Thunder on the Plains (41 page)

“It's getting almost too hot,” he told her. “You sure you don't want to go back?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Just be careful you don't let the sun burn that pretty face.”

She laughed lightly, lifting the canteen and drinking some more water. She offered it to him, and Colt met her eyes. He swore if he didn't know her better, she was giving him a look of invitation, but he was not about to take that road. It could lead to nowhere but disaster for both of them. What in God's name was this all about? The woman was to be married soon! What the hell was he doing out here in no-man's land, riding with the richest woman in the country, a woman who dined with presidents and owned half of Chicago and dished out millions like pennies, a woman who was part owner of the very company for which he worked? This was the most absurd situation he had ever encountered! He took a swallow of water and handed back the canteen, then reached behind him to get out tobacco and a cigarette paper.

“That's the scar from when you were wounded by the Pawnee, isn't it?” she asked, her eyes resting at his right side.

Colt rolled himself a cigarette. “It is. I've finally managed to put all that behind me.”

She began undoing her braid. “Where do you go from here, Colt?”

He lit his cigarette and took a deep drag. “I don't know. I guess I'll wait and see where life leads me. I've pretty much always done it that way.” He removed his hat and hung it, too, around the saddle horn by its string. He ran a hand through his long dark hair, then turned to tie his shirt into his gear, the cigarette still in his mouth. “How about you? Why are you doing this, Sunny? You should be back in Chicago, making plans for a grand wedding, not out here riding like a wild woman who's scared to death of her future.”

Sunny looked away, wondering if he knew what seeing him bare-chested did to her—his dark skin glistening in the sun, that cigarette between those full lips, those gentle hazel eyes. He was raw power, so sure, so handsome, so forbidden. “Who said I was scared?”

“Nobody. It's just written all over your face, that's all. Does it have something to do with marrying Blaine? You think you're going to find some kind of answer out here?”

She shook out her own hair, enjoying the feel of letting the long blond tresses fall free. “I don't know. I've never been sure about Blaine, and yet I should be.” She sighed deeply. “I should be the happiest woman in the world right now. I have everything…everything.” Her voice trailed off.

“That depends on what
everything
means. Look at what you have compared to me, and I pretty much feel
I
have everything, yet you could buy and sell me a million times over.”

She stared off at the higher bluffs on the horizon. “No, Colt. No one buys and sells someone like you. You're your own man. You aren't impressed by money, and you don't judge people by it. That's why I feel so good when I'm with you, in spite of how hard it is for us to be just friends. With you I don't have to put on any airs, pretend I'm something I'm not.”

“Do you pretend around Blaine?”

“Sometimes.” She met his eyes. “I'm sorry. I know this is hard for you, and that I promised to let you go on with your life and me with mine. I know it's best we have absolutely nothing to do with each other, but when I think of never seeing you again, or even being able to write you, or—” She looked at him pleadingly, her eyes tearing. “Once I marry Blaine, it really will have to end. That's why I had to come out here, Colt. It isn't fair to you, and it makes no sense at all; but I felt almost led out here against my better judgment.” She reached back and took a deep breath. “Now I don't regret it at all. This has been the most wonderful day I can remember since when Father and I came out here and he let me ride with you. It's strange, isn't it, how people move in and out of each other's lives—how some things change so much but other things stay the same, like the land. When I come out here it's as though the last ten years never happened.”

Colt smoked quietly for a moment. “But they
did
happen, Sunny. I lost my best friend, a wife, and a son; you lost your pa and became one of the most powerful women in this country. I've been through a war and a hell worse than death in that prison camp while you became part owner of a transcontinental railroad and built another grand home and offices in Omaha—became engaged to a man whose wealth probably matches or tops your own. My life has been one of tragedy and pain and dirt and a sort of going on from one pointless thing to another. Yours is filled with balls and boardrooms and diamonds and soon a wedding that will make the papers in other countries. Things
do
change, people grow apart, especially those who have no business being involved in each other's lives.”

She fought the tears, realizing what he was telling her. He could not be a part of her life. It was like that night at Fort Laramie, a gentle good-bye, a painful lesson in what was right and wrong. But she also remembered Vi's words about following her heart, about how love could conquer great obstacles. Did Colt believe that? She sniffed and wiped her tears, refusing to look at him.

“Dammit, Sunny, don't cry. I told you that ten years ago.” He took another long drag on the cigarette, suddenly feeling awkward. He had spoiled her happy day.
Damn
her!
he thought. How many times had he said that to himself? God, he loved her, and that was the hell of it. Should he tell her? How could it possibly help anything? It would only make everything worse.

She straightened in her saddle, retying her canteen. “I'll always treasure our friendship, Colt. One thing no one can take from me is my memories, or my dreams.” She held her chin higher and faced him. “I'll race you,” she told him.

“What?”

She gave him a daring look, a new boldness in her eyes. “I said I'll race you. If you catch me and manage to pull me off my horse, you've won!” She charged away, and Colt sat there a minute, wondering what she was up to. What was this sudden change in conversation? She was like a crazy woman today, and she had turned his feelings a thousand different ways.

He watched her, the way her bottom fit her saddle, the way her hair blew in the wind. Her daring look stirred his pride, and the race was on. He kicked Dancer into a hard run, manly desires stirring in him at the challenge of catching her. He held the reins with one hand and smashed out his cigarette against his saddle horn with the other, tossing the stub aside and leaning into the ride. “Get up there, Dancer,” he shouted to the horse.

Dancer's mane flew up into Colt's face as he galloped up and down more sandhills. He noticed Sunny veer to the west rather than north, and he turned Dancer, taking a cut between two more sandhills and emerging near Sunny as she came around the end of one hill. She screamed and laughed when she saw him, and now he knew he could catch her.

He came closer, the determination to reach her now a burning need. It went against all reason, was totally foreign to all sense of maturity. They were like children for the moment, and yet not children at all. The emotions it stirred in him to think of catching her were dangerous, yet he could not stop himself. He came ever closer, and now he was on her!

Sunny screamed when she felt his strong arm come around her. Suddenly, she was free of her horse and sitting sideways on Dancer, a powerful arm holding her. She covered her face and laughed as Colt slowed his horse. “Now you are my captive,” he teased.

She threw her head back and faced him, and both of them sobered. For a moment they sat there breathing heavily from the ride, watching each other.

“We had better go catch your horse,” he finally told her.

“We'll find it later,” she answered. She moved her hands to touch his powerful arms, ran her fingers over his bare shoulders. “Tell me, Colt. What does an Indian do with his captive?”

For a moment everything went silent for him. Nothing existed but the utterly beautiful woman in his arms, her tempting mouth, her open blouse, her blue eyes, her golden hair. He moved a hand to rest against the flat of her belly. “He takes her to his tipi and makes her his slave,” he answered, his voice gruff with passion.

She touched his face. “That's what I want you to do with me, Colt. Make me your slave—today, tonight, tomorrow.”

He shook his head. “Sunny—”

She touched his lips. “Don't say it, Colt.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I don't know what's right and wrong anymore, and today I don't care. I just want you. I've always wanted you.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “It can't be anybody else, Colt, not the first time. I—”

His kiss cut off her words, a deep, hot kiss that removed any remaining inhibitions. She could barely get her breath for the thrill of it, the ecstasy of his hand moving to her breast, the ache of womanly desires that surged in her when his tongue moved between her lips. Dancer moved slightly, and she clung to Colt. He left her lips for a moment, keeping one arm around her as he slid off the horse and pulled her after him.

From then on they were each so possessed with passion and need that nothing else existed for them. He pulled her into the grass, and they both felt consumed by need and long-repressed desires. His kisses were hard and deep, leaving her no time to reason or to object, and hardly able to get her breath. She suspected that even if she wanted to stop him, she surely could not now. And why would she want to? This was what she had wanted for so long, what she had dreamed about for years; but it was so much more exciting and glorious than she had imagined.

Her breath came in gasps, and she could not stop her tears of joy as she lay there in the grass, his warm, delicious kisses smothering her until his lips left her mouth to move over her throat, down to the whites of her breasts. She closed her eyes, her heart pounding wildly as he pulled her blouse from the skirt and unbuttoned it, pushing it aside. He untied the front of her camisole and pushed it open, and she cried out when she felt the warmth of his mouth at her nipple, gently tasting her, each gentle sucking pull causing pleasurable painful surges deep in her belly.

She grasped his hair, pushing herself toward him, wanting to feed him, please him, be Colt Travis's woman. Every movement now was hard and deliberate and desperate, both of them breathing hard, fire tearing through them. There could be no slow movements, not this first time.

She felt dwarfed by his physique and power, a woman that this wild, beautiful man had to touch and taste and fill. His hand was running up her leg and under her skirt. He moved his lips back to her throat, and she could feel him trembling with the want of her. He pushed his hand up under her bloomers, and she gasped his name when he touched the soft skin of her bottom. She wondered if she might die from the ecstasy of it, for it was hard to breathe, and her heart beat so hard that her chest hurt. He took his hand away, and she closed her eyes, shivering with awakened needs as he rolled her to her side and began unbuttoning her riding skirt.

Somewhere deep inside Colt admitted this was the biggest mistake he would ever make in his life, but there was no going back now. Here she lay, Sunny Landers, her hair undone, her full, firm breasts offered up to him, her eyes closed in ecstasy, her whole body on fire for him. She wanted him, and he was not going to put up with the pain of wanting her any longer. Whether they could join their lives was a question he couldn't answer, but it was one that mattered little now. She wanted him to be her first man, and by God he was not going to let it be anybody else.

He rose to his knees and yanked, pulling off her riding skirt and bloomers both in one swift motion, tossing them aside. He met her eyes, seeing the want still there, seeing no hesitation. He moved his eyes downward then, drinking in her naked splendor, leaning over her and touching the flat belly, the blond hairs that hid her virgin offering.

“God, Sunny,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her belly.

“Colt,” she whimpered. She repeated his name then with each breath she took as he moved down to kiss at private places only Colt Travis had touched. He kissed her thighs, lingering for a moment at the scar left from when he had cauterized her wound. He moved back to secret places, and she opened herself to him in all her soft, pink, untouched beauty.

Colt felt her grasp his hair, heard her scream his name when his tongue found that magical place that brought a woman unbearable pleasure. He allowed himself a moment of exquisite satisfaction, tasting her sweetness, reveling in the knowledge she was totally willing. He grasped her hips and sucked her pink fullness until he could feel her throbbing. With each breath she cried out his name, and she pulled at his hair so hard that it hurt. He moved back up her belly, lingering at her breasts again, moving on top of her, finding her mouth in a fiery kiss, giving her a taste of her own juices.

Sunny returned the kiss like a wanton woman, totally lost in the man who had just claimed her most private parts as though he owned her. She felt gloriously wicked and alive, in love and on fire. Colt moved an arm under her shoulders and rolled onto his own back, pulling her on top of him so that her hair hung down around her face and brushed his own. They hesitated just a moment, watching each other's eyes, seeing the need and the want and the passion there. He grasped her shoulders and pushed up slightly so that her breasts hung free, and she smiled, throwing her head back in the ecstasy of knowing Colt Travis was gazing at her nakedness. He gently caressed one nipple, rubbing it with his thumb.

She drew in her breath in a deep, shuddering sigh. “I didn't know it could be this wonderful,” she told him in a whisper.

“Do you know how long I've wanted you?” he asked, his voice raspy.

Sunny met his eyes again, and she smiled. “I've wanted you longer.”

“I don't think so.” He moved his hands to pull her blouse farther off her shoulders, and she slipped her arms from the sleeves. Another piece of clothing was tossed into the grass. She sat on top of him, wearing only the camisole which hung open, her boots, and knee-high stockings. She leaned down to let him taste her breasts again, and then he grasped her hair and met her mouth, driving his tongue deep inside as he rolled her over on her back. His kisses became wilder and hotter, and she reveled in the way he made her lose control, the thrilling sensations he brought her. How strange that she could stand up to men of great wealth and social power, but this man who had nothing at all in the way of wealth took away all stubborn pride, all sense of reason, all inhibitions. This was one man she could not resist, who made her weak. She was glad, so glad she had decided to confess her desperate plea to be possessed by him.