Bound For Eden (37 page)

For a moment.

When he tried to stand the world spun and he crouched, worried he'd fall. His thoughts were muddy and slow. And he was just so damn hot. Perspiration streamed down his back. He was going to burn alive, he thought dimly. He had to put out the fire.

Clumsily, he undressed, struggling into the water, grateful for its cool bite. He sank beneath the surface, rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair, and when he rose he felt cooler. But damn if his vision wasn't worse – everything was blurred around the edges. If he went blind he'd string those Watts brothers up by their heels and leave them for the vultures.

Luke stood midstream, suddenly distracted by the moon's reflection in the rippling surface of the river: it was a heavy pearl, round and creamy. Like her skin, he thought vaguely, besieged by memories of ivory curves and smoky-gray eyes.

As he stood, lost in thought, something slammed into him, borne by the current directly into his arms. Instinctively he caught it. And, looking down, lost his wits completely.

Alex gasped. Oh glory, it was him. She'd just been thinking about him. Or rather, trying not to think about him. And now here he was, right before her, holding her up, and, oh glory, he was naked. Her eyes grew wide. She could feel him hard against her, like a slick wall of rock.

His eyes were fixed on hers and she was sinking into their midnight waters. She could feel his hand pressing just above the swell of her buttocks, and his legs tangling with hers beneath the surface of the water. The river didn't seem so cool any more. Alex could feel a slow burn spreading from her core.

And then his gaze dropped to her mouth. She couldn't breathe. She'd wanted this moment for so long, had stared at his lips every day and wished for another taste. Her heart thundered in her ears as she waited for his kiss. When he didn't so much as move a muscle she couldn't wait any longer. With a soft moan, she surrendered to her desire, lunging forward and kissing him.

It was more than he remembered.
She
was more than he remembered. He had forgotten the faint cleft in her chin, and the perfect straightness of her nose; he had forgotten how lush and soft her body was, and the way his blood raced when she was near. He was hallucinating, he knew, but he didn't care. He gave in to the vision, not feeling quite so murderous towards the Watts brothers any more.

Oh God, the sweet taste of her. The hallucination was so vivid. And the way her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples like hard pebbles. He groaned into her kiss as his hands traced the full curve of her buttocks, pulling her against his straining desire. He wanted her in a way he hadn't wanted a woman since he was fifteen. Impatiently, overzealously. His tongue assaulted hers.

He was completely unrestrained, his hands everywhere at once, his mouth driving her wild with its burning promises. Alex couldn't think. She was all sensation, all need. When he lifted her against him, wrapping her legs around him, she was ready. This time there was no pain. There was just a pleasure so exquisite she could have screamed.

He couldn't control himself. His hot mouth played with her neck as he drove into her, moaning with frustration as he struggled to gain purchase on the shifting floor of the riverbed.

She barely noticed when he moved them to the river's edge. Falling onto his back he kept tight hold of her hips, pulling her upright, astride him. She completely lost control, riding her pleasure, chasing something so elusive . . .

The sight of her slick wet flesh, the heavy, perfect thrust of her breasts, nipples dark and pouting, the generous curve of her hips, moving on him in an ancient rhythm, was more than he could bear. When she cried out, her back arching as she exploded into shivers of ecstasy, filling his vision with those perfect, perfect breasts, he rolled her over, reclaiming her mouth and plunging his tongue into her hot depths as he joined her in ecstasy with one final, brutal thrust.

And then he was sucked into rising blackness.

Thirty-Two

When he opened his eyes he found himself staring at a pair of dusty moccasins. Luke groaned and covered his eyes with his arm. The sunlight was piercing. His mouth was dry, his tongue swollen, and his head was ringing with pain.

He felt something nudge his hand and he opened his eyes a crack to see a small wooden cup. ‘Drink it,' Deathrider's cool voice said. ‘Yellow Bird prepared it for you. It will help the pain.'

Luke struggled to sit up and was surprised to find himself buck naked. What the hell had he been doing?

Deathrider pressed the cup into his limp hand and he downed the bitter brew in one swallow. He felt a sudden wave of nausea and bent over. When the sensation passed he opened his eyes to find the Indian still squatting before him, watching him intently. ‘What?' Luke growled.

‘Who is Beatrice?' Deathrider asked curiously. He didn't miss Luke's look of shock.

His dream came flooding back. The feel of her slick wet body, the taste of her mouth, the sight of her arching above him, silvered by moonlight. He felt himself begin to harden and hastened to pull his pants on.

‘You called her name,' Deathrider told him, sitting back on his heels, his gaze still keen.

Luke kept dressing and didn't respond. He felt an awful sinking in his stomach. Why did he have to wake up? He wished he could will himself back into the dream, or better yet, will Beatrice here. Right here, right now.

‘I thought your girl's name was Amelia,' the Indian continued relentlessly.

‘It is,' Luke snapped.

‘Then who is this Beatrice you call for?'

‘She's nobody,' Luke said. ‘Just a girl I met in Independence. A girl I'll never see again.' He yanked on his boots and strode off through the sagebrush, one hand still shielding his tender eyes from the sun.

Deathrider rarely smiled, and when he did it usually struck terror into the hearts of those who saw it. But now, watching poor Slater's slumped shoulders, he smiled . . . a genuine smile, which warmed his pale eyes to crystal blue and transformed his features from handsome to breathtaking.

He had intended to head out today, but now he thought it might prove amusing to ride along with Slater for a while. If he wasn't mistaken, it would prove to be a mighty entertaining journey.

Alex woke up smiling. And she kept smiling for days. Who knew there was such magic in the world? Her body tingled at the memory, and whenever she caught sight of Luke she burned. At night she dreamed about him. Dreams like she had never had before, and when she woke it was hard to suppress the urge to go to him. She supposed she should have been upset that he remembered none of it; that the Watts brothers' moonshine had rendered him insensible. But the words he'd whispered as he'd passed out kept her smiling.
Don't leave me again,
he'd breathed into her ear as he collapsed beneath her. And then he was unconscious. She'd lingered for a while, allowing herself to rest her cheek against his warm chest, the sprinkling of dark hair tickling her cheek as she listened to his heartbeat.

How Victoria would hate her if she knew.

But Victoria would never know. That moment in the river had been a beautiful interlude, a suspended time of enchantment. It had nothing to do with real life. Sometimes, when she sat opposite Luke at breakfast, or rode out beside him on Blackie Junior, she felt a stinging sadness that he couldn't be hers. She wondered how different things would have been if there had been no Gradys. How different things would have been if she could have met Luke before Victoria had set her cap for him. Would Luke have liked Alex enough to court her? Would he have forsaken all other women for her? If only the Gradys had never existed . . .

But then, if there had been no Gradys she never would have met Luke. She would still be safely home in Mississippi, completely unaware that such a magnificent, charming, stubborn, irritating, marvellous man existed. She had never thought to see the day when she'd be grateful to the Gradys for something.

‘Why are you still dressing in that get-up?' he asked her, exasperated, as they rode scout one morning. They were following the Sweetwater River, which was wending its way to Devil's Gate, a narrow chasm of rock that they would have to detour around.

Alex had been expecting the question. She didn't want to lie to him, but neither did she want to admit the truth. She'd decided that evasion was the easiest way to respond. ‘After Silas . . .' she said, trailing off significantly and dropping her gaze, as though reliving horrid memories. And, in truth, the mere mention of Silas's name did bring back the revolting sensation of his body on hers and his tongue in her mouth.

Luke blanched. Of course. It made perfect sense that the kid was wary of attracting male attention. And what better way to avoid it than dressing the way she did? ‘You can't escape your gender,' he told her gently. ‘One of these days you'll grow up, and fill out, and no amount of dirt will be able to hide you then.'

She had to keep her gaze fixed on the pommel of Blackie's saddle to avoid rolling her eyes. The man had no idea. ‘I suppose when we meet Stephen in Amory I'll have to go back to normal,' she said huskily, feeling a pang at the thought of leaving Luke.

Luke frowned. He was actually going to miss the kid when they parted ways. Alex was soothing company. She didn't chatter away at him while they rode; she seemed to understand that he liked the peace of his own thoughts. She'd even taken a liking to riding, now that she was riding Blackie. The stallion seemed to have a soft spot for her, and responded to her every shift in the saddle, which was fortunate, as Alex had no natural aptitude at all. When Luke did feel like talking, Alex was an interesting conversationalist. Now and then, they chatted as they rode amiably side by side, and sometimes they sat up long into the night, discussing their families, and Luke's plans for the future.

‘You really want a dozen children?' she asked him once, as she rested her head on her interlinked fingers and looked up at the spray of stars above.

‘At least,' he said.

‘Your wife will be plumb wore out,' she teased.

‘Well, maybe we could adopt some of them. Like your Ma and Pa Sparrow.'

‘Are there many orphans in Oregon?'

‘Enough. A lot of people die on the journey out west.'

‘Really?' She sounded dubious.

‘Don't judge all groups by ours, brat. This is a dream run – we've had good weather and no disease.'

‘Just a few stray maniacs out to torture us.'

He laughed. ‘Well, there is that.' They lapsed into a moment of silence. ‘What about you, brat? When you finally find a man like Ned to settle down with, how many kids do you want?'

Alex shrugged. She could hardly tell him that his dozen sounded perfect to her, especially if they all looked as darkly beautiful as him. ‘I don't think I have much say in it, do I?' she said instead. ‘Babies come when they come.' She thought of Dolly's little packet, which she'd tossed into the river some days back, unopened and unused.

‘Sure you do,' Luke chuckled. ‘You can always kick your husband out of bed.'

A vision of Luke in her bed swam before her eyes, and she indulged in a pleasant little daydream about what she'd do to him. Kicking him out wasn't high on the list.

By the end of summer Deathrider gave up in disgust. The man was blind. How could he not see the way her hips swung when she walked? Or the way the cloth of her pants clung to her plump behind when she bent over the fire? How could he not see the desire for him in those dark-fringed smoky-gray eyes?

Deathrider had seen enough. He'd drop by the Slater place in the next year to see how things turned out, but he didn't have the patience to watch Slater play the fool. Hell, think of all the nights the man was wasting, sleeping alone in his bedroll when lush Alexandra (or should he say Beatrice?) was only feet away, burning for him.

The Indian didn't bother saying goodbye, he simply slipped away in the dead of night.