The contemptuous question didn't merit an answer. She could have told him there were endless varieties of abuse but swapping tales of woe would have been ridiculous. Besides, she was too angry at him for spurning her sympathy. "You carry your bitterness like a shield to protect yourself. You hide behind your anger like a coward who is afraid to get caught experiencing some human warmth. Someone offers you tenderness, and you misread it as pity. Anyway, we all need to be pitied at times."
"Well then," he said silkily, "pity me."
He moved with the speed of summer lightning and his touch was just as electrifying. His hand shot out and sank into her hair, winding the long strands around his fist and yanking her head forward. He tilted it back so far she feared her neck would snap.
"You're feeling benevolent toward the Indians, hmm? Well let's see just how much."
His mouth came crashing down on hers. The contact was brutal and punishing. She made an outraged sound deep in her throat, but it had no effect on him. If anything, his fist wound tighter in her hair and his lips pressed harder upon hers.
Moving her head was out of the question, so she gripped his biceps and tried to push him away. The skin beneath her grasp was warm and smooth. The muscles felt like braided cables of steel. Her efforts were to no avail.
Raising his lips only inches above hers, he smiled sardonically. "Ever been kissed by an Indian, Miss Andrews? It'll be something you can tell your friends about the next time you have a tea party."
He ground his lips against hers again. This time, she experienced a sense of falling and realized only when she felt rocks digging into her back that he had lowered her to the ground. He stretched above her, covering one side of her body with his.
"No!" she gasped when he released her mouth to press hot kisses into her neck just below her jaw. She tried to kick, but he threw his long leg over hers, imprisoning them beneath his thigh.
"What's the matter? Lost your taste for pity so soon?" he mocked. "Taste this."
He kissed her again. She felt the probing of his tongue against her lips and stubbornly kept them sealed together. His hand released her hair and caught her just under the jaw. Hard fingers squeezed until she had no choice but to open her mouth or risk her jawbone being shattered.
His tongue thrust its way into her mouth. It was an angry, plundering, ravishing, hurtful intruder. Silently she screamed in mortification and fury, struggling against him, arching her back above the hard ground in an effort to throw him off.
All she accomplished was to get his knee wedged between her thighs and his hips intimately pressing upon hers. Desperate to end the savage embrace, she curled both hands into claws and reached for his face.
But the moment her fingertips came into contact with his face, she felt the wet patches on his cheekbones. Immediately, her wrath was banished and replaced by wonder. Her fingers relaxed their curled tension, and she used them to blindly explore the chiseled ridges of his cheekbones and the almost gaunt planes beneath them.
Her lack of resistance squelched his brutal intent as well, and he lifted his mouth from hers. Silently they stared into each other's eyes—his so beautifully incongruous with the rest of his face; hers blue, awash with her own tears.
She saw her hand move of its own accord and touch the damp streaks on his face. She traced the salty track of one of his tears all the way down to his chin. To think of the absolute grief it had taken to make a man of stone like him cry caused Aislinn's heart to pound.
Lucas stared down into her face and instantly regretted what he saw. Her lips were discolored and swollen from the anger behind his kiss. Never in his life had he physically mistreated a woman. The thought of it made him ill.
He moved slightly, intending to lift himself off her. But Aislinn's hands were still resting on his cheeks. She was studying his mouth. He paused.
"I warned you not to look at me like that again," he said roughly.
She didn't move.
"I told you what would happen if you did."
She didn't alter her expression either.
It lasted for only a heartbeat, but his hesitation seemed to stretch out for an eternity before he made a hungry, mating sound and lowered his lips once again to hers.
This kiss was vastly different. His mouth was changed. It settled over hers gently, despite the yearning sounds that it emitted. He rubbed his lips over hers, a comfort-giving, forgiveness-asking gesture.
She responded by letting her lips part. But slightly. Slightly. So that when his tongue touched the seam of her lips, it had to probe them gently to gain the sweet inside.
He groaned low and long as his tongue delved into the warm interior of her mouth, reaching far, swirling deep. He angled his head; she tilted hers in a corresponding movement. Their mouths were sealed.
Aislinn had never received such a blatantly sexual kiss. He brazenly imitated lovemaking, stroking the inside of her mouth with his tongue until she gasped breathlessly. She wanted more.
Her hands moved up from his face. She touched the silver earring in his right ear. He made a catchy, breathy little sound as she fondled it. Her other hand sank into the long, straight strands of his hair. She slipped the headband from around his head and let his hair fall over her fingers. Black silk.
His hand moved between their bodies and fiddled with the buttons on her unattractive, borrowed blouse. She felt them falling open and did nothing to stop it.
Don't think about this. Don't think, she commanded herself. For to think would be to end it. And at all costs she didn't want it to end.
Since she had walked in on him in her kitchen, she had been assaulted by emotions and sensations. Almost without stop, they had come hurling toward her like bullets from an automatic weapon. Sometimes she hadn't dodged them quickly enough and had known their full impact, in her head, her heart, her body. Until three nights ago, her life had seemed as wasteful and barren as the desert compared to the abundance of emotions she had experienced since meeting Greywolf. Now she longed to experience the ultimate emotion. With him.
His breath fell hotly on her neck as his mouth moved over it greedily. He spread kisses across her chest. His hand, without permission or apology, fondled her breast. Just thinking of his strong, brown fingers moving against her pale flesh sent tongues of desire licking through her belly.
She bit her lower lip to stifle a moan when his fingertip located her taut nipple. He dallied with it, circling and fanning it with gentle strokes. When she felt his open mouth closing around it, she released a shuddering cry and clasped his head with both hands, holding it against her.
He exercised no discipline. He used his tongue, his teeth, the suckling ability of his mouth. She couldn't give enough and he couldn't get enough. Each caress brought her higher, further, than she'd ever gone before.
She peeled his shirt open, shoved the cloth aside and spread her hands over his chest. Her fingers engaged in an orgy of discovery. They pressed shallow dents in the curves of his muscles, combed through the pelt of hair, made brief, shy contact with his hard nipples.
Lucas buried his face between her breasts and groaned his pleasure. He gathered a handful of her skirt and lifted it, then laid his hand against the inside of her thigh.
Drums pounded in his head. Heat collected in his sex and spread through his thighs. He had needed a woman, but his desires had focused on this one. This woman. This blond, blue-eyed symbol of everything he hated had become what he wanted most.
Ever since he had seen her standing before him, her body golden in the lamplight of her bedroom, his senses had been humming with desire. He had wanted to seek out every tantalizing inch of her flesh and, once discovered, to know it thoroughly by sight, feel, smell and taste.
Her small, beautifully rounded breasts with their dainty pink crests appealed to him mightily. She was slim, but delectably shaped. He had dreamed of running his hands up and down her slender form, molding it to fit the palms of his hands.
Vividly he could recall how she had looked unclothed. Tremulous, but proud. Vulnerable, but brave. To him her skin had looked as smooth and rich as cream. What he hadn't seen but what his imagination had visualized until he ached.
And now he was touching. That sweet delta was as warm and as soft as he had dreamed it would be. Working his hand deeper inside her panties, he sifted through that silky nest until he found the heart of her womanhood. Impatience overcame him then and he pushed her panties down until she was free of them.
Spontaneously they both fell still, save for their rapid breathing. He braced himself above her and stared down into her face. It was calm. He could appreciate her expression. It held a challenge.
Her breasts were exposed to the new sun and the limitless sky. She didn't flinch as he raked them with his eyes. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist. He lowered his gaze to her womanhood. She was beautiful. He closed his eyes against the immense pleasure that surged through him.
He opened his jeans and positioned himself between her raised thighs. Then, bending his head down to cover her mouth with his, he penetrated her. He entered by slow degrees, savoring every creamy inch of femininity that sheathed him. Only when there was no more of himself to give, did he let his weight settle over her. His face burrowed in the fragrant hollow between her shoulder and throat.
He prayed for death.
Because nothing would ever be this good.
Aislinn, her eyes closed, reached beneath his shirt and ran her hands up and down the supple expanse of his back. His waist was neat and narrow. She loved scooping out the small of his back with her palm. She barely investigated the flare of his hips before she lost her nerve and pulled her hands back. She wanted to slip them into his jeans and cup the hard curves of his buttocks. She wanted to draw him deeper inside her. Not that that was possible. He more than filled her, and yet her body had delighted in accommodating him.
Turning her head, she kissed his ear where the silver earring was secured. He moaned deeply, more vibration than sound. He lowered his head to the tender tip of her breast. He rubbed his open mouth over it until it was quite wet. His tongue was capricious.
Their middles convulsed, reflexively, and then he began to move. Pumping slowly, he entered and withdrew repeatedly. He was smooth and hard and warm. He was animal. He was man. He was wonderful. Aislinn wondered how she had survived all these years without knowing this, without having him.
He whispered something in his native language, then suddenly braced himself above her with stiff arms. "My name is Lucas," he rasped.
"Lucas," she repeated on a breath. Then more loudly, "Lucas."
"I want to … oh, God … I want to see this … us…" He looked down at the place where their bodies were joined, where dark met fair, where male met female. He made a circular, grinding motion with his hips. It robbed Aislinn of breath. Her throat arched. But she couldn't close her eyes, even though the sublime ecstasy of it commanded her to.
She stared into his face and recorded it for memory. It was dark, beautiful, savage. Sweat beaded on his forehead as his movements gained momentum.
"I want to remember I want to remember I want to remember," he chanted as he thrust into her. "When they take me back … oh, God…"
He reared his head back. His gray eyes bore down into hers for only a second before they closed. He grimaced, locked in the throes of exquisite sexual climax. He slid his hands beneath her hips, palmed her derriere and held her tightly as the tremors claimed him.
Aislinn wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her face into the mat of hair on his chest, and trembled with her own fulfillment.
Endless moments later, he collapsed on top of her. His lips moved against her ear, but if he was actually speaking words, they were indistinguishable. She stroked the back of his head, loving the feel of his hair against her cheek.
How long they lay there, their bodies damp with perspiration, she never remembered. Nor could she ever recall exactly what it was that roused them from that blissful lassitude.
All she could ever remember was the expression on his face when he lifted his head and gazed down at her. For an instant, he looked infinitely sad, resigned, somewhat grateful, before his face closed again and became remote.
He left her. Standing, he zipped his jeans, but made no effort to rebutton his shirt. He walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down toward Joseph Greywolf's hogan.
"You'd better get dressed. They've come for me."
The words struck her chest like heavy stones. She wanted to cry out in protest, but to what avail? Where could she hide him? How could she protect him? Besides, Lucas looked as though he was supremely indifferent to either his immediate or long-range future, much less to hers.
Feeling chilled to the bone despite the rising temperature, Aislinn hurriedly adjusted her clothing. Shakily she stood and dusted off her back as best she could. She reeled with the enormity of what they had done. Her cheeks were hot with shame even as her body continued to pulse with aftershocks.
She wasn't finished yet. It was over too soon. Incomplete. She wanted a tender aftermath. She wanted the closeness that was supposed to follow what they had just shared.
What had she expected, a profession of love, a hearty thank-you, a tension-easing joke? Lucas gave her nothing more than a casual glance with empty, emotionless eyes before he started down the rocky path toward the floor of the canyon.
She covered her face with her hands in a vain attempt to get a grip on herself. Her knees could barely support her as she walked to the edge of the plateau. The sight that greeted her did nothing to restore her composure.
Official cars, each with its red and blue lights flashing, clustered around the hogan. The small dwelling was swarming with men in uniforms, like bees around a honeycomb. One officer was poking around in her car.
"Put your hands over your head, Greywolf," a voice barked at him through a bullhorn.
Lucas complied, though it made his descent down the mountainside hazardous.
Feeling helpless, Aislinn watched from above. An ambulance roared up to the front door of the hogan. Moments later Joseph Greywolf's draped body was carried out on a collapsible gurney. Alice, supported by Gene Dexter's arm, followed close behind.
Two officers came scrambling up the slope toward Lucas. When they reached him, each grabbed an arm and roughly drew it behind him. One clamped on a pair of handcuffs before they started down again.
Lucas walked tall. His bearing was haughty, almost condescending. He seemed impervious to what was going on around him. Only when he saw the ambulance doors closing on his grandfather's body did Aislinn notice a tension in his shoulders. Alice ran toward her son and threw her arms around his waist. Lucas bent his head and kissed her cheek before a deputy sheriff rudely jerked him toward a waiting car.
Seconds before they pushed him inside, he raised his head and looked directly at Aislinn where she still stood on the precipice. Except for that, she might not have existed for Lucas Greywolf.
* * *