Heat of a Savage Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Two
Page 33
They’d eaten a quiet dinner in the Corinthian Hotel dining room. Back in their apartment next to the office, Jason finally spoke to her.
“I told you not to leave.” His voice was stern and angry, but contained as he stormed around the room.
Rachel swallowed and stared at the floor. “I know.”
“Then, explain it to me, Rachel. Dammit, I can’t watch you every minute. I’ve got to be able to believe what you tell me.”
“Nell said you needed me,” she said defensively. He made her feel like a wayward child, and she didn’t like it.
He threw his vest over a chair, then turned and studied her. “But I told you not to leave.”
Disbelief made her outspoken. “And what if you really had needed me? What if I’d ignored her request, and something had happened to you?” She swung away from him angrily. “How could I possibly have known Nell hated me enough to have me kidnapped? I’m sorry, Jason, but my mind doesn’t work that way. I’m not a vindictive person, so my first thought isn’t always that someone is out to get me.”
“Well, maybe, after all that’s happened to you out here, it should be.” His level of anger surpassed hers.
They stood and stared at each other.
“Maybe it should,” she answered quietly. “Maybe I should take lessons from Nell.” It was a nasty little dig, and beneath her, but she couldn’t let it pass. After all, Nell, the “perfect woman,” was Jason’s closest confidante, and that fact had been eating at Rachel all day and long into the evening.
He grunted a sigh and walked away from her. “I’m not so sure that’s very clever, either. Hell, she almost got herself killed today, too.”
“Well, please forgive me for not being clever enough to suit you,” she sniped, angry with herself for her jealousy.
“What in the hell is wrong with you tonight?”
“Me? What’s wrong with me?”
“Yes, you. You’re petulant and peevish. You’re not acting like yourself at all.”
She sniffed dramatically. “If I sound out of sorts, it’s because I was nearly killed again. That sort of thing doesn’t have to happen to me too many times before I begin to feel just a little bit uncomfortable,” she grumbled, her voice edged with sarcasm.
He raked his fingers through his hair and stared at her. “I guess you do have a reason to be irritable. But,” he added, approaching her with a small smile, “you’re safe now.”
She automatically froze, and she knew he saw it in her face.
“What is it?”
Stepping away nervously, she answered, “I’m just tired, Jason. Really tired.” And she was, but until today, she’d never have admitted that to him. She’d have gone into his arms eagerly. Willingly. She’d have found comfort and strength there. But not tonight, and probably not ever again.
She could feel his eyes on her, and his scrutiny scared her. Not wanting to give him any reason to delve into how she was really feeling, she forced herself to smile at him. “I am tired, Jason. I’m sorry I sniped at you.”
Escaping behind the privacy screen, she got into her nightclothes and crept into bed, pulling the covers up to her neck. She lay there, still as a corpse, barely breathing as she waited for him to join her. As he moved about the room, removing his clothes, she found she had to turn away. He was so beautiful to watch, all brown muscle and sinew. But his gaze was different now. It no longer made her melt; it made her want to cry. It had turned her cold, and it hurt.
She felt him watching her. Bravely she turned over and looked at him. She loved him so much she thought she might burst. Blinking back tears, she waited for him to join her. She almost hoped he didn’t. If he got into bed, it would be so tempting to curl up next to him.
He stood there, staring down at her.
“Are… are you coming to bed?”
He gave her a disgusted sigh and turned away. “I’ve got some work to do.” He slipped back into his shirt and was gone, leaving Rachel alone, as empty inside as she was in the bed.
The morning sun awakened Rachel, punishing her with its brightness. She automatically groped for Jason. When she discovered he wasn’t there, she remembered what had happened the night before, and the hollowness returned to her stomach. Glancing at his pillow, she realized that he hadn’t been to bed at all.
She curled into a ball and closed her eyes. Yesterday, when she’d overheard the awful news that Jason only married her to keep an eye on her, she’d thought she could continue on as if nothing had changed between them. Now she wasn’t sure. The more she thought about it, the more she knew it would only cause her more pain. And she did have some pride, although it had taken her a few months to realize it.
Staying with him in spite of everything had seemed a brave thing for her to do yesterday, but after lying awake half the night, she realized that it was no way to run a marriage. She wasn’t such a fool that she’d lower herself to ruining her life or Jason’s by pretending everything was wonderful. Yes, she loved him, and yes, she wanted to be his wife. But, she realized she wanted him to love her, too. Not just pity her because someone was trying to kill her.
And what would happen now that Bram Justice was in custody, and there was no longer a threat on her life? Jason’s whole reason for marrying her no longer existed. Surely he was anxious to get on with the rest of his life.
Giving her head a weary shake, she flung the covers aside and rose from the bed. She grabbed a towel, went behind the privacy curtain and gave herself a quick, cold bath, adding lavish amounts of jasmine essence to her rinse water. With her towel wrapped snugly around her, she came out from behind the screen. Her pulse raced and every nerve in her body began to quiver, for Jason leaned against the door jam, staring at her.
“Jason.” Her voice was breathy, surprised. “I… I didn’t hear you come in.”
He gave her a hot, secret look. “I know. I love to listen to you when you bathe.”
The flush of desire crept into her cheeks in spite of her earlier resolve. She schooled in her hunger. “I’m so happy I amuse you. What is it you enjoy listening to? Do I grunt? Groan? Squeak?”
Obviously unaware of her inner turmoil, he merely grinned and gazed at her towel-covered nipples. “Nothing like that, Rachel love.”
Gritting her teeth, she turned away and hoped she could stay strong. She hated it when he called her that—it made her feel breathless and weak-kneed. She marched to the wardrobe and pulled out clean underwear, trying to ignore him.
“Don’t you want me to tell you what I imagine?”
Strutting past him on her way to the stove, hoping he couldn’t sense her confusion, she asked, “Do I have a choice?”
He still didn’t appear to see the change in her. “Ah, sexual banter,” he said, moving slowly toward her. “I love sexual banter.”
Pretending to discover a flaw in her drawers, she prolonged the need to drop her towel and dress in front of him.
“I imagine,” he said, tugging at her towel, “what it would be like to be that little square of cloth that you generously lather. I think about being pressed to that sweet, soft womanhood of yours, being rubbed back and forth, back and forth,” he replied, pulling then releasing his grip on the towel. “ ‘Ah, that lucky washcloth,’ I say to myself, imagining how you’d feel, how you’d smell, all clean and sweet, but with that special musty smell that comes after we’ve made love—or fucked, as you like me to say.”
She gasped. “I do not like you to say that,” she answered, barely able to contain her desire. She closed her eyes and let herself be drawn against him, her back against his chest.
“You’re a liar.” He held her tight, snaking his hand beneath the towel to cup her at the apex of her thighs.
She almost wept. She had no discipline over her feelings for him. Suddenly she didn’t care that he didn’t love her. He desired her, and she knew she’d hate herself for weakening afterward, but right now, she wanted him desperately.
Unable to stand it any longer, she turned in his arms and feverishly opened the buttons on his fly. Plunging her hand inside his jeans, she felt the hot length of him pulsating against her fingers. She stroked him, cradled him, combed her fingers through his crisp hair.
He picked her up, carried her to the bed, and dropped her. She sat, bracing herself on her palms, her knees bent and her legs spread wantonly as the cool air licked at her groin.
He removed his jeans and joined her on the bed, but didn’t come into her. Resting on his knees between her legs, he grasped her calves and pulled them up over his shoulders.
She inhaled sharply as he pulled her toward him, so close she could feel his breath on the center of her desire. Gripping his thighs, she held on, perplexed and debauched as wave after wave of passion raced through her. Nothing prepared her for the sensation of his tongue as it moved over the slick, wet skin between her nether lips. She flailed hungrily and he held her firm. Suddenly an enormous spasm shook her, sending her higher against his mouth, and she cried out her release.
He let her slide to the bed, then, spreading her legs once again, he entered her, driving deep. She clung to him, waiting for him to find his satisfaction. When he did, she cried again. This time, for what might have been.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rachel vacillated in making a decision about her marriage. It had been almost a week since her confrontation with Bram Justice, and she hadn’t made up her mind what to do with her life. It was partly because she didn’t want to decide. At night, when she and Jason were entwined in each other’s arms, it was easy to convince herself that he might learn to love her someday. In the morning, when the cold reality of the world set in around her, she knew it wasn’t fair to hold him to his wedding vows.
Jason hadn’t seemed to detect the change in her. He was too preoccupied with a way to get Buck out of jail to notice any subtle alterations in her personality. She was good at hiding her feelings. She’d been doing it for years. But now, loving Jason as desperately as she did, it was getting harder and harder to cover the way she felt.
As she cleaned and dusted their small apartment, she felt a twinge of dread. Her father-in-law was back from Sacramento. He’d ridden in late yesterday afternoon. Jason was at the jail now, trying to convince him to let Buck go. Rachel had a bad feeling about that. She knew August Weber well enough to know that he never backed down, even if proven wrong. Somehow, he’d always gotten his way. Probably by intimidation and threats, she thought with a wry twist of her mouth.
She went to the window and stared outside. The showy white petals of a flowering ash caught her eye and she momentarily marveled in the glory of spring.
Someone shouted a greeting beyond the window, and reality intruded. Moving back into the room, she picked up the shirt Jason had worn the day before. She brought it to her face, pulling the scent of him deep into her lungs. She loved the way he smelled. So clean. So masculine…
She’d never tire of watching him stride into a room and stop, searching out the space between them until he found her. It was almost as if there was some special current between them. Almost as if they were meant to be together… Just thinking about him sent her heart racing out of control.
She took a deep breath and thought again of their problem: Captain August Weber.
Jason wouldn’t get any answers from him, and neither would Marshal Tully. And her father-in-law had a lot of clout in the army community. In spite of what she’d learned about him, she knew he was highly revered among his peers. They didn’t know he’d nearly beaten a young Indian boy to death all those years ago, and God only knew what other atrocities he’d committed in the name of the white man.
Then again, she decided, her own disillusionment surfacing, maybe they did know. It was certainly possible that other soldiers had brutalized Indians as badly as he had. Maybe that was the mark of a “successful” soldier.
Glancing at the grandfather clock, she felt a sinking in her chest when she realized she only had a few hours before she was to meet her father-in-law for dinner at the Corinthian. She hadn’t told Jason about it, but he’d casually informed her that he had to be at the reservation later in the afternoon and probably wouldn’t get back until after dark. She knew that in spite of the fact that he didn’t love her, he wouldn’t want her to undergo the verbal abuse that her father-in-law would undoubtedly heap upon her. Especially since by now he knew she had remarried. A half-breed.
She shuddered violently when she thought of his reaction. But she knew that he might tell her things he wouldn’t tell anyone else, and maybe she could find out what he planned to do with Buck.
Once again, Rachel sat across from Captain Weber in the opulent Corinthian dining room. She’d dressed carefully in a gold and brown velvet brocade-on-satin dress with drop bustle and three-quarter sleeves that Jason had bought her. The chenille fringe that edged the hem had whistled against the fabric as she’d walked to the hotel. She’d been reluctant to waste the new gown on a man for whom she had neither liking nor respect. Unfortunately, it was the only decent evening dress she owned.
With covert care, she glanced at her dining partner from beneath her heavy lashes. He was staring at her. She quickly looked away.
He slathered butter onto a roll, and bit into it, sending the crusty crumbs scattering over the tablecloth. He motioned to the untouched plate of food in front of her. “You’re not eating,” he said around a mouthful.
She looked down at the meat and potatoes swimming in gravy and swallowed hard. She’d been queasy all day. Nothing had appealed to her, much less the plate of runny slop in front of her. But she had to at least try to eat something.
“I’m not really very hungry,” she answered, picking a roll out of the basket and breaking it in half on her bread plate.
Working his tongue over his teeth, he poured himself another glass of wine. Rachel thought it was at least his third, if not his fourth. The bottle was poised over her half-filled glass, but she shook her head and put her hand over the top of it.
“I’ve heard some very disturbing news, Rachel.” He put the bottle down and casually continued eating. “I can’t make myself believe it.”
Her stomach jumped. Here it comes, she thought. “What have you heard?”
He belched quietly, but didn’t cover his mouth. “That fool of a marshal let it slip that you married the half-breed savage.”
“He’s not a savage.” She bristled.
He arched a bushy eyebrow. “He’s a savage, Rachel, believe me.”
“He’s a doctor, for heaven’s sake.” She took a nervous sip of wine, willing it to stay down.
He grabbed another roll and broke it into pieces, dropping them on his gravy-soaked plate. “They’re all savages, Rachel. Remember what they did to your real husband? And to your poor mother and father?”
Emotional blackmail. He was a master at it. Strangely, Rachel didn’t feel herself weaken. “There are atrocities on both sides,” she answered. “The Indian doesn’t have the market on cruelty, Captain.”
“I don’t know what’s come over you since Jeremy’s death. Something must have snapped in your brain that morning.”
Rachel gaped at him. He was serious! “I’ve never felt better in my life.”
He gave her a condescending smile, then shook his head. “Sad. It’s sad. Well,” he said, taking another slurp of wine, “you’ll just have to come home with me. Sada will take care of you.”
Oh, Lord, there had to be another option. “How can I leave when I’m married to Dr. Gaspard?”
He snorted. “Married? Don’t be foolish, Rachel. Thin
k.” He jammed his forefinger against his temple. “Think about what you’ve done. Isn’t there anything left in that head of yours? Is it empty?”
She knew it was fruitless to argue, but she suddenly realized that this was the way he’d always been. Always accusing someone of being a fool or crazy, until the person begins to believe it himself.
“So,” she finally said conversationally, hoping to learn what had gone on with Buck. “Where did you spend the day?”
He poured himself more wine. “At that laughable little building they call a jail.”
“Oh? What are you planning to do with… with the Indian now that Bram Justice has been brought in?”
He waved away the remark. “The Indian’s guilty.”
Rachel felt a cold wash of fear. “But he isn’t the one I saw that morning. And he isn’t the one who had been trying to kill me, Captain.”
He steepled his fingers and gave her a pensive, but bleary look. “Mr. Justice has said he’s sorry, Rachel. And he didn’t kill you, did he?”
“But… but he ordered Jeremy’s death. He told me that he wanted him dead, and why. You must have read the report. It’s all there. How he had Jeremy killed because of… of his daughter.”
Again, Weber waved away the remark. “I don’t, have to read the report to know what really happened, Rachel. Indians did it, Indians will be punished.”
Rachel sat back and stared at him, her fear escalating. He wasn’t even going to read the report. He didn’t want to know the truth. She took a small bite of bread and chewed it slowly. When she swallowed, she had to force it past the lump in her throat. “What are you planning to do with the Indian then?”
He drained his glass of wine. “I’m putting him in chains and hauling his savage ass to Fort Riley.”
“When?” she asked casually, although she was taut as twine.
He belched again, then drew his napkin over his faded mustache. “Soon.”
Rachel lowered her gaze. Soon. She didn’t dare question him too much. “Soon” could be tomorrow or… or next week. But she guessed he wouldn’t wait a week. “Well,” she said after a moment, “maybe we could have breakfast together one of these mornings.”