Cherokee Storm. Janelle TaylorЧитать онлайн книгу.
“You know where to find this Storm Dancer?” Drake asked. “You can help us hunt him down?”
“Yes, and no, lad. Chances are he’s somewhere in these mountains. As for sticking my nose in and leading a search party after Winter Fox’s sister’s boy, I’d sooner lead ye all straight to the gates of hell.”
“Maybe you been here too long, Mr. O’Shea,” Damon ventured. “You’ve forgot the color of your own skin.”
“It’s white, when I’ve scrubbed off the dirt, but I know the Cherokee. I take to hunting down Storm Dancer, the lot of ye and my own family are as good as dead.” He swallowed another sip of tea. “And dead in ways ye don’t want to think of, let alone bring about.”
Tangled in vines, Shannon struggled and cried out.
“Shannon, darlin’, wake up!”
She opened her eyes to find her father peering anxiously into her face.
“Be ye sick?” He laid a calloused hand on her forehead. “You’re cool. No fever. Like as not, you’re worn to a nubbin from all this travel.”
Embarrassed, she sat up and threw off the blanket. Not vines or briars, just the blanket she’d tangled in. The two of them were alone, camped in a hollow under a spreading beech tree. They’d sat up late last night talking and looking up at the stars. Da named the constellations for her as he had when she was a child.
Shannon could smell porridge bubbling on the campfire. They’d left the Nathan Clark party the day before yesterday. Her father was eager to get back to the trading post, and she was more than ready to be with family, rather than the Clarks and their friends. Too long, she’d been the outsider, the orphan who didn’t belong. It was strange to be with Da again, but wonderful. So why had nightmares troubled her sleep?
Not nightmares, she admitted to herself, a single dream…a dream that seemed so real she could swear she smelled the wild scent of the man who’d haunted her. She inhaled deeply, trying to compose herself. But the dream remained, so vivid that she felt her cheeks grow hot in shame.
She’d been bathing in a forest stream, naked, her fresh-washed hair wet and hanging loose around her shoulders. Heavy fog surrounded the creek, so thick that she couldn’t see the banks. The water was warm, so warm that steam rose in tendrils into the moonlit sky. The woods were still and quiet, except for the occasional hoot of an owl and the chirp of insects. Peaceful…relaxing…
Until Storm Dancer invaded her solitude…her privacy…. One moment she was alone and the next he was there, standing in front of her, huge and magnificent in the moonlight…standing so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath. He must have been swimming, because beads of water rolled off his honey-bronze shoulders and down over his chest. Moonlight glinted off the planes of his face, revealing the penetrating black eyes and rough-carved cheekbones.
Startled, she’d wanted to run, but her feet seemed to have turned to stone. She couldn’t move, couldn’t draw breath or raise her arms to protect herself. No longer a life-and-blood woman…but a statue unable to utter a single sound.
For what seemed an eternity he stared into her eyes. And then he spoke her name. “Shan-non.”
Sweet sensations of light rippled through her. Her lips, which had been stone, parted and softened. She became aware of the thud of her heart as Storm Dancer stepped even closer. He reached out and touched her hair, lacing his fingers through the damp weight of it, stroking and murmuring her name.
Then he lifted a section of her hair, bent, and pressed his lips to her throat beneath her left ear. She still could not move, but she felt an inner trembling radiate from his kiss, sending her heart into free fall.
He trailed slow caresses to the hollow of her throat and lower still, until she felt her nipples harden to tight buds and heat throb at the apex of thighs. “Shan-non,” he whispered. “My woman. Do you know how long I have waited for you?”
Wherever his lips touched, she came alive. Her skin tingled, and blood coursed through her veins. He raised his head, bringing his mouth to hers, tracing her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, making her open to receive his kiss. His lips were firm and smooth, his tongue as soft as velvet, his breath sweet as orchard honey.
She groaned softly as their kiss deepened and she grew light-headed with the sheer joy of it. His fingertips moved over her throat and bare shoulder, caressing. Long fingers massaged and stroked her naked skin, moving down until he found a breast and cupped it in his hand.
She realized then that her legs and feet were muscle and bone once more. She could have fled, but she no longer wanted to…not when his thumb circled and teased her nipple until the aching grew to a pulsing need. And not when he lowered his head and drew the hot bud between his lips and suckled until she screamed with pleasure.
He’d drawn her tight against the length of his naked body, and she’d felt the heat and length of his swollen phallus. They’d stood there, skin to skin, lips to lips, his long hair wrapped around them for what seemed forever, before she caught one of his hands in hers and moved it to touch her in her most intimate place.
Abruptly, the dream changed, and she was running through a black forest. Undergrowth tangled around her legs and slowed her wild dash. Storm Dancer was running too. She could hear his feet hitting the ground, but she didn’t know if she was running toward him or away from him. Her heart raced, and she screamed as the vines entrapped her.
Shannon closed her eyes, ashamed of her thoughts, not wanting her father to read what might be revealed there. Where had such shameful fantasies come from? She’d kissed boys, certainly, enjoyed it, but she’d never allowed herself to be touched…never willingly let a man touch her breast or took pleasure in it. She knew what happened in the sex act between a man and woman. No girl who’d served at a tavern could help but see the acts of raw lust or playful coupling. She’d had her share of slaps on her bottom or pinches from over-friendly customers, but she’d objected violently to being touched against her will.
How could she conceive of such shocking behavior with a man? With a Cherokee? With Storm Dancer? She tightened her hands into fists and tried to ignore the damp heat between her legs, proof that the dream had excited her in ways that made her blush.
“Are you all right, darlin’? You gave me a fright.”
“Yes, yes.” She got to her feet. “I’m fine, really.” She was fully dressed in her one spare dress. She’d taken off only her shawl and her shoes before she curled up in the blanket by the fire last night. “Just a bad dream.” She pretended to laugh. “I was caught in a briar patch.”
Her father handed her a cup of tea. “I had Nathan buy me a stock of tea back on the coast. No milk. None in my pack and none back at the post. I don’t keep a cow.”
She smiled at him. “I don’t mind. I’ve had all I want of cows. Stupid creatures. And Betty—that’s the Clarks’ animal—was the most cantankerous I’ve ever laid eyes on. It was her fault I was caught out at night in the storm.”
He knelt by the fire and spooned out porridge into a bowl. “Eat up. We’ve a good four hours’ ride ahead of us to get home, longer if the river hasn’t gone down. I had to ride downstream to a crossing coming to meet you. Cost me nearly half a day. All that rain coming down out of the mountains.”
Shannon reached for the porridge. To her surprise, it was flavored with dried apples, nuts, and cinnamon. “Delicious.”
“I’m glad ye like it. Oona will be pleased.”
She glanced up at him. “Who?”
He concentrated on his cup of tea. “’Tis a surprise I’ve been meaning to share.”
Now he had her full attention. “Oona?”
“Learning that your mother had passed makes it easier, but I’ll not hide the fact that I’ve taken a companion.”
“A