Heat of a Savage Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Two

by Jane Bonander

  “I couldn’t get the door open. I thought I was going to die, and I’d never see any of you again.”

  “Shh,” he soothed as he took her in his arms. “Don’t talk. There’s plenty of time for that.”

  She closed her eyes and clung to him when he tried to pull away.

  “Rachel,” he whispered, gently pushing her back on the bed. “You need to rest.”

  She looked up at him. “Was someone trying to kill me?” Her voice was hoarse and it hurt to talk, but she had to ask. “I want the truth, Jason, please.”

  He stroked her hair, pushing it away from her face. Heaving a deep sigh, he finally answered, “It’s possible.”

  She sucked in a wet, ragged breath. “But I don’t know anything.”

  “Apparently someone thinks you do.”

  She pinched her eyes shut. “What am I going to do?”

  “You’re going to stay here with me. I won’t let you out of my sight.”

  “But… but you have work to do. You have to make trips to the reservation.” She shook her head. “I can’t keep you from all that.”

  “Then I’ll bring someone in to stay with you.” He straightened his arms on either side of her and lowered his face to hers. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  Flecks of gold floated in his dark, dreamy eyes. She’d never noticed that before. Her body tingled at his nearness. “Are you going to kiss me?”

  A smile pulled up one side of his mouth.

  “Please?” Warmth burst in the pit of her stomach.

  His lips touched hers. Soft. Gentle. Sweet. Reawakening all the memories and feelings she’d thought never to have again. She opened her mouth. Their tongues touched, stroked, cradled. She felt warm, no—hot. Bringing her hands to his face, she pulled him closer.

  Suddenly her chest hurt. Reluctantly she pulled away, turned her head to the side and coughed.

  “You’re not ready for this.” He sat back and smiled at her.

  She yanked her handkerchief off the bedside table and crumpled it in her fist. “If I’m a real good girl, will you make love to me again? Sometime?” She wondered if she was being too brazen. The look on his face told her she wasn’t.

  His eyes darkened, his nostrils flared, and he gave her a smile that made her toes curl. “I guess I could think about it.”

  Returning his smile, she caressed his smooth cheek, then ran her fingers over his lips. “I’m sorry I caused everyone so much concern.”

  He pulled one of her fingers into his mouth, biting down gently, licking. “For once, you should be sorry.” He caught her fingers in his and kissed her sore palm.

  Her heart nearly burst with love. “Jason?”

  Stroking the top of her hand, he looked at her, a question in his eyes.

  “Thank you for coming to look for me.”

  “You’re welcome.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  The moment was sweet and poignant. She’d never been so happy to be alive. “I love you.”

  He dropped her hand, stood, and cleared his throat. “Get some rest, Rachel. Get some rest.”

  A small part of her was sorry he hadn’t said he loved her, too. But it didn’t matter that much. He’d come looking for her, he’d found her and he’d saved her. That all meant he cared a little, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

  After he’d gone, she turned toward the window and frowned. Why was someone trying to kill her now? Why hadn’t they tried months ago, when it had made some sense? Shivering, she curled into a ball beneath the covers and continued to contemplate her skirmish with death.

  It had been a week. One week since he’d found Rachel cold and shivering, huddled in the corner of that root cellar. And he’d kept his promise; he hadn’t left her alone. Yesterday, when he’d had the emergency at the reservation, Dixie had come by and insisted that she stay with Rachel while he was gone.

  Stepping to the window, Jason peered out into the night. There was a cold wind sifting in around the frame. Black, leaf-dappled trees swayed in the moonlight, gently hypnotizing him as he thought about the coffee he’d found at the shack. The aroma continued to tease the edges of his memory.

  He winced, rubbed the crick in his neck, and blew out the kerosene lamp on his desk. Glancing at the door of his apartment, he realized he felt a niggle of guilt about not sending Rachel back to her room at the cafe. Physically she was ready to go. Emotionally she was far stronger than he’d ever given her credit for. He just wasn’t ready to let her go. And that’s why he felt the guilt.

  He should never have made love to her that first time. She was becoming dependent on him, and it wasn’t a realistic relationship. One thing had led to another to make her believe there could be more between them. He’d given her a job when she needed one. Discovering her virginity, he’d taken it, giving her the first taste of full-blown passion she’d ever known. By some stroke of dumb luck, he’d found her in the cabin, and saved her life. In her eyes, he was some sort of hero. She was undoubtedly infatuated with him. In time, the feeling would probably dissipate.

  Love was so… elusive. He cared for her, he desired her, but… love? He didn’t know… couldn’t be sure. The thought of loving someone scared him. He’d loved once—at least, he’d thought it was love. But this time, with Rachel, there was all that emotional Weber baggage between them…

  He rubbed his neck, unwilling to take that thought further. He hadn’t weakened over the past week, having slept on the cot in his back room. Tonight he needed to be farther away from her than that, because she’d been unconsciously—he thought—arousing him all day.

  Earlier, she’d stood by his desk and reached to the top of his cabinet, a movement that had stretched the front of her dress across her bosom.

  Then, when she’d come to him with a patient’s chart, she’d pressed her breasts against his arm as she asked her question. He’d glanced at her, but there wasn’t any calculated look in her eyes. She’d touched him and talked to him as one would someone with whom she was intimate, and he couldn’t deny that it pleased him.

  But enough was enough. Tomorrow she could go back to Ivy’s. He or Tully would assign someone to keep an eye on her. She needed a bodyguard until he could discover who was trying to kill her and why. He didn’t know who he’d trust with the job, but he’d find someone. Ben sprang to mind, but Jason couldn’t ask him to do it over the long term. It was enough that Ben had offered to watch her while he went to Sacramento to pick up supplies for the new reservation school.

  Now, he thought, as he crossed to his private quarters, he just hoped he could manage to get through one more night of celibacy.

  The lamp was lit at the bedside. She was undressing by the stove, her back to him. He knew he should leave. He told himself to turn around and get the hell out of there, but he couldn’t move. He watched as she pulled off her petticoat, tossing it over the chair. With quick, smooth movements, she unbuttoned her dress and slipped her arms from the sleeves.

  The smooth white skin of her shoulders and arms drew his gaze and she must have heard his harsh intake of breath, because she turned toward him, studying him, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open. She didn’t smile, nor did she pull her dress back up to cover herself.

  He stared at her bosom, watching as her nipples hardened beneath her camisole. Color stole across the pale expanse of skin above her undergarment, then up her neck into her cheeks, staining them a luscious pink.

  Dammit, there was still time to leave, but his self-discipline was shot. One week of having her near and not touching her had taken its toll on him. He ached for her. He remembered the sweet, artless sounds she made when she was on the brink of release. Desire, a thick, rich anguish that sank deep into his loins, pressed his need.

  “Jason,” she whispered, pulling her dress down over her hips and stepping out of it. Then she began to unbutton her camisole, her eyes still holding his. Slowly, hesitantly, she pulled the garment a
part, exposing to him her plump, pink-nippled breasts.

  Commanding his control, he balled his hands into fists and tried to will away his desire. Again, he ordered himself to leave, and again, he found he couldn’t. His root swelled, the delicious, hungry itch sending his pulse pounding.

  Her fingers hesitated on the buttons of her drawers, but she pulled the buttons through their holes and let her drawers slip low on her hips.

  Swallowing convulsively and swearing at his weakness, he took the space between them in two strides. He reached out and gently tugged the fabric, allowing it to slip down to her thighs, then to the floor. Her brandy-hued triangle drew his gaze. Groaning, he dropped to his knees and pulled her toward him.

  Slowly he pressed his nose against her and breathed in her scent. The skin low on her belly was like satin, her fur soft and tightly curled. He kissed her there, aching to make love to her with his mouth, but afraid to do so. She was still innocent.

  “Jason,” she whispered, her voice shaking above him. “I can’t stand up.” Her knees buckled, and he caught her to him, lifting her high into his arms.

  Her breathing was erratic; her motions restless. She clung to him with one arm and, with the other, impatiently pulled his shirt from his denim jeans. Tugging at the buttons, she eagerly pulled them loose and jerked the sleeve down his arm. He shrugged out of the other arm and let the shirt fall to the floor. Her hand stroked his chest and her fingers moved over his scars like a blind man’s over braille.

  They kissed, hot, deep, wet kisses that he’d taught her, and the fire in his loins flared. Her hand dipped to his waist, then down over his crotch and he quickened at her touch. She was aggressive—something she hadn’t been before. His lusty itch for her grew.

  He strode to the bed and dumped her onto it. She was breathing deeply and her face was pink. She watched as his hand went to the buttons of his jeans. His movements slowed. He shouldn’t be doing this at all, but suddenly he wanted to tease her, tantalize her, drive her as crazy as she drove him.

  Slowly he slipped the top button out of the rugged buttonhole. Her gaze didn’t leave his hand. He bit back a hard, lust-filled grin. “Are you impatient, Rachel?”

  She opened her mouth but didn’t speak. Her fingers gripped the sheet and she scissored her long, shapely legs together, shuddering up at him.

  He almost lost control, but held himself back. Slowly, he unbuttoned his fly until his penis poked through the opening and finally sprang free.

  She gaped, wide-eyed, innocent, naïve. He slid his jeans down and stepped out of them, delighted that she was so eager to see him. All of his good intentions were gone. He wanted her. He wanted to thrust deep inside her and empty himself into her. He watched as she moved to her knees, continuing to stare.

  Still, he held himself back. “Do you want to touch me?” Restraint didn’t enter his head. His need to see her desire for him blocked out every rational thought.

  She gave him a quivering smile, bit her lower lip and moved closer, her gaze never leaving his erection. Tentatively she reached out and touched him.

  Scorching heat filled him, delivering such a surge of blood to his penis that it swelled further and throbbed with a need he’d never felt before.

  Gasping, she pulled her hand back. “It’s… it’s hard and smooth… and hot,” she whispered, giving him a look that sent more blood boiling to his groin. He swallowed a groan.

  This time she used both hands, one to gently grip him, the other to touch his sac. He bit back another groan but kept himself under control, breathing with shaky determination.

  “Your hair is wiry,” she said, touching his bush with gentle fingers.

  “Don’t be too gentle, Rachel.” To him, his voice sounded as lust-filled as his root. If she had any sense, she’d back away, for when he came, he knew he’d come with a vengeance.

  She gave him a wobbly smile. “I… I don’t know what to do.”

  “Do you want to learn?” Could he last much longer?

  Nodding eagerly, she made room for him on the bed.

  He joined her and brought her fingers to him. “Like this,” he rasped, shards of desire splintering through him as her fingers moved over him. He was hungry, but closed his eyes, allowing her to learn how to please him. Time and again he felt the volatile urge, but capped his release.

  Opening his eyes, he gazed at her. Damn, but she took his breath away. Her hair hung in disarray over her shoulders, curling wildly around her breasts. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and her face still stained with the rosy glow of arousal.

  Their gazes met. She gave him a dazzling, dimpled smile followed by a lusty shudder, and he clenched his jaw to maintain control.

  “Enough,” he finally said, his voice husky with desire.

  She frowned. “Aren’t I doing it right?”

  He let out a whoosh of air. “Too right.”

  She snuggled against him. “I… I’ve never felt like this.”

  “How do you feel?” Her smell was like an aphrodisiac.

  “Ooooh,” she moaned. “Like I’m going to fly apart if you don’t—” She clamped her lips together.

  Turning on his side, he ran his fingers over her stiff nipples, exalting in her sharp intake of breath. “If I don’t what?”

  She rubbed her leg against his, closed her eyes and shook her head.

  He concentrated on her breasts, kissing them, tugging gently on her nipples, reveling in her arousal.

  Her pelvis moved seductively, and she threw her leg further over him, bringing her womanhood in contact with his skin. She was wet.

  He moved his fingers to her, and she pushed against them, gyrating. Quickly he lifted her to straddle him. Her eyes flew open, but when he settled her over him she closed them again and let her head loll back, then forward as they moved together. He brought her slightly toward him, where he knew her pleasure would be enhanced, then let her ride him until she collapsed over him, sweating, breathless, and spent.

  Swiftly, he brought her beneath him and drove hard, pressing deep, lunging into her with a fierce possession. He let himself go, savoring the lusty bite of desire as it grew, until he finally exploded inside her.

  They lay together, her head tucked between his chin and his shoulder. She ran her hand down over his chest, then down into the thick black hair around his limp organ. He felt it twitch, responding to her touch and he marveled at how easily she aroused him.

  “Jason?”

  “Hmmm?” He allowed her to play with him. He pushed away any other thoughts but her touch.

  “Dixie told me something.”

  “Dixie’s been a fountain of information, hasn’t she?”

  “She told me that ever since Jeremy took over as Indian agent, you’ve used your salary as reservation physician to replace the supplies Jeremy sold to the squatters.”

  He made a face. “Dixie talks too much.”

  “But is it true?”

  He sighed. “Yes, it’s true.”

  Suddenly she was up on her elbow, looking down at him with those big, light eyes. “What a wonderful thing for you to do.”

  Tracing her breast with his finger, he gave her a lopsided grin when her nipple drew into a tight nub. “It’s nothing, really. I don’t need the money. They do.”

  She continued to look at him, moving her gaze from his face to his torso. Her hand roamed over his chest, over the keloid surfaces of his scars. “Do they hurt?”

  “Not anymore.”

  She lowered her head and kissed each one, her hair caressing his skin. His hand moved over her back, finding the soft underside of her arm, then around to her breast. The nipple hardened for him, and he continued to fondle it as she kissed him.

  Finally, she raised her head and looked at him, love and pain shining in her eyes. “I can’t understand why anyone would want to hurt you. How did it happen, again?”

  Sighing, he looked away. He’d tell her—part of it. “Mother had s
ent me to find June. She was supposed to be picking berries near the overseer’s cabin, but Mother feared she was at the river.” He frowned, remembering. “June loved to swim. No matter how many times we’d told her it wasn’t safe to swim alone because of the soldiers, she’d forget. I heard her screaming from the river. When I found her, she was with two soldiers. One was raping her. The other was holding her down.”

  Rachel gasped, putting her hand over her mouth, her eyes still filled with June’s pain.

  “I tried to stop them, but I was only a kid, and there were two of them. Well,” he added, “suddenly their superior showed up—with my horse, Cassius, in tow.” He laughed, knowing the sound was humorless. “For months afterward, the thing I hated them for most was that they stole my horse.”

  “Who beat you?”

  He sucked in a deep breath, seeing Weber’s red mustache twitching before him. “Their lieutenant. The others bound my feet and held me while he beat the shit out of me.”

  She flung herself over him, hugging him tightly. “Oh, my darling.”

  He felt her tears on his skin. Lifting her head, he gazed into her wet face. “Don’t cry for me, Rachel.”

  Fresh tears dribbled down her cheeks. “I can’t help it. Oh, Jason. How can people like that live with themselves?”

  He embraced her, caressing her back and her sweet, round buttocks. Her hand moved low on his belly, her fingers tangled in his hair. She touched him as though to heal him, and heal him she did. His firm resolve long forgotten, he felt desire sink into his loins again.

  He flipped her onto her back. “My turn.”

  She looked at him through heavy lids. Her lustrous hair fanned out over the pillow. Her arms were flung wide, away from her, and one leg was bent to the side, exposing her to him. Tiny drops of moisture glistened on her rusty-red triangle and she shuddered deeply when he touched her there.

  He nuzzled her bud with his finger, loving the feel of her lubricant as she became more aroused. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, presenting him with those wonderful little sounds as her pelvis moved on the bed. Her head rolled from side to side and her breathing came in shallow puffs.