipped downward to the taut nipples achingly beckoning like extravagant wild rosebuds.
She cried softly when he touched her there, moaned little sounds of pleasure while his tongue caressed, held him fiercely to her as if she couldn’t get enough of the soft savagery of his mouth and teeth teasing her nipples into begging peaks. Whenever he raised his head, she pushed it back. “Stay, please … stay,” she whispered shakily, feeling the beat of her heart pulsing in strange new places, skittering in brushfire pathways from the tips of her breasts to the throbbing fire between her thighs.
But he couldn’t wait forever; he wanted more than caresses. Unlocking the insistent hands, he held them aside and raised his head to taste her parted lips; with his tongue he plundered, ravaged, hungrily demanded. And left her trembling.
Swiftly his hand slid under the yards of silk and petticoats, glided up the velvet warmth of leg and thigh, and then—
Distinctly, a loud male voice shouted from quite near, “Blaze! Blaze! Where are yo
u?”
She froze.
In the next heartbeat, she seemed to come to her senses. Sitting upright, covering her breasts with trembling hands, she whispered, “No!” in a small desperate voice.
“Yes,” Hazard rebuffed, profoundly single-minded at the moment, reaching to recapture the soft silkiness of her bare shoulders, quite certain no one would invade the deserted summer kitchen. His mouth moved to regain hers. “Things you enjoy aren’t bad for you, bia,” he murmured against her lips, using the Absarokee endearment women found so reassuring. “You yellow eyes have it all wrong.”
“No,” she softly cried again, struggling to free herself, pushing him away with surprisingly strong hands. And before Hazard could decide whether she meant it or not, she had slipped from the table. Stunned and frustrated, he watched her run toward the door. In a few rapid adjustments she replaced the bodice of her gown, rearranged the lace drapery on her arms, opened the door, and disappeared into the summer night.
Jon Hazard Black swore into the grey shadows of the summer kitchen. He hadn’t been left tormented with unconsummated desire since adolescence. Infuriated, he banged out of the building, exasperated with illogical women in general and one in particular. For a brief moment he listened to the lilting dance music coming from the glittering ballroom, and then, concluding he was past the point of civility that evening, walked back to his hotel and went to bed.
The following day, Lucy Attenborough received more attention than usual from Hazard. He had promised her the morning but he spent longer than that with her. Finally, very much later, when the heat of the afternoon had dwindled and the lethargy of a well-spent day enveloped the occupants of room 202, the only Absarokee prospecting for gold in Diamond City left the soft bed and warm woman and headed north out of Virginia City to his cabin on the mountaintop.
Susan Johnson Page 6