Wed to the Witness (13 page)

“Is that why you've let me hang around you?” He jerked her around to face him, forcing a stunned breath from her lungs.

“I—”

“Is that why you let me kiss you?” His hands clamped on her upper arms. “Agreed to make love with me? So you can bide your time until some vision lets you know how you can
help
me?”

She blinked. “I… No, I… No—”

“You claim you wanted time for us to get to know each other. We've had a hell of a lot of long talks lately, Cheyenne. I even managed to squeeze in that the police suspect me of trying to kill my uncle. I told you that little tidbit because I couldn't in good conscience let you walk deeper into a relationship with me without knowing how things stood.”

“I know—”

“You had plenty of opportunity to tell me about this…gift.” His fingers tightened like steel rods on her arms. “Instead, you kept it to yourself. Dammit, Cheyenne, it hurts that you don't trust me.”

“I know, and I'm sorry.” Guilt weighed like a stone, dead center in her heart. “I thought about telling you, even sometimes imagined myself doing that. I was afraid to take a risk, so I stopped myself.”

“Why? Why couldn't you just tell me?”

“It would have changed everything.”

“You don't know that!”

“I do know!” Jerking from his touch, she fisted her hands against her jeaned thighs. “What you've learned
about me tonight changes how you look at me. What you think of me. I'm
different,
Jackson. Too different to have a normal relationship.”

His dark brows slid together. “Who the hell told you that?”

“No one told me. I learned it. My father left me with my aunts on the reservation because he couldn't handle the fact I was different. He was a drunk, he beat my brothers, but I didn't know that when I was little. All I knew was my mother was dead and the father I needed didn't want me.” She felt tears she'd thought she had finished with years ago stinging her eyes. “At the Anglo schools I went to, the other kids called me names, shunned me because I wasn't like them. In college, I told the man I loved about my visions. He looked at me as if I had some terrible disease. He told me to stay away from him—
stay away
—then he walked out.” Her voice hitched with the memory. “You can stand there and tell me that being different doesn't matter, Jackson. I know better.”

“All right, so you know.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “You thought that was what I would do? If you told me about your visions, you thought I would walk away?”

A single tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. She turned her head so he wouldn't see her swipe it away. “Look at history. People have hanged, burned or drowned those who seemed different. These days they mostly avoid them.”

“Dammit, Cheyenne.” He scrubbed his hands over his face then dropped his hands and stared out at the dark yard. “Dammit.”

They stood in silence, thoughts and space separating
them while music from the bandstand floated, soft and sensuous, on the breeze.

“I'm not your drunken father or the moron you dated in college,” Jackson said finally.

She slid him a look. “What?”

“I saw what happened today. A boy is alive because of you. Maybe I had a hand in things, but I wouldn't have been there to pull Johnny out of harm's way if it hadn't been for you.”

As he spoke, Jackson reached out and took her arm, then turned her to face him. “I'll concede your gift of sight makes you different from most everyone else. Since I've seen it at work, I know it also makes you special. Very special.”

She opened her mouth, closed it on a shudder and felt the first tingle of relief loosen the fist around her heart. “Special.”

“I don't like secrets, Cheyenne. I've seen what they do to relationships. I wish you could have trusted me enough to tell me your secret.”

“I didn't want this to end. What we have, what we maybe could have.” She closed her eyes for a brief instant. “I care about you, Jackson. I was selfish. I didn't want you to walk away.”

“Like most every man you've cared about.”

“That's right.”

“Just when I think I get my footing, you knock me off-balance again.” He gently traced the line of her earlobe, idly fingering the simple gold hoop she wore there. “I'm not used to a woman doing that to me.”

Her heart began to pound. “You're not?”

“No. This gift of yours—the way you are—is new to me. I need time to take it all in.” Slowly, he pulled her
into his arms until his body brushed hers. “That doesn't mean it changes how I feel about you.”

Her throat went dry. She still couldn't quite believe. “Doesn't it?”

“We've stayed in each other's minds since the night of my uncle's party because you and I sparked something in each other that's impossible to ignore.
I
don't want to ignore it. I want to find out what that something is and exactly how I feel about you.” His eyes stayed on hers as he lifted a hand to her cheek and stirred her heart. “Is that what you want, too, Cheyenne?”

“Yes.” The word came out on a shaky breath. The band's steady, sensuous beat matched that of her pulse.

His mouth took a slow, quiet journey over her jaw, down the line of her throat, back to her trembling lips. Even as a shiver coursed through her she felt her body warming, melting. The air seemed to go very still, very suddenly. Now the only sound was her own uneven breathing.

“You were supposed to save me every dance,” he murmured against her mouth.

Her hands wound into the fabric of his shirt. Her mind blurred. “I can't…hear the music…anymore.”

“To hell with dancing, then.” One of his hands slipped beneath her loose braid to cup the back of her neck as she arched her head back. In the moonlight, reckless need glinted in his eyes. “I want you.” His other hand cupped her breast, kneading, tormenting. Her nipple budded, strained against the silk of her bra. “I've never wanted a woman the way I want you.”

Her arms slid up, and she dug her fingers into his hair. The remembered vision of candlelight glowing gold against their joined bodies played back in her head. Destiny, she thought dimly. This man was her destiny.

“Candlelight.” Her breath caught in gasps as she raced greedy kisses down his neck.

His hand shoved beneath her blouse, her bra, seeking flesh. Heat flashed so fast and hot, it incinerated her skin. Her body strained and trembled against his. When her legs went weak, she clutched at him for balance. “I want candlelight. And sweet wine. But first, I want you.”

“You'll have them. You'll have all that and more,” he said, then latched his mouth onto hers.

“I
nside,” Cheyenne managed to moan before Jackson's mouth clamped against hers in a dazing, dizzying kiss that heated her blood until it flash-fired beneath her skin, roared in her head.

“We…can't do this…on the front porch.”

She scraped her teeth over his jaw and felt him tense like a runner on the mark.

“We're going inside.” His voice was rough, urgent while one of his hands worked at the buttons on her blouse. “And we're not coming out. Ever.”

“Fine. Good.”

They staggered together across the porch, hot, hungry mouths locked. When she took a stumbling step backward, he swept her up into his arms and jerked open the screen door. Her fingers plunged into his hair, her body straining against his with urgent need.

He carried her inside the small house, then kicked the
front door closed behind him. A weak wash of light coming from the lamp she'd left burning in her bedroom illuminated the small living room in silver light and shadow.

When Jackson set her on her feet, Cheyenne discovered her knees were loose, her head filled with blinding light and colors. If he hadn't shoved her back against the nearest wall and trapped her body with his, she knew she would have crumpled to the floor.

Against her belly, she felt him pulsing with need.

His breath a harsh rasp through his lips, he caught her face in his hands. “Tell me.” Eyes the color of the storm-tossed sea bored into hers, searching. “Tell me you want this, Cheyenne. You want us.”

“Yes.” Her throat was so dry the word was barely audible. “I want us.” His warm, musky scent filled her head, made her heart thud. “I want to feel you.” Her unsteady fingers worked to free the buttons on his shirt, then shoved material aside. “Touch you.” Frantically, she tugged his shirttail out of his jeans, then rose on tiptoe to nip at the pulse in his throat. “Everywhere at once. Here. Now.”

His eyes glimmered in the weak light as he fought the shirt off his arms, flung it aside. “You've got a bed—”

“Now.” A hum of pleasure surged up her throat while her exploring hands slid across his chest, savoring the power of sinew and muscle, soaking up the feel of him. “Here, Jackson. Right here.” With a light fingertip she traced the swirl of coarse, dark hair that circled one nipple, then her mouth replaced her fingertip.

He tasted dark and dangerous and so very male.

“Holy…” Beneath her lips, she felt his heart jolt, then thunder.

Wrapping her braid around one hand, he arched her
head back to expose her throat to his mouth. He dipped his head, his lips scalding hot against the point in her throat where her pulse hammered.

“All right, Cheyenne, here.” When he raised his head and met her gaze, she felt a shocking jolt at the burn in his eyes. “The first time, right here.” His voice seemed to throb the words across her skin, making the flames in her blood rage hotter. “We'll find the bed later. And use it.”

Lust clutched deep in her belly while he helped her fight off her boots. He shoved her shirt off her shoulders, down her arms, then to the floor. With an expert flick of his fingers, he unhooked her silk bra, dragged it off and found her flesh.

“You're beautiful.” Gazing down at her, he cupped her breasts in his rough, clever hands, his thumbs performing a slow, erotic massage of her nipples. “Perfect.”

The flash of passion, the fury of need that darkened his eyes filled her with a sense of decadent power as she stood before him, naked from the waist up. Time and place became nothing against a hard, driving desire for him. Only him.

Urgency made her fingers clumsy, and she fumbled with the button on his jeans. She whimpered when he caught her wrists in his hands, stilled her movements. “Not yet,” he murmured. “We'll get to me.”

Need raged, clawed inside her when his teeth seared a hot path across her exposed flesh. She drew in a sharp breath at the sensation of his mouth trailing down her ribs, then lower to the waist of her jeans.

She felt the insistent tug of his fingers at the button, then heard the rasp of the zipper, followed by the exquisite torture of his mouth moving lower still. His hands
stroked over her hips, slipping beneath the loosened waist of the jeans. Denim whispered against her flesh as he skimmed them off. Then he went down on his knees, his hands locked at her waist, and nuzzled her through the thin silk of her panties.

Desire flooded her veins like flame leaping along a trail of gasoline.

“Jackson…” Her knees threatened to buckle, and she had to cling to his shoulders for support.

She writhed against the first touch of his tongue, the tender stroking, the feather-soft flicks. When he lightly nipped the crest of flesh where her lips joined she thought she would shatter into a million pieces. The pressure of his mouth intensified as his lips suckled her through silk. The air around her thickened; her breath snagged in her lungs while the wet pulse between her legs pounded.

Inch by inch he peeled the heated silk down her legs, then pulled her to the floor with him. Beneath her back she felt the softness of the rug that pooled in the center of her living room.

Her mind went hazy when Jackson leaned over her, blocking out everything else. Nothing existed for her but him. Only him.

His mouth began feasting on her flesh, his greedy hands racing over her quivering body in ruthless exploration. Heat pumped through her blood; she felt herself going warm and soft, melting into his touch, becoming one.

Her hot, hungry mouth nipped his neck, his chest. Her nails dug into the hard ridge of his shoulders. She couldn't get enough of him, of his taste, his touch. He seeped into her, pore by pore.

She whimpered when he eased away to pull off his
boots; her fingers tangled with his as he stripped off his jeans and briefs.

In a heartbeat of time, she gazed at him through the dim, silver light. His body was beautiful, tanned and strong, with muscles that rippled and tightened as he moved.

He came back to her, his greedy mouth claiming one breast to feed, suckle, devour, his teeth scraping erotically over her aching, budded nipple. Words strangled in her throat, images exploded in her brain and she arched back, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Minutes, or maybe hours, later, his mouth shifted to her other breast and reworked its torrid magic.

He fanned his long fingers low over her belly then cupped her, his hand molding against her already sensitive flesh with intimate possession. She writhed under his touch, her hands raking into his hair, fisting. His fingers moved against her wet heat, relentlessly driving her up, the need for release building, clawing viciously inside her.

“Look at me,” he said when her eyelids fluttered shut. “I want to watch your eyes when you become mine.”

“Yours.” The shadows around them seemed to shift while his fingers stroked. Sensation slid over sensation, building inside her in trembling, shuddering layers, then exploded. Her vision grayed; his name tore from her lips in a half sob.

Strength gone, her hands slipped from his shoulders. She lay motionless, sweat slicking her flesh, helpless to do anything else but gasp for breath.

One of his hands slid beneath her, his fingers splaying at her back to lift her hips.

His body was like iron over hers.

A sob of pure, overwhelming pleasure eased up her throat when he pushed inside her. Her body opened to his, joined with his. Arching, she buried her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder and brought him in deeper. She gave herself over to him completely, moving with him, welcoming the deep, smooth strokes of his body inside of hers.

In that fleeting moment before they plunged together into the roaring dark, Cheyenne understood that she was his. There would never be room for another man in her mind, in her heart. Jackson was the one. The only one.

 

Eventually, they found Cheyenne's bed. And made good use of it.

Now, hours later, Jackson lay awake, propped on one elbow, watching her sleep while the heady scent of her drifted through his senses. They'd turned out the light earlier after he had lit the candles scattered around the bedroom. The flames had since drowned out in their own wax. The only light left was from the moon, pale streams of it slanting over the bed, turning Cheyenne's skin a warm, seductive gold.

She lay sprawled on her stomach, her breathing slow and even, her hair a glorious blue-black fell on the white pillow. He reached out, grazed his palm along the length of her body.

A sigh rose up her throat.

Even now that he'd had her, he was half-wild to get his hands on her again, to feel her under him.

Emotions that he was helpless to put a name to or understand surged through him. Before tonight he had accepted he had feelings for her. But he hadn't known, couldn't have known, that a woman's touch—
this
woman's
—could sever the knots of his control so quickly. Thoroughly.

They had known each other only a short time. Before that they knew of each other, walked around the edges of each other for years. That was why he had carried with him the faint memory that something was different about River's shy little sister. Something mystical.

He understood now what those secrets were he had seen in her eyes. Visions, he thought. Much more than mere wisps of intuition—she had proven that today when her actions had saved Johnny Collins's life. The power she possessed seemed something more akin to subconscious dreams rooted in some sort of surreal reality.

Frowning, Jackson blew out a breath. He had no true understanding of what powers she possessed. But he did recognize that, by telling him about the gift of her heritage, she had pushed aside caution, exposed herself, made herself vulnerable. For that, he was responsible. He watched her, lying curled beside him, warm and soft and trusting, and hoped to hell he could handle the responsibility.

That he didn't know for sure didn't come as a surprise. Responsibility meant commitment—where relationships were concerned, he had always involved himself in straightforward affairs, no gray areas, no untidy emotions. No woman had ever made him feel the need to dip below the surface. With Cheyenne, at some point when he wasn't looking, he had gone fully under.

Reaching out, Jackson stroked his fingers along the silky softness of her hair. Logic told him that his being the suspect in two attempted murders was reason enough to keep their relationship as it was now—no strings attached, with walking away an option. The thought of her
doing that had his fingers clenching in her hair. It didn't seem to make a difference that he didn't need more complications in his life right now. All that mattered was that Cheyenne James wasn't just any woman. She was
his
woman.

To his profound amazement, he was beginning to think he meant to keep her.

 

Cheyenne woke just after dawn feeling achy and sated…and totally decadent from having spent most of the night being ravished and ravishing. Stretching like a contented cat, she shoved her disheveled hair out of her face. The corners of her mouth lifted at the memory of Jackson loosening her braid, working his fingers through the long, thick strands, then fisting his hands in her tangled tresses while he eased himself into her wet depths.

Twin surges of fulfillment and excitement swam through her. She and Jackson had shared more than passion during the hours they'd spent together. There were feelings that ran deep below the surface, too. How deep, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that they existed. Eventually they would have to be faced, then dealt with.

Turning her head on the pillow, she gazed through the weak dawn light. Jackson lay asleep on his side, his face half turned toward her. Against the white pillowcase, his face looked deeply tanned, shadowed by jet-black stubble. His hair was a rumpled mess, his mouth slightly open, his lips relaxed.

Thoughts of how that mouth had destroyed her control sent a shudder of pure longing through her. Easing out a trembling breath, it was all she could do to keep from reaching out and raking her fingertips through the dark hair that dusted his chest, then letting her hand slide lower….

She closed her eyes. It wasn't just passion she felt stirring in her belly, she realized. Last night Jackson had accepted her as no man ever had. She had opened both her body and her soul to him and he had not turned away.

He had touched her heart simply by understanding, by seeing what was inside her. He had seen, and he had accepted.

She loved him.

Her eyes widened as the realization settled around her. Oh, God, she was in love with him! It was that simple. That staggering.

That terrifying.

Although she'd shared her body with Jackson, given him her trust, she wasn't sure what to do about sharing her emotions. Gnawing her bottom lip, Cheyenne thought back to their youth, to the seemingly unending stream of high school girls he'd entertained during weekends and summers at the Colton ranch. Then there was Sophie's comment about the number of hearts Jackson had reportedly broken after he'd moved to San Diego. Cheyenne knew it wasn't his nature to want to hear a woman's declaration of love. Most likely it would put the fear of God into him.

It came close to doing the same to her.

Swallowing past the tightness in her throat, she slid out of bed. She needed time…and space to think.

At one point during the night when they'd taken a breather from pleasuring each other, Jackson had gone into the living room and retrieved their clothes. Now Cheyenne stepped shakily around the pile where he'd dumped them, grabbed her robe, then padded across the hall to the shower.

 

A sharp hammering noise woke Jackson. With his face pressed into the pillow, he could smell Cheyenne. Her soft, seductive scent brought a dreamy image that both aroused and soothed.

The hammering grew louder.

His mind still hazy, Jackson shifted, reached for her—and discovered he was alone in bed. Raising his head, he caught the sound of running water. Cheyenne, he reasoned, was in the shower.