No Other Man (33 page)

He had ceased kissing her. Her eyes were closed, her lips
parted. Her breath came in ragged bursts. She tossed and writhed, set her hands
upon his shoulders to push him away, to stop the seductive movement of his
fingers. Her eyes opened and he smiled, as pleased as a wildcat with its prey.
He shoved her knees higher, shifted his weight once again, and thrust within
her with the fullness of his sex, sinking until she had taken him completely
inside her, hold- ing there as their eyes locked, and smiling once again be-
lore beginning a slow, torturous movement, building, blinding, becoming
thunder, hammering in his ears, Ihroughout him. His body quickened, stretched,
reached, and seemed to ... explode.

Long moments later, when his heartbeat and breathing had slowed
to something of a normal rate, he rose from her side, stripping off his
moccasins and leggings, and tugging gently upon the garment she had smoothed
back down over her hips. "That dress is really beautiful," he said,
running his finger over her cheek, then down upon the embroidery a the bodice.
"Deer Woman's work?"

"Yes," Skylar said.

He leaned close to her. "I'm glad that you accepted the
present so graciously. But you needn't wear a dress into a sleeping robe."
He smiled, thinking that the Sioux sleeping robe, a huge blanket that swept
around the body bringing comfort and warmth, was a wonderful invention. Two in
a robe were incredibly intimate. He caught her about the waist, lifting her,
drawing the gown carefully over her head and folding it before setting it
aside. She sat, watching him gravely, at long last seemingly comfortable with
him in her nakedness. The low-crackling firelight played upon her shoulders and
breasts, bathing them in the soft crimson fire. I ler hair was touched by it,
too, her breasts, half-shadowed by the dance of the fire, peeked out from
swirls and waves of golden hair. Silver eyes studied him gravely from the
classical perfection of her ivory features, so out of place among the Sioux,
yet so strangely in tune with the setting.

"It's quite amazing," she told him.

"What's that?"

"Your tender care of that beaded dress!"

He reached out, drawing her down beside him. She of- lered a
token resistance, sighed with impatience, and allowed him to press her back
down against the soft hides and furs that made their bed.

"Deer Woman worked very hard on that gown."

"What if a good, honest, hard-working maiden aunt had

worked
very hard on the black gown you so quickly destroyed the day we met?''

"Had
there been a good, honest, hard-working maiden aunt to make you such a gown,
she'd have never allowed you to take off into the wild, wicked, uncivilized
West without her."

"Someone worked long and hard over that gown."

"Did you want me to rip this one off you?"

"No,
of course not, Deer Woman worked very hard—"

"I rest my point. No maiden aunt."

"No, no maiden aunt."

"Just
a sister?" he queried. Angled at her side, he stared at her face, watching
her hesitate in response to the question.

"Just a sister," she said.

He
watched anew as the fire rippled within the tipi, touching the walls, the
pictographs there, touching Skylar, splashing their curious red-gold display of
color upon her body. It was certainly warm enough in their snug home here, but
she shivered. He set his hand upon her hip, drawing her more tightly against
him, casting a leg over hers to offer greater body warmth. He could have drawn
one of the large, fur-trimmed sleeping robes around them. He chose not to. The
flickering flame that cast waves of light and shadow and color upon her form
fascinated him.

"Just
a sister," he repeated. "Did you and she spring from the earth? No
parents?"

"My
father died a very long time ago. My mother more recently. Not long before your
father's death."

He was
quiet a moment, but his curiosity about her past was piqued once again.

"I'm
sorry. It must have been very painful for you."

"You—you can't imagine."

"But I can."

She
turned to him suddenly, intense, passionate. "I swear to you, I did
nothing to hurt your father. He knew that my situation was painful; he just
wanted to help. I believed with my whole heart that he needed me, that I could
help him."

"Skylar, I want to
know about your past."

She
looked away, shaking her head. "My father died a long time ago; my mother
more recently. I have my sister. We needed a new life. I never meant to hurt
anyone."

"That's not my question at the moment—"

"I have nothing more to tell you."

"Damn you, Skylar—"

"There
is nothing more to tell! There's nothing more anyone needs to know if you just
believe that I never meant to hurt your father, that I cared for him. I
swear—"

"Skylar, stop it; I believe you."

She
searched out his eyes, not seeming to trust his words. Her own were huge,
silver orbs, almost magical in the night. He tried to focus on them. They were
like mercury, fascinating. Just as the delicate beauty of her face was captivating.
But the night and firelight had their own compelling magic. His eyes fell,
focusing on her breasts.

She
began speaking again, hesitantly, then quickly. "I'm sorry as well that
you had no idea ... that you were forced into this without even knowledge of
it. I—"

"Skylar, stop."

"But I—"

"Skylar, it's all right."

"Is it?"

"Skylar, I am completely resigned—"

"Ah, yes. You like the nights."

He
managed to focus on her eyes, arching a brow. "Indeed!" he whispered
huskily. "I like the nights!" In a fluid movement, he brushed the
fall of her hair from her breast, his palm sliding over the nipple before he
brushed it with his tongue and teeth, sucked it with his mouth. She shuddered,
her fingers digging into his hair. Passion, satiation, and desire were so
strange. He had just made love to her. With vehemence, hunger, and energy.
Touched a shattering peak. Drifted from it. He should have been satisfied. But
the slightest movement of her flesh beneath him seemed to awaken him. The
simple scent of her, the taste of her aroused him anew. The least shift of the
silk of her hair against his flesh ...

He moved his caress down the length of her body, but her
fingers tugged tightly into his hair, drawing him up. She came to her knees,
meeting him thus before the fire. She captured his face between her palms,
found his lips, kissed him. Her tongue skimmed over his lips, slipped between
them, sent wildly lapping flames down to a pit deep within his loin, sent those
flames shooting out into his limbs, his sex.

He crushed her against him. Again, every little touch, brush,
caress, seemed magnified. He ached for her lips to fall against his shoulders;
they did. He hungered to feel her wrap her fingers around him; she did. He
threaded his fingers through her hair, drew back her head, kissed and caressed
her throat, her breasts, the valley between them, the expanse of abdomen below
them. Fire played. Their flesh grew slick and glistened with the rise of heat
and desire. He lowered her. Licked her, stroked her. Aroused her, awoke her.
Shuddered violently with the vivid feel of her fingers, her hands upon him in
return. Her lips, teeth, tongue, rhythm, caress. He met the misted, shimmering
silver of her eyes.

"I like the nights," he whispered softly. Then
lowering his lips against her ear, he told her what it was he liked about the
night, each word erotically graphic, bringing a fresh crimson glow to her cheeks
and the ivory silk of her supple form. He turned her, kissed her nape, her
shoulders, her spine. This vertebra, the next... the next. She trembled,
whispered unintelligible things in return. His arms swept around her, drawing
her against him, impaling her with the one movement.

The fire glowed. They whispered, cried out. Stars rode the
night sky.

Climax burst upon them, shattering, dazzling like the stars.

Beyond the soft crimson glow that danced in light and shadow
in the tipi, the moon began to hide her face as the sun sent its first slim
rays peeking out from the eastern horizon.

They slept.

Skylar woke again very slowly. She was
exhausted, bone weary. Sore. Yet she felt delicious.
Cherished.
The Sioux
cherished
their
wives, he had told her. Last night, he had made her feel that way.

She opened her eyes fully, then realized that Hawk was awake
at her side. The fire had died, but the sun's light was so strong beyond the
tipi walls that even though the Happed doorway was closed, there was plenty of
light within. She couldn't help noticing how the muscle rippled cleanly within
the lines of his handsomely developed chest and shoulders, along the flat line
of his abdomen ... hips, (highs. He was beautifully formed and perfectly honed.
She was coming to know him so well. The feel of his face, his hair. His mouth.
What she feared and resented, she now longed for. He angered her so quickly but
compelled her so completely ... it was so dangerous!

He was her husband, she reminded herself, and the thought
made her tremble.

A husband who hadn't wanted a wife.

He was staring at her, she realized. She prayed he wasn't
leading her thoughts. He drew a line down the length of her cheek with his
thumb, drew another across her lower lip.

"It's late, isn't it?" she asked.

"In the morning, yes."

He still watched her very intently. Then he smiled. A satyr's
smile. She understood its meaning almost instantly, hut by then, she was drawn
against him; he was atop her uid all too quickly eliciting a response from her,
so easily did she surrender to his desire.

And her own.

Afterward, as he lay beside her, Skylar closed her eyes,
succumbing to exhaustion. She could have slept so easily then. She'd never felt
so sated in all her life. So filled, so a part of another, and oddly, glad of
it. So very much that was wrong lay between them. Yet the distance that
stretched between their hearts and minds seemed to be shortening. She'd never
imagined such an intrusion as this man in her life. Yet he was her life.
Waking, sleeping, and in between. He was her life.

She opened her eyes, only to find him staring at her intently
once again. Something about his gaze caused her to ask, "What is it?"

He shrugged, smiling slightly. "Nothing, my love. I just
discovered something new, that is all."

"And what is it that you've discovered?"

"I like the days as well," he told her. Then he
rolled away from her and rose, drawing up one of the massive robes from the
ground and slipping into it. He left the tipi and she smiled, hugging her arms
tightly around her chest as she closed her eyes once again.

Indeed.

She liked the days, too.

Nineteen

Skylar
had slid back into the doeskin when she heard a soft call coming from outside
the tipi. It was Little Rabbit, one of Hawk's cousin Pretty Bird's daughters.
Little Rabbit peeked into the tipi, smiling shyly. She made motions with her
hands to show Skylar she meant to take her to wash her face.

Skylar smiled and went along with her.

They walked some distance from the camp, downriver, until
they came to a place where a number of the women, both old and young, were
bathing. They had lain their i lothing upon the shore and slipped into the
water. They laughed, splashing one another, and called out to her in words she
could not understand. She felt somewhat shy herself about stripping completely
before such a large group, but she found herself surrounded. The dress was I
>u I led over her head, and she was being led into the water.

The cold water was shocking. She would have leaped bom it had
she been allowed. As it was, she found herself In the middle of a massive water
fight, studied by many of ilie giggling women.

The Sioux women came in all sizes and shapes, slim and plump,
short and tall, young and old. Many of them were very pretty, but one woman
stood out, Skylar noted. Not only was she exceptionally well-shaped, but she
had unusually beautiful eyes, which slanted slightly upward, and she
continually carried the curve of a secret smile about her lips. Her every
movement was sensual. Someone said something to the woman, and she laughed,
looking over to the embankment. A man was standing there, in the shadows hidden
by the brush, so Skylar couldn't see who he was. The sensual Sioux woman made
no move to duck beneath the water; instead, she cupped it in her hands,
sluicing it down over her body. None of the women seemed concerned about the
situation; it must not have seemed unusual to them.

In time, the women came out of the water,
found their clothing, and dried their hair in the sun. Skylar saw the
exceptionally built young Sioux woman slip off into the bushes. She watched
her, then thought no more of it. She wished she knew where Hawk had gone. She
hadn't imagined that he would disappear so early and not come back. He was
perfectly at home. He was home. She wasn't exactly suffering, but she couldn't
speak with these women, and she didn't have the least idea of how she was
supposed to spend the day.

Hawk's little cousin provided her with a comb that had been
carved out of bone.

And she prayed that it wasn't human bone.

She worked on her hair, then saw that the women were
beginning to drift back to camp. She followed along, but halfway back, noticed
that she had dropped her comb. She fell behind the others to search the ground
for it, then realized that she had taken a turn from the water as she had done
so. She had turned into an area where little alcoves jutted from the hills,
almost like caves. She couldn't be lost, she assured herself. She hadn't come
that far. Then she heard a woman's laughter. She followed the sound into one of
the grass carpeted alcoves, surrounded by berry bushes. There stood the
sloe-eyed beauty from the stream. She hadn't bothered to dry herself; her
doeskin dress, so soft it might have been cotton, was molded to her body. She
talked to the warrior in front of her, a man dressed in leggings, breechclout,
moccasins, and no more. She laughed softly again, doing most of the speaking,
and though the language was Sioux, Skylar was well aware that her words were
both sultry and seductive. She started to back away, hoping to disappear
without being seen. But then she heard the man's reply. Again, she didn't know
the words.

She did know the voice.

Hawk's.

She was
completely unprepared to discover him where he was, and with whom. She didn't
think, she reacted, and her reaction was frightening. She felt as if she had
been knifed cleanly through the lungs, and the pain was staggering, as if she
could no longer breathe.

And she felt like a fool.

Believe
him, take him at face value. Well, he constantly admitted to his past. The past
kept catching up with them now. And this woman seemed a very determined piece
of his past.

Furious,
Skylar turned and stumbled from the alcove. She walked straight into a bramble
and was almost blinded. She spun around, the bramble catching her hair. As she
tugged to free the wayward strands from the bushes, another set of hands came
in to help her.

"Stand still."

Hawk.

She
wrenched at her hair, trying to free it from the bush
and
his grasp.

"Let go of me."

"Skylar, stop it, stand still—"

"Get your hands off me!"

"Skylar, I'm warning you—"

She was
free. She'd left half her hair in the bush, but she was free. She spun around,
hands on her hips, meeting his gaze and hoping she wouldn't burst into tears.
Just when she had thought that...

That
what? she mocked herself. He had fallen madly in love with her? That despite
the circumstances of their marriage and everything he had said about other
women, he had come to long for only her? A whore in town was perhaps easily
forgotten. Perhaps he had intended on meeting an Indian lover here all the
time. But what difference could that make? He had told her he wouldn't allow
her to really mean anything in his life when she had insisted that she wouldn't
go back. Why did she care?

"You had no right to drag me here. None. You could have
ridden here on your own without humiliating me, you could—"

"Shut up, Skylar."

She inhaled instead. He looked wickedly dangerous. Half naked
like any pagan on the plain, sun-bronzed, lean and muscular. She hated it—hated
it! She wanted to be reasonable, but jealousy and pain were overwhelming her.
She fought it as best she could. "You could have just left me alone, you
half-breed bastard. You could have left me at Mayfair and come here and
done—done whatever you chose to do without causing me—"

"Skylar!" His green eyes narrowed sharply; his
voice lowered. "I'm warning you, lower your voice."

"Don't you dare warn me about anything—" she began,
then gasped. She hadn't chosen to be silent; she simply gave up speaking
because all the air that had been in her lungs had been swept out of them when
he'd wrenched her up and thrown her over his shoulder. She tried to push up
against his back. She slid—his body had somehow been subtly greased. She slid
down against his flesh, but managed to inhale again, growing worried despite
her anger as he walked long and furiously down a path through the brush that
fronted the river.

"Let me down now! You can't get away with this—" "You're
going to stop me?" he demanded, suddenly setting her upon her feet.

"Yes, I'll stop you!" she challenged. But as she stumbled and
tried to catch her balance, his hands were on her again, pulling off Deer
Woman's elegant

doeskin
dress. She swore, striking him, fighting to retrieve the garment. But she was
lifted again, and then she had the sensation of sailing. She cursed him as she
flew through the air, only to cry out as she landed in the icy cool river once
again.

She
sputtered to the surface, but he was there. Instead of admitting defeat, she
flew at him again, but his chest was now wet and slick and her blows seemed to
be deflected even as they fell. He caught her arms. "I don't begin to
understand you. I don't even know what the hell this is about, but you will not
do this here."

"You
don't know what it's about? And I will not do what here?'' she demanded. Then
she cried out because his fingers had tightened to such an extent that her arms
were in real pain. He didn't seem to notice.

"Hawk! Damn you, please!"

"We're
going back to the camp. Where you are going to be a good wife. No one expects
you to really understand a woman's work, but you are going to cook a delicious
meal for your husband and a number of his peers."

"Oh, am I?"

"You are."

"What peers?"

"Crazy Horse is joining me to eat this afternoon."

"Crazy
Horse is coming to dinner?" she repeated, astonished.

"And it had best be a damned good one!"

She tried to jerk free. He held her fast.

"You're out of your mind. I'm not—"

"You are."

"Since
it seems you are in pursuit of another woman, get a second wife for the
entertaining you plan on doing. Your white wife is leaving."

"What?"

"You heard me!"

"My
white wife is about to be throttled or drowned. And 11 you humiliate me any
further—"

"If I humiliate you!"

"You risk our lives if you risk my reputation here. I'll
tie you to a lodge pole and take a buggy whip to you before I let that
happen."

It was an idle threat. He'd never dare carry it out. Or would
he?

"Let me go!" she demanded.

To her surprise, he shoved her from him. She landed some
distance from him in the water. She quickly scurried across the shallow river
to the other side, emerging naked upon the grassy embankment.

She stood, flipped her soaking hair around, and started
walking.

"You're walking back naked, my love!" he called
back to her.

"Well, you are the one who just removed my
clothing."

"You needed to cool off."

"Fine. I'm cool. And I don't give a damn! Morality seems
completely lost here."

"Morality is higher here than anywhere you know, Lady
Douglas. Now get your sweet little butt back here and listen to me
before—"

He was still talking, but she suddenly stood dead still. She
was looking across the river again, near where where she had found Hawk. The
buxom Indian maid remained in the general area, but now she was back in the
water, her doeskin dress once again lying upon the branches of a tree. Her back
was to Skylar as she laughed softly, talking with a brave in the water,
splashing him. Skylar saw the brave, leaned back upon the embankment, scantily
clad in breech- clout and buckskins he didn't seem to mind wetting any more
than Hawk had minded. From the rear, from the side, he looked very, very much
like Hawk. He lifted his dark head, his eyes focusing on Skylar, a brow rising.

It wasn't actually a warrior. It was Sloan. Casual, muscled,
bronzed, and yes, so very much like Hawk in that strange way they shared as
half-breeds.

A smile of amusement flicked across his features, and she
realized that she was standing there stark naked. But even as she made that
realization, the breath was knocked out of her again as she was swept up firmly
from behind. Hawk. His hold a vise once again, his body slick, wet— and
burning. He was angry with her. Nothing new. He was more than angry. He was
furious, and disappointed.

The Indian maid turned, smiled, and waved—bountiful breasts
bouncing in the water. She waved to both of them, Skylar thought. With a
gnawing in the pit of her stomach she realized that Hawk had probably come to
the river with Sloan. He might have just been talking to the girl who was
obviously close with Sloan.

Then again, she might obviously be close with everyone.

Hawk lifted a hand in turn to the girl and a very amused
Sloan and hissed in her ear. "You ever take off naked again, Lady Douglas,
and I promise you'll spend a night lashed to a lodge pole!"

They were going back downriver again. She shivered in his
arms, chilled by both the cold and his manner. For once, she thought that she
had been wrong. Oh, God. She'd been hurt; she'd been jealous. She'd behaved
ridiculously. Why? Why had she allowed herself to care so much that she could
behave so badly? What was it about him that had seeped into her system, making
her want him, making her care?

She felt like a total fool. She didn't know how to apologize,
and then again, he hadn't behaved so very well himself. After everything else,
he didn't really deserve an apology.

"Hawk!" she cried out, gasping as she hit the cold
water once more. He ignored her, dragging her across the river until they stood
in the sun once again and he had picked up her dress. "You're the one who
stripped the damn thing off! Now you're half killing me to get it back on. You
had best make up your mind!"

"And you—!" he retorted, fingers threaded into her
hair, tilting her head back so that she was forced to meet his eyes. "You
had better be the best damned Sioux wife you'd ever want to imagine!"

He held her hair too tightly. Tears burned
behind her lashes. "Damn you—"

"No, Skylar, this time, you've got no right! And you
don't know the least thing about fair play, about carrying out a bargain—"

"Fair play!" she gasped.

"You wanted money, you wanted it your way, sent to your
exact specifications. I did exactly what you wanted. But those little things
don't mean a hell of a lot to you, do they?"

He released her so suddenly that she would have fallen had
there not been a tree branch conveniently within reach as she stumbled back. It
didn't matter; she was chastely dressed once again, and he was walking away.

Shaking, she closed her eyes—regrouping whatever pride,
strength, and dignity she could muster.

What really bothered her now was that he had seemed so
disgusted with her lack of... commitment? Fairness? She had to admit that he
had sent the telegram exactly to her specifications. Thankfully, as well, there
was a great deal of Douglas money in eastern banks. She had gotten precisely
what she had asked him for. And wasn't that all that really mattered to her?

Skylar squared her shoulders and started back to the camp.
She couldn't be the absolutely perfect Sioux wife— she was going to need some
help.

But she did believe in fair play, and she did owe Hawk. And
Crazy Horse was coming to dinner.

When she reached the camp, she saw that
people were watching a group of braves prepare to ride out of camp. Some of the
men were adding touches of paint to their ponies and faces before mounting up.
Hawk and Sloan were among the group. Neither seemed to notice her.