Savage Thunder

by Johanna Lindsey

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t wait, Duchess, but you were given fair warning, weren’t you?” His hot breath filling her ear was nearly her undoing.

  “I didn’t…expect to be attacked…when I wasn’t looking,” she finally got out, only to hear him chuckle.

  “It makes no difference when or how, when it’s not up to you. You relinquished all choices when you agreed to take off with me. Actually, you relinquished them a while back. You just didn’t know it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If a Cheyenne maiden allows a warrior to touch her body intimately, that warrior wouldn’t be criticized if he then treats her in a proprietary manner. It would, in fact, be unusual if he didn’t consider her his belonging. You allowed me more than a mere touch, didn’t you, Duchess?”

  Proprietary? Belonging? Why wasn’t she incensed by those words? And why was it the deep timbre of his voice stimulated what she was already feeling? And his fingers…dear Lord, she could barely draw breath to answer him.

  “I’m not Cheyenne.”

  “No…but I am.”

  “Only half.”

  “And the white half has had one helluva time resisting twenty-two years of ingrained customs and beliefs lately. Now turn around.”

  “What?

  “Turn around. I want you facing me.”

  “But—but why?”

  “Why do you think?”

  There was enough insinuation in that to give her the answer. And he had ensured, with the deft movements of his fingers deep inside her and with his possession of her breasts, that she wouldn’t object to his intention too strenuously. She just couldn’t believe he was serious about the way he meant to do it.

  “Why don’t you stop the horse?”

  “And waste time spreading a blanket? I’d have to take my hands off you to do that, and I don’t think I can. Besides, this is the way I thought about it, Duchess, when you were making all those sexy little sounds in your sleep. You rode my fingers to the rhythm of my horse. I want you riding me to the same rhythm.”

  She was lifting her leg over the horse’s neck before he’d even finished talking. He helped her bring the other one around. There was a brief problem with her skirt, but by the time she’d solved it, he was also ready, and before she even thought to wonder how they were going to do this, he lifted her, impaled her, and then dug his heels into his mount. With a gasp, all Jocelyn could do was hold on.

  It was the most incredible ride of her life. Arms locked around Colt’s neck, legs around his hips, she didn’t have to move a muscle, just glide with the motion of the man and the horse. It was when Colt took the animal through its slower gaits that things got really interesting, especially when he no longer moved with the flow of motion, but against it, forcing her to bounce, grind, and slam against him.

  By the time the horse came to a standstill, she had climaxed three times with soul-searing intensity. She was also slightly dazed, so it took her a while to realize they had stopped, or that Colt was kissing her in a sweetly tender way.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  He chuckled. God, she could feel it between her legs—they were still connected. She was also still clinging to him. She let her arms slide down his shoulders as she leaned back. Her blush was thankfully indistinguishable in what little light there was left in the day. But he must have sensed it. He tilted her chin up and placed another soft kiss on her lips.

  “You’ll get used to it, Duchess. I intend to see that you do.”

  To his lovemaking? Or to his new manner with her? She was so accustomed to his surliness, his bitterness, his pushing her away by deed or word. He’d changed since leaving Santa Fe, and she didn’t know quite what to make of the new Colt Thunder. She wouldn’t go so far as to call him charming. Proprietary came to mind, and she recalled what he’d said earlier. He hadn’t really been serious about considering her his belonging, had he?

  “Ah—didn’t you mention something about dinner tonight? I’m not certain, but I may be starving.”

  Again he chuckled, something else that was totally strange coming from him. “I guess I should take advantage of what little light is left,” he told her as he set her down on the ground. “You can wash up while I scout around. And if you know how, you can get a fire going. There are matches in my saddlebags.” He tossed those down by her feet, as well as a roll of blankets. And then he unhooked her hat from his saddle horn and plopped it back on her head. “Best cover up, Duchess, before you catch cold.”

  She stared after him openmouthed as he rode off up the creek. Yes, there was a creek, the reason his horse had halted. And Sir George was there too, munching grass on the bank. She’d completely forgotten about him, as well as everything else, when Colt whisked her onto his horse. But the stallion had, thankfully, followed them.

  She called him to her now to retrieve her cloak and valise, and found more blankets strapped to the back of her saddle, as well as a bag of cooking and eating utensils. Well, thank God for small favors. She had pictured herself eating meat off a stick and all manner of other barbaric modes of roughing it in the wilds. No tent, no fat pillows to sleep on, no chamber pot—which reminded her. She ought to take advantage of this small bit of privacy while she could. She had a feeling she wouldn’t have much in the coming days.

  Catch cold indeed. Good Lord, she hadn’t even noticed the cold.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Colt returned with a pheasant and two small quail, some rather large eggs that likely belonged to another species of bird, a leather pouch of greens and what Jocelyn supposed were wild onions, and another one containing an assortment of berries. His pockets had been stuffed with nuts, which he seemed to take pleasure in dumping into her lap as he squatted down next to her.

  She was surprised by the variety of his provender. She had been expecting a dead animal she would have to suffer watching him skin. She was also piqued by his long absence, which had allowed her imagination and fears to run wild.

  “What, no deer?”

  He answered her as if he hadn’t detected the sarcasm in her tone. “You scared away all the big game with your screaming. I warned you that might happen.”

  “That was miles back.”

  “I meant when you—”

  “Don’t say it!” she gasped, vaguely recalling how noisy she had gotten at several points during their passionate ride. She lowered her eyes to the pile of nuts in her lap, realizing it was her fault it had taken him so long to find food for them. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I had begun to think you weren’t coming back.”

  His hand touched the side of her head and came away with one of her hairpins, which released a long red lock to fall over her breast. “I see you brought more of these along. Am I going to have to steal them all from you before you let your sun free?”

  She glanced at him in bemusement. “My sun?”

  “Your hair, Duchess. My people would say you had captured the sun in it.”

  “How poetic,” she said as he reached for another pin and another lock fell. She was unaccountably pleased by his fascination with her hair. “You’re not angry I scared all the animals away?”

  “You didn’t.” He met her green gaze when he admitted that. “I don’t like to waste food, and to kill a large animal when we don’t have time to preserve the meat to take with us would be a waste.”

  It was amazing how quickly her temper shot to the surface, but even more amazing how he defused it simply by raising a questioning brow at her. And then he laughed when he saw she wasn’t going to explode.

  “Are you still afraid I’ll quit on you, Duchess?” he asked knowingly.

  “No, you don’t quit, or so you’ve assured me. I guess I deserved that little lie about the animals, however. I shouldn’t have greeted you the way I did after you went to so much trouble to lay a feast before me.”

  “Yet you were worried,” he said with a slight frown. “I wouldn’t
go so far off that I couldn’t hear you if you needed me. You had nothing to fear in that respect. But how could you think I wouldn’t come back to you?”

  She lowered her eyes again. “I remembered how much you dislike white women.”

  “And you’re whiter than most, aren’t you?” The back of one finger grazed her cheek as he said that.

  “You’ve never tried to hide how you feel.”

  “I see. Well, I disliked you a helluva lot today, didn’t I?”

  Her head shot up. “You lost control again, like before. That’s perfectly understandable, given the way I fell asleep on you.”

  She was blushing furiously by the time she had finished explaining away his actions for him. But Colt was shaking his head at her, and she had the feeling he was angry now, though she couldn’t be sure. He was wearing that stoical expression of his that could be so exasperating.

  “The only control I lost today was of my patience, woman. And if I disliked you, there’s no way in hell you could heat my blood the way you do.”

  “I do?” she asked stupidly.

  “You know damned well you do.”

  His tone annoyed her, even as his words pleased her. “Well, you dislike that, don’t you?”

  “If you haven’t noticed, I’ve stopped fighting it.” He leaned forward to grind his lips against hers as if to prove his point, but his voice was less harsh when he added, “If it hasn’t sunk into that pretty head of yours yet, you’ll be sharing my blankets until we reach Cheyenne, and that, Duchess, pleases the hell out of me. So don’t doubt I’ll be back each day. There isn’t much that could keep me away.”

  Jocelyn couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that. To have their arrangement spelled out so literally was disconcerting. So was the warmth flowing through her bloodstream after hearing it. She should protest that he had taken too much for granted. She had never agreed they would be lovers for the duration. The very idea…was so thrilling it stole her breath away. And what, after all, could she say about it? As he had pointed out, the choices were all his to make for the time being.

  As if he had read her mind, Colt smiled at her in what was possibly the most beautiful smile she’d ever encountered—then moved off to see to the food. She found that rather arrogant of him, but still said nothing. What was the point? Even if she tried to argue about their arrangement for propriety’s sake, her heart wouldn’t be in it, and he would know that. And she wasn’t a hypocrite. She had honestly thought she wouldn’t want him again, but he had proved her wrong.

  Her eyes moved leisurely over his body as he dug a hole next to the small fire she had started. She had heard of people baking things in the ground before, and assumed that was what he was going to do with their birds. Not that she was interested in food just then, for her eyes noticed the way his leg muscles bulged when he squatted like that. She recalled that she hadn’t seen him completely without clothes yet, and realized that she soon would, perhaps even tonight. Good Lord, just thinking about it caused a fluttering in her belly. Safer thoughts were definitely called for.

  “You aren’t going to ask me if I can cook, are you?”

  He shook his head without glancing at her. “If you said yes, I’d be forced to give you a try at it, whether you were lying or not. I’d rather have a full belly.”

  Jocelyn laughed, well aware he wasn’t teasing. “So would I, so I’m grateful that at least one of us knows how. I was never allowed near the kitchen myself—the servants’ domain, you know. Not that I had any great desire to learn how to cook when I was growing up. I preferred the stables, actually, and no one thought to refuse me access there. But even my mother knew how to make pies, I’m told. I suppose I should have learned to cook at least one specialty, though. Every woman should have one thing she is especially good at, don’t you think?”

  “You don’t do so bad, Duchess…at certain things.”

  His pause brought color to her cheeks. “I meant in the kitchen.”

  “I meant your way with horses.”

  She couldn’t help grinning. “You’re a terrible tease, Colt Thunder.”

  He caught her grin and returned it. “You’re not so bad with a rifle either.”

  “Well, if we’re going to get into talents in general, then I must confess I don’t do badly at all. I’m rather good at sailing, archery, tennis, and bicycling.”

  “And what?”

  “Bicycling. You know, that contraption with two wheels and—”

  “I know what it is. A damned two-legged horse. I saw plenty of them on the streets of Chicago, spooking the real thing and crashing into buildings. And you’re good at that?”

  “I can get on the thing and off without a single fall, though I don’t like to count the numerous scrapes and bruises I received while learning to master it. But I agree they can be dangerous in the city. In the country, however, they are quite fun to drive. You ought to try it.”

  “No, thanks, I’ll stick to the real thing.”

  She tried to imagine Colt on a bicycle and almost laughed. No, she didn’t think he would like something that was so difficult to control.

  The meal they shared was pleasant, the food delicious. The birds might have looked terrible since they hadn’t been plucked, but the meat inside was tender and tasty. She teased Colt about making a good wife for someone, but didn’t think he appreciated her humor.

  Her humor didn’t last long, however. After she’d rinsed off the utensils in the creek—she thought she ought to do at least something to help, since he didn’t want her near the cook fire—she found herself overcome with shyness, especially when Colt very casually moved his blankets from where she had earlier placed them, to lay them next to hers.

  She sat in the middle of hers, fully clothed, not knowing what to do, what was expected. She’d had this problem before, she remembered, but he’d helped her then, told her what to do, led her through it. And desire, hot and impatient, had been present. Spontaneously coming together was different from this, however. Waking up in his arms was different too. Even thinking about going to bed with him wasn’t the same as actually doing it.

  She wasn’t feeling desire at the moment, she was feeling extremely nervous, so much so that when Colt began to remove his jacket, she blurted out, “Shouldn’t you leave that on…because of the cold?”

  “I won’t need it.”

  “Oh.”

  This just wouldn’t do. She needed time to calm her nerves. How could he be so nonchalant about it, to stand there in front of her and undress as if he did it every day?

  When he unbuckled his gun belt, she quickly racked her brain for a subject to divert him and settled on Angel. “Tell me about your friend Angel.”

  That arrested his movements. It also made him frown. “What about him?”

  “I was wondering why he would do what he did for you, simply at your request. To insinuate himself with a band of dangerous brigands just to be available to help me in case I was captured, that was a bit much to ask of any man. Yet he did it for you.”

  Colt stared at her a moment, decided it wasn’t actual interest in Angel that had prompted her curiosity, and shrugged. “He figured he owed me, I guess.”

  “Why?”

  “I helped him out of a bad situation a few years back. He’d hired on at my sister’s ranch, been there only a week or two when he came across a small gang of rustlers stealing some of her stock. There were only four of them, or so he thought. He also thought he could take them all on by himself. Likely he could have pulled it off, but there were actually five in that bunch. The fifth one shot him from behind.”

  “That bullet you mentioned your sister removing for him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you found him and helped him back to her ranch? That’s all there was to it?”

  “There was a bit more. When I arrived, a gun was already cocked to finish him off. It was a matter of seconds.”

  “Then you saved his life,” she concluded. “Well, that’s wo
rth a favor or two, I suppose. And the rustlers?”

  “I saved them a hanging.”

  “You—oh, well, you needn’t go into detail about that.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” he said with a knowing grin, having watched the way her eyes were following his hands. “Now, aren’t you going to undress?”

  “The cold—”

  “You won’t feel it, Duchess, I promise you.”

  “But…”

  “Yes?”

  “This feels so—so awkward,” she said at last. “You haven’t even kissed me or anything.”

  “That’s because I figured we could use some sleep, or did you forget we didn’t get any last night? If I kissed you now, we wouldn’t get any tonight either.”

  She started to laugh. “So that’s why you’ve been so blasted casual about this.”

  “If you had other ideas—”

  “No, no, sleep sounds most appropriate,” she said quickly and rose to fetch her valise. “I’ll just change into my nightgown.”

  “We’ll be warmer if we’re both naked,” he told her as she headed for the nearest bush.

  “But will we get any sleep that way?” she dared to ask.

  “Go ahead and change.”

  Chapter Forty

  After three years of traveling and seeing the world, Jocelyn finally felt as if she were on holiday. She was enjoying herself immensely, and feeling like a tourist. Everything she saw was beautiful and worth remembering, from the mountains that they moved in and out of to the plains that they used to cover greater distances in less time. The sky was beautiful, so blue, with the sun often shining. The rivers and creeks were sparkling and clear. Even the cold was a delight to be in. She could find no fault with anything, except maybe how quickly the time was passing.