Following his lead, she moved her hips along with his, whimpering with the exquisite rhythm he’d created, following him desperately. Suddenly, without warning, her body convulsed, fragmenting somewhere deep within. Just as it had the first time. Only the degree so much more. So, so much more. She cried out, kissing his shoulder reflexively, again, and again, grateful in a way she’d never been before.
Feeling her body tighten around him, and hearing her soft cries of release, Cutter gave himself up. Drawing back with a primitive cry, he drove into her with a ferocity that would have startled Elizabeth had she been the least bit aware. With a last grunt, he collapsed atop her with a deeper satisfaction than he’d ever experienced.
Kissing her temple long and hard, he rolled to the side so as not to crush her beneath him, and then hauled her up against himself, hugging her fiercely. He said nothing for the longest time, only stroked her hip and thigh absently. It seemed obscene to tarnish what they’d just shared with mere words. His body glistening with well-earned sweat, he turned a deaf ear to all sound, focusing instead on the ruthless pounding in his chest. It was only when Elizabeth seized his hand and raised it to her face to hold against her cheek that he felt compelled to speak.
His blood pounded through his temples. He swallowed the salty burn in his throat. “Did it branding cattle,” he said gruffly, swallowing again. “I was fifteen... and too stupid to know better when they told me I wasn’t a man unless I could fire the branding iron bare-handed.”
Listening quietly, Elizabeth crushed his hand to her cheek.
For the briefest moment, Cutter could see again the curl of the men’s lips as they jeered him on. In their eyes, he’d been no more than a useless half-breed kid, fit only as a distraction for their boredom. And hell, he’d been too green and too desperate to prove himself to see the contempt in their eyes. He’d learned the game quickly enough, though.
Hugging Elizabeth jealously, he allowed himself to feel again the scorch of the metal rod boring into his palm, searing his fingers, smell the stink of his own burning flesh. And then, with a fierce shuddering, he thrust the memory back again into the graveyard of his mind... where it belonged.
“Anyhow, so now you know,” he said matter-of-factly, without emotion, “and you owe me one.” He brushed her hair gently away from her face, kissing her temple. “Tell me about Greensleeves,” he whispered, squeezing her gently for encouragement.
“Greensleeves?”
For a befuddled moment, Elizabeth couldn’t fathom what he was talking about, and then it came to her, and she felt as though her heart constricted. How had he known? It didn’t matter. She wasn’t ready to bare herself to anyone. Too long she’d kept herself apart from everything but her work, and despite the cherished moment they’d just shared, she couldn’t open herself up for his scrutiny—didn’t know if she ever could. Her eyes misted. Her throat burned. “I-It was my mother’s favorite song,” she said with difficulty, stiffening a little in his arms. “She used to sing it to me as a child. That’s all.”
That wasn’t all there was to it, and Cutter knew it, but he didn’t push it. He gave her a little reassuring squeeze, letting her know that, and then kissed the back of her head with a sigh. Hearing a smothered sniffle, he asked, “You’re not gonna start regrettin’ already, are ya?”
Elizabeth shook her head, cursing herself for a sniveling idiot. Why, she wondered, were her emotions so near the surface lately when they never had been before? She’d always prided herself on being so clear headed, so strong. What had happened to her since meeting Cutter?
“Good,” he whispered, turning her suddenly, and planting a kiss on the tip of her breast. “ ‘Cause I’m not through with you yet.” Positioning himself over her once more, he suckled her gently, and with a whimper, Elizabeth arched toward him, amazed that he could so quickly stir her body to life, awed that his could recover so quickly when her own felt so bone-deep sated.
Almost reverently, he ran his rough hands along the length of her, chasing chills up her spine as his fingers moved up her arms. He pinned her hands to the blanket, and stroked the inside of her palm with his scarred thumb.
The last coherent thought Elizabeth had was that Cutter McKenzie was very, very good at driving away demons, while ironically, Cutter wondered whether he was actually seeking to drive away hers... or his own.
* * *
Cutter wasn’tcertain what sound it was that roused him. Normally he was a very light sleeper and came awake fairly alert, but not this time. His mind was still cobwebbed from an exhausted sleep. His ears strained to pick up sounds, but nothing was immediately discernible.
Still, his instinct told him someone was there.
He could smell the intruder’s scent in the rain-cleansed air. Despite the fact that he sensed the presence, knew it was there, when his eyes adjusted finally to the darkness, he was jolted to make out the expressionless face hovering so close above his and Elizabeth’s huddled forms.
Silver flickered in the moonlight, and he held himself still.
He knew at once that it was one of the three Indians he’d spotted along the bluff-top, and his eyes quickly scanned the area. He could make out the other two still mounted. They’d remained at least ten yards away, along with the dead Indian’s horse—silent watchers.
Though his adrenaline surged, Cutter resisted the urge to leap to his feet. He cursed himself for his recklessness. Hell, he’d forgotten the Indians were even there. And because of that fact, the advantage was theirs.
And they both knew it.
His gun wasn’t but a foot above his head, but if he dove for it now, he’d be wearing the Indian’s blade through his windpipe before the thought ever finished crossing his mind. Very slowly, Cutter removed his hand from under Elizabeth’s back, trying not to wake her in the process. It’d be better if he didn’t.
“Your woman makes you careless,” the Indian said matter-of-factly, in his thick Cheyenne tongue, admonishing Cutter with a careless wave of his knife.
“But she has fire in her spirit, and in her hands,” Cutter returned just as coolly, “and that is worth a dozen deaths to any man.” His gaze never left the Indian’s. He met the man eye to eye, leaving his thoughts open for the Indian to know.
The Indian nodded sagely, sheathing his knife suddenly. “I had a woman with fire once, but she was slain by theOoetane.” Elizabeth stretched lazily beside him, and the Indian jutted his chin at her. “She knows the ways of our people,” he said, but it was more an astonished question than a statement of fact.
Inopportunely, before Cutter could reply, Elizabeth chose that moment to open her eyes.
Seeing the strange Indian hovering above them, Elizabeth choked back a terrified scream, but it remained to be seen in her eyes. The Indian’s face contorted.
Elizabeth understood nothing of the exchange between Cutter and the Indian. All she knew was that the Indian sounded irate. And suddenly Cutter turned to her, his look accusing.
