Byrd's Desire (4 page)

His tongue strayed into her mouth and he French
-kissed her, long and hard.  Her twat moistened and her nipples hardened beneath the simple T-shirt she wore.  Desire poured through Celia and her fingers clutched his shoulders, then wandered to his chest.  She unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hand over the solid, taut flesh of his belly.  Celia caressed his nipples and thrilled when each shifted from soft to stone beneath her touch.  Without letting go, the man managed to thrust one hand down the back of her jeans and work his fingers until they stroked her pussy.   The intimacy of his actions, combined with the brash boldness of what he did, stoked her desire as sweet, intense ripples rocked her body.

Celia would
have laid down for him in the doorway, on the porch, or in the living room with careless, heedless abandon, but about the time she thought he’d take her, he withdrew.  He stepped inside as she stared, breathing hard.  “That,” he said in a voice so melodious, yet deep and so tempting she wanted to drown in it, “you can do that and more.”

Chapter Four

Celia trembled
and stared at him, her legs unsteady after his wild kiss.  Her heart pounded in her chest as if it’d been trapped there and needed to flee.  His words made no sense for a moment until she realized he’d answered her initial question.  She ought to be worried, outraged, or at least a little cautious after a stranger in the night kissed her the way no man ever had, but she wasn’t.  Instead, she smiled.   “I don’t know you are,” she said. “What’s your name?”

He held his head up, straight and proud.
“You can call me Byrd,” he said.  Before she could ask, he grinned. “That’s B-Y-R-D, by the way.”

Although he still hadn’t revealed what brought him to her door, she stuck out her hand. “I’m Celia Lecompte, Mr. Byrd.  It’s, uh, a pleasure to meet you.”
Her lips lingered over “pleasure” and the spark in his dark eyes told her he got the double entendre.

“
Yes,” he replied. “It’s just Byrd, no Mister needed.”
Dear Lord, I’d swoon like an old time Southern belle if he kept giving her that look—burning hot and chock full of passion
.
Celia focused on something practical to stay grounded, an effort certain to fail. “What brought you to the door tonight?”

“I was passing over,” Byrd said. 
Over?
Celia cocked her head and frowned.  When he saw her expression, he changed what he’d said. “I was passing by,” he told her. “I’d…uh, heard you’d come and I wanted to meet you.”

Something didn’t jibe.  Suspicion warred against her desire.  “Do you live somewhere around here?” she asked in a much sharper tone. “And who’d you hear about me from?”

She could count the people who knew about her arrival on one hand with fingers remaining.  Angie and her husband, Chuck the ranch manager, maybe Nina, although she’d yet to meet her, and, stretching it, the clerk at the supermarket.  Four people and the first two were in Asia so they weren’t spreading the news.  Taciturn Chuck didn’t seem like the kind to gossip either.  Hmm.  Maybe the nice lady at the tourism center talked but Celia couldn’t remember telling her where she lived.   Byrd gazed at her with something like amusement.

“I don’t live around here, no, but I travel through here often.  My home’s in the
Black Hills.  And you’ve got me.  No one told me about you—I saw you down by the pond earlier.”

Relief came sweet and swift, then faded. “How could you have seen me there?” The site was secluded, she thought, and even if he’d been on adjacent property, she doubted he had a view.  He laughed. “I was flying over.”   She gaped at him.  One second passed, then another, and a third. “Oh,” she said. “You’re a pilot?” Celia recalled the airplane she’d seen right before the sky clouded over.  She’d flown a few times and remembered the excellent view possible from the air.  Although she hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of the pilot from the air, Celia knew it had to be this man.  Nothing else had flown over except the big dark bird.  At the time, caught up in the moment, she’d thought it might be the
Thunderbird.  Now her notion seemed silly, although she hesitated for one moment. 
He said his name is Byrd.  That’s strange, and he’s dark, sleek, and beautiful, just like the bird I saw.
  A cold shiver ran down her spine and the idea made her uneasy.  Then she caught herself. 
How dumb
, she thought. 
There’s no Thunderbird, just a big ass bird heading home ahead of the storm
.

“I fly,” Byrd said simply. “You’re beautiful.”  His direct flattery embarrassed her a little
, but after the kiss they’d shared, her unease didn’t last long. “Thank you,” Celia said. “I was just fixin’ to eat some shrimp étouffé.  Would you like to join me?”

He grinned. “I’d love it.  I wondered what smelled so good.”  “Then c’mon,” Celia told him and led him into the kitchen.  She dished up two bowls with rice on the bottom and topped it with the spicy Cajun food.  For a moment she wondered if they should dine in the kitchen but after brief consideration, Celia decided they could eat at the dining room table.  She fished two spoons out of a drawer and tossed her head to indicate he should follow her.  Byrd did and they sat across from one another.  Without asking a blessing or saying anything more, he dipped his spoon into the
étouffé and tasted it.   “It’s good,” he said after a moment of consideration, head cocked to one side. “It’s been some time since I’ve eaten anything so delicious.”

“Merci beaucoup.”
His compliment pleased her all the way into bayou French. “One of the things I do best is cook, at least when I’m in the mood, mon cher.”

Byrd ate more and said, “What else do you do best,
winuhca?”

“I might show you after
awhile, sugar,” she said in her laziest Louisiana accent. “But what’s that you just called me?”  He raised his head and his dark eyes, bright and intent, met hers. “Woman, more or less,” he said. “But more, too.  It’s Lakota.”

“Are you Lakota?” She remembered Lakota was one band of the Sioux tribe. Byrd shrugged his shoulders. “I’m many things,” he said. “I visit many peoples and speak a lot of languages.  I live in Lakota country when I’m home, though, and I have some ties to them so yes, if you like.”

There wasn’t anything about this man she didn’t like. “I do,” Celia told him with straightforward honesty.  Although she’d looked forward to eating the étouffé, she doubted she’d have noticed if she’d eaten plain bread and butter.  Her focus remained riveted to Byrd.  “I’m Cajun myself.”

“Mais oui,”
Byrd said. “I could tell.” She stared, then asked, “How?” He grinned. “It was a combination of your last name, your looks, your accent, and the way you drop a little French into your conversation along with the food.  Simple.”

Celia supposed it was
easy to tell, when he put it like that. “You’ve figured me out,” she said. “But you’re a little bit more difficult, it seems.” Byrd tilted his head, a gesture she’d begun to find appealing. “How’s that?” Answering his question could be tricky so she stalled with another bite of the delicious seafood dish.

“Well,” she said after a little bit. “You’ve pegged me right down to my ethnic background and all I know about you is that you travel a lot,
that your home, when you’re there, is in the Black Hills, so we’re talking South Dakota. And I know that you’re at least part Native American—maybe Lakota, maybe not.”
And here’s hoping you’re gonna’ tell me all about your life ‘cause I’m dying to know.

Byrd swallowed and dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin. “That sums it up well enough, I reckon.”

“Do you?” Celia said, abandoning any pretense at caution or being discreet. “I’d like to know more.”

“Do tell.” He
didn’t act perturbed but amused, which irked and intrigued her. “Well, I would,” she said in self-defense. “There’s stuff I’d like to know before we, well…uh, get better acquainted.”  He chuckled. “Such as what?”

Celia had a long list
:  Are you married? Do you have a woman or women in your life? Are you rich or poor? Do you have family? Kids? A dog or maybe a cat? She didn’t dare ask it all, so she sighed.

“Oh, just things like
whether you’re single or attached, if you’re gonna’ walk in here tonight and stay, or if you’ll leave and I’ll never see you again.”

“Fair enough,” Byrd said.  He’d finished his meal and thrust the empty bowl aside. “I’m single, no wife, no significant other, not even a girlfriend at the moment.  As for after tonight, I don’t know and neither do you.  I like to live in the moment and I’m here so the possibilities are endless and they’re ours.”

As far as she could tell, he spoke with honesty.  His dark eyes shimmered with light, reminding her of the first faint light of morning or the last glimmer of dusk.  Celia exchanged glances and nodded.  A shiver of anticipation teased down her spine.  “Then ‘laissez le bon temps roule’!”  Let the good times roll, and if they lasted after tonight, c’est sie bon, and if not, then so be it.

In response he rose, pushed back the chair
, and stepped back.  Whether he reached for her or she came forward, Celia didn’t know or care.  One moment they stood face to face, a few feet apart, and then he wrapped her in his arms.  Heat blazed to life between her head and twat, a fire not started with the spicy food.  This erotic burn spread outward and down until it consumed Celia.  Just one thing would drown it, quench the fire, and she sought it.  Her arms latched onto his shoulders, then clasped together behind his head.  Byrd held her tight and close.  They clutched one another, bodies pressed into one.  His rank man-smell infused her with instant lust and his desire rolled toward her in waves.  It enveloped her and she yielded without any fight.  His eyes held hers with a piercing gaze and then he bent his head with a slow, graceful movement.  Byrd’s mouth latched onto her lips with purpose and a steady pull.  He wrapped his arms around her, almost like a dark cloak or wings, she thought, as her senses drowned in the intensity of his kiss.

Byrd stretched the kiss out long and slow, his mouth touching hers as delicate as a fluttering butterfly, soft as a fragile flower.  Celia gave back what he offered and let his tender mouth caresses fuel her
desire.  He slipped his mouth from her lips and let it glide along the fine skin of her throat.  Byrd used his teeth as he moved lower and he paused to nibble at the side of her neck with enough force she knew he’d leave a love mark behind.  His fingers worked at the buttons on her blouse and undid them.  Celia removed it faster than a snake shedding skin and bared her tits. He reached the valley between her breasts and the point of his nose poked at her flesh, sharper than she expected.

His tongue emerged to lick a trail downward.  Byrd changed direction long enough to first lick, then suck her nipples, one at a time.
  Mon dieu! He delivered such sweet agony and showed no indication he’d quit anytime soon.  Each tongue stroke caused pleasure to erupt across her sensitive skin and run through her body like electricity.  Byrd reached the waistband of her jeans and paused.  Celia fumbled to undo them with frantic hands but he reached out and caught her fingers. “Easy, there.  We’ve got plenty of time.  Let’s do this right, woman.”

Right, wrong, here, there, she didn’t care. “I’m trying,” she gasped.  He chuckled. “Bedroom works better.  We might as well do it in comfort.”  Before Celia could process her
thoughts or speak, Byrd swept her into his arms and took a swift path into the bedroom.  Later she’d wondered how he’d known where it was located but in the moment she didn’t care.  Once there, he undid her jeans and she stepped out of them.  Byrd’s large hands maneuvered the silken panties down her legs as she clawed the shirt from his body.  He picked up where he’d stopped, his mouth hovering just above her mound, and she trembled with anticipation.

He backed her to
ward the bed and she sat down, then laid back with her legs spread wide.  He bent between them and lowered his mouth to her flesh. Celia thought she’d surely die when his feverish breath blew hot against her skin.  He kissed her there and then used his tongue with such skill her body shuddered with bliss.  She whimpered with pleasure and he lifted his head to kiss her mouth.  His lips tasted of her cunt, salty, and somehow strange to her but damn, she liked it.  Then, without any further foreplay, Byrd slammed his cock into her willing pussy with the power of a thunderstorm.  He impacted her as if she’d been hit by lightning.  Wild circles of delight erupted through her and she bucked against him, greedy for more.  They humped, their bodies slapping flesh to flesh until he reared back, dived deeper, and brought her to a shuddering climax that had her screaming.  He quivered as thoroughly as she and when they shivered to a stop, they were both breathing hard and fast.  They lay tangled in the sheets, the sweet stickiness of come puddled beneath them.

“I want you.” His voice resonated in the night.

Celia laughed, “Cher, I believe you just had me.”

He snorted with mirth. “There’s no doubt that I did but I meant as my mate.”

Mate? Hell, they might’ve made the most fantastic, intense love she had ever known, but
mate
? The attraction between them was powerful, oui, but most men shied away from any idea of commitment.  She must’ve heard wrong.
Maybe he meant “date,” not “mate.”
Celia trailed her hand down his bronze belly and stroked his side. “Don’t you mean ‘date’?”

He shook his head. “No.  I don’t have time
nor the inclination for such frivolity.  I don’t watch movies or go dancing or any such thing.  I live, I fly, and I bring storms.  It’s my destiny.  But I’m tired of being alone.  I’ve never had a mate but I want one.  I want you.”

“You’ve lost me, Byrd.” Celia didn’t remember drinking but she must be intoxicated because what he said made little sense.  “What do you mean you bring storms and it’s your destiny? You’re talking crazy.”

His eyes met hers and held her gaze. “I’m sorry.  I’m blunt, I’m afraid.  I don’t have human finesse or social skills.  I thought you knew, Celia, or had at least guessed.”

Her afterglow was fast fading into alarm. “Guessed what?”

“Think about it.”

“About what?”

“Remember where I first saw you,” he said, his voice so kind and sweet she wanted to embrace it, to believe it, to understand. “I saw you at the pond when I flew over.”