“Who?”
“Don’t ‘who’ me!”
He chuckled. “You sound like a jealous witch.Inlgashi shijii. Witch of my heart!”
“You’re not funny,” she cried, but he dropped to his knees and kissed her again. Candice wrenched away. “Who is she?”
He slid his hand up her arm, his eyes smoking. His tone was husky. “Nobody. Trust me. Come here,shijii, kiss me … greet me properly.”
She pushed herself out of his arms. “Greet you properly? You couldn’t even say hello when—”
He caught her with a chuckle and kissed her again. “I’m saying hello now.” He urged her gently backward, until she was lying on her back. The ground was damp.
“Jack …” she started.
He smiled and slipped his hand beneath her petticoats, instantly silencing her. She closed her eyes and was lost to waves of dizzying pleasure. And when his mouth followed the path of his hand, and his tongue started seeking her sweetest, slickest recesses, she clutched at his hair and forgave all. A tidal wave of pleasure soared over her, again and again.
Then he took her and claimed her as a man claims a woman, fiercely, intently, purposefully. That night his harsh cries mingled with hers, unheard beneath the din of revelry.
“Who is she, Jack?”
He smiled. “Her name is Gaage and she’s a widow. Have no fear. I have no intention of making any more trouble for myself, I have enough as it is.”
“You certainly enjoyed her dancing,” Candice said jealously.
He stroked her hair. “I was imagining my wife dancing naked in front of me, dear heart.” He chuckled.
“You liar.”
“I was also imagining the very delicious things I intended to do to you tonight—and I assume you’re satisfied?”
She had to smile. “Just stay away from her,” she told him.
“I give you my word,” he said, biting off laughter. She was jealous, and while he meant every word he said, he was thrilled that she should be so green. A jealous woman was a woman who cared.
“What happened, Jack?” She peered up at him.
He stiffened. “I don’t want to discuss that now. Let’s make love again.” He began unbuttoning her camisole.
“You rode on the Santa Cruz Valley, Candice persisted. She had to know. His hand stopped, then slid negligently into her bodice, cupping a breast. “I want to know what happened. Did you attack Tucson?”
He withdrew his hand and sat up abruptly. “You have great timing,” he said harshly. Silver eyes were bitterly angry. “Do you really want to know all the ugly details?” He stood, reaching for his loincloth. “All right. Reinhart’s place is gutted. He won’t be able to rebuild. Henderson’s is gutted also. At least ten men died yesterday. Four were Apache. Is there anything else you want to know?”
She sat, clutching the ends of her camisole together. “Yes, Is Judge Reinhart all right?”
He stared, his mouth tightening. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, God,” she said.
“Do you still fancy yourself in love with him?” he snarled.
“Oh, grow up! Judge is a good man! My neighbor!”
“You were practically engaged to him, remember? You seemed to be in love with him!” His eyes were flashing shards of ice.
“I can’t believe you could attack a man like Judge,” Candice said. “How could you?”
He stared, furious. “Don’t you dare condemn me—or even judge me.” He strode away. But even as he did so, he knew his anger wasn’t directed at her, but at himself, and the whole damn war.
