Chapter Twelve

Oh, what a kiss.

As his lips captured hers, his hands came up to cup her face, holding her gently, as though even his fingers adored her. Slowly he trailed a forefinger down over her cheek, to her neck.

And while raw hunger swept through her like a living inferno, Carolyn, closing her eyes, went limp. She simply could not control it. Despite what she had said, despite what she had tried to make him—and perhaps herself, too—believe, she had yearned for this moment.

And as his tongue swept into her mouth, shutting off whatever protest she might have made, Carolyn could barely conjure up a single thought.

Not when the soft texture of his mouth, the musky scent of his skin, the utter thrill of his lips on hers made her wish that this moment might never end. She leaned in closer to him, and instinctively, she knew she needed more, so much more.

She felt herself sway in toward him, and he took a step forward, as though in welcome, the action bringing his body into full contact with hers. Of their own accord, her arms wound around his neck, and she held on like she might never let go.

Hard contours pressed up against her soft ones and Carolyn became aware of him, of the rugged imprint of his masculinity which thrust against her.

Lord help her, their positions, her awareness of him, created such an ecstasy within her, she felt it impossible to catch her breath. And without willing herself to do so, she pushed herself even further into his arms, merging her body with his in silent invitation.

His voice was strained when he asked, “Do you understand, Carolyn?” He relinquished her lips for a moment, giving her time to come up for breath. And nuzzling her ear, he whispered, “Do you see? Do you accept that I could make you mine?”

She shook her head slightly, resting her face against the crook of his neck, listening to the harsh sound of his breathing, glorying in the solid feel of his chest as it rose and fell.

Had she done this to him?

She said, “Then marry me, Lone Arrow, marry me and be done with it. Only Lone Arrow,” she threw her head back slightly so that she could look up at him, “don’t think that you will be able to control what I do because of it.”

He groaned. “A woman should obey her man.”

“I will, when I marry,” she said, “as long as I agree with him.”

“And if you do not agree?”

“Then we will have to speak to one another about it, because I would never do something that I thought might be wrong, and I will not stop searching for the cave.”

Lone Arrow sighed, and even the simple movement of his chest beneath her fingertips seduced her, creating a yearning that gnawed at her.

And as raw excitement filled her soul, she realized that, right or wrong, she wanted this man. He might be from an entirely foreign culture, he might be her nemesis at this moment, yet she craved his arms around her. Craved his presence in her life. In truth, she wanted all of him, mind, body and soul.

“Such a stubborn, stubborn woman, you are,” he observed as he stroked her lips with his tongue.

And at the magic of that caress, a tremor stormed through her. She shivered.

Nonetheless, she found it within herself to return his criticism, saying, “Such an obstinate man, you are.”

He paused. Then, “I will not show you the caves because of it.”

It? What was it?

She became lost. Was he talking about love or caves or marriage…or was it sex? This last notion sent dizzying eagerness bolting through her. And oh, how she ached to have his lips back on hers.

Why were they talking?

But he seemed intent on the matter at hand, and he went on to elaborate. “I do not accept your challenge, no matter what you might think.”

Was she supposed to be thinking? She asked, “My challenge?”

“I will not show you the cave, no matter if I make you my wife.”

Oh, yes, of course, marriage. They had been speaking of marriage.

She opened her mouth to state again what she must, but at that very same moment, he raised one of his hands and ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek. And, heaven help her, her mind went blank.

Reaching out with both his hands, he cupped her face in his palms and gazed down at her. And there was such a look of intensity upon his face that it made her insides somersault. Truly, she felt as helpless as if she were a rag, fluttering in a summer storm. And then he kissed her again, fully, completely, absolutely.

Carolyn forgot all the reasons why she was supposed to resist him. In truth, she could not even recall why she was here, let alone understand the topic at hand. All she could think of was him, his lips, his embrace. And dear Lord, she wanted more. Always more.

But as if destined, it did not last. Just as she’d been about to surrender her heart to him, he dropped his arms from around her and took a single step backward.

Carolyn swayed. She felt bereft. And she might have thrown herself back into his arms, if she hadn’t made the mistake of looking up at him at that exact moment.

His look caused her to frown. What was wrong? Why did he appear suddenly forbidding? All she wanted was another kiss.

He said, “I would have you understand.”

She must have looked confused, or maybe she simply continued to frown at him, for he went on to explain, “I would have you understand, without the lure of passion filling your soul, that if I make you my wife, I will not be coerced into taking you to the cave. We will go back to my people.”

Oh. So that was it.

Well, fine. She understood; of course she understood. What he did not seem to know was that at this moment in time, it mattered not at all. Alas, nothing seemed to concern her.

Something was happening to her. And try though she might to look straight at him, she seemed to be gazing down upon them both, from a viewpoint far above them. And at present, she felt carefree.

It was an odd feeling; strange, really. For the world suddenly seemed a bright, sunny place. And there was nothing wrong. In truth, there seemed to be nothing of worth happening in the world at all, except her, him, the passion they shared, her family.

Her family?

Like an arrow shooting straight to its target, Carolyn remembered: why she was here, who she was, who he was and why she needed him. And like a hunter’s target, she felt herself plummet to the earth.

She teetered on her feet unsteadily for a second as a heaviness descended upon her. And clearing her throat, she found she could barely speak, although she knew she must. Finally, mustering together what she could, she was able to utter, “I—I do understand. Y-you want to marry me so I will have to obey you. But my conditions remain. I will marry you only if you promise to take me to the cave. I’m sorry, Lone Arrow, but I am desperate.”

So, there it was. They had reached the same impasse that they had encountered the previous evening. They both knew it and yet, he said, “It is wrong. I know it is not a thing I should do, still…”

Still what? She wanted to ask, but she was afraid. So she remained silent instead, daring nothing.

And at last he said, “I would have you.”

It appeared that he had settled some point of argument within himself, for at once, without waiting for her to answer, he fell to his knees before her, drawing her down to the ground as well.

It was a highly erotic position. Knee to knee, chest to chest, his arms swept around her, holding her.

“Say it,” she said, as he pulled down her drawers, his fingers going unerringly to the softness of her core.

“Say what?”

Was he so dense that he didn’t know? Or was he merely unaware that she needed to hear it from his lips?

On a sigh she uttered, “Tell me you care for me.”

“I care.” He complied to her request at once, although he went on to mutter, “Against my better judgment, I care.”

But this last didn’t matter. Not now. Not when raw passion filled her heart.

And oh, how she wanted his touch there, even though she felt a twinge of embarrassment. But as a drop of moisture does to the heat of day, even her shyness fled as he moved against her. Heaven help her, she found herself twisting against him, also, in a most erotic way, shocking herself…almost…

Desire filled her soul, and as she stared up at him, he pushed back her hair, his touch sending liquid fire streaming along her nerves.

And with a huskiness in his voice, he said, “You are ready for me.”

Was she? Did she even know what that meant?

She gazed into his midnight eyes and asked, “Is this what it means to make love?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Are we going to make love?”

He did not answer her right away; indeed, he stared at her with such fervor, it made her feel as though he looked straight to her soul. And perhaps he did, for she felt as though they had been as one, if only for a moment.

He nodded. “We will make love.”

She gulped.

And he said, “I would make you my wife.”

“I see,” she said. “Is this how it is done, then?”

Another nod from him.

“It is not the way of things in my culture,” she said softly. “In my world, I would be branded a loose woman if we were to seal this lovers’ act.”

Lone Arrow did not miss a beat as he said, “The white men have many strange customs. Know that in my world, this is how a man and woman secure their vows.” And then, with his gaze trained so very, very softly onto hers, he asked, “Do you become my wife?”

There was a lump in her throat that she could not quite swallow, as she tried to find her voice. At last she was able to state, “I…yes, Lone Arrow, I do.”

He nodded, satisfied, and with barely a pause, he proceeded to remove those drawers. But she brushed his hands away. She, too, would be certain of him. And she asked, “Do you also promise to be my husband?”

Lone Arrow breathed in deeply and brought a finger up to caress her cheek, before he placed a light kiss on her lips. He said, “I will.”

Carolyn shut her eyes, as though in defense against an emotional tempest. Her lips quivered, and no matter that in her world, theirs would be no real marriage, together, beneath the bright blue heavens and within the sight of God, they had made their vows.

She said, “Then I suppose we are married…in a way.”

He caressed her face with a delicate touch, smiling down at her as he replied, “There is no suppose about it or at least there will not be in a very short time.”

And so it was upon that final note, he drew her to the ground.

 

Was this love?

It felt as though it might be.

Carolyn gazed up at Lone Arrow as he lay over and above her. She was no fool. Carolyn was aware that there was a difference between a schoolgirl crush and a lifelong love. Was this it? And if it were the same, when had it started?

Just now? Or had it been at the age of eleven?

Had she actually fallen in love with this man all those years ago? The notion was perhaps a little farfetched, yet for all that, it could be true.

She glanced up at him as she drew her fingers through his dark, coarse hair, loosening his braids, hearing him groan in reaction to her. At the same time, a shimmer of excitement swept through her.

She repeated the action, satisfied when she felt him tremble beneath her fingertips. Then, without taking his gaze from her, he broke away to sit up and remove his quiver from around his shoulders, his motions quick, exact. In less time than such an action would seem to take, he was finished and he threw himself back into her arms.

Smiling up at him, with a gentle touch she let her fingers trail down the hard plane of his chest.

He shivered, moaning in her ear and Carolyn wondered, did he melt at her touch, as she did with him? Did he yearn for her?

She murmured, “Do you feel it too?”

His eyes met hers as though the two of them were co-conspirators in a sea of swirling motion. And he asked softly, “Do you mean the fire?”

Fire. It was a perfect word for a perfect feeling.

She smiled and nodded, while her fingers caressed the toughened edges of his face.

He groaned as though in appreciation, then said, “It has always been this way with us, I think. It has been there, simmering.”

Was he admitting that he had liked her, had maybe even desired her, all those years ago? It was hard to believe. And she observed, “But you barely paid any attention to me when we were younger.”

“You were eleven years old.”

“So?”

“You were a child.”

“You were, too.”

He shook his head. “I was a man of sixteen winters.”

Carolyn had to smile at that, he sounded so proud. But she made no comment. Instead, she said, “I see. And now I am no longer eleven. Is that it?”

In answer, he bent down to kiss the words from her lips.

And, in response, Carolyn forgot to question him further.

However, changing the subject, he asked, “Have you ever known a man in this way?”

“In this way?” she asked in a whisper, momentarily confused. “You mean have I ever made love to a man?”

He nodded.

Shaking her head, she said, “No.”

He stiffened. She felt it at once, and she wondered at the cause.

At length, he asked, “Never?”

“No, why?”

He rolled away from her, casually, as though nothing were wrong. And though he kept her in his embrace, Carolyn witnessed such a stern look of determination on his face, she felt disconcerted.

She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could voice a single word, he withdrew from her. Why?

She reached out to touch him. But he drew back.

And she asked, “What’s wrong?”

Dropping his arms from around her, he turned his back on her. Worse, he picked up his quiver case and bow, positioning them back around his shoulders, a sure sign that something was wrong.

“What have I done?” she tried again, stretching out a hand to him, but not touching him. She dared not, for even the space around him vibrated.

He did not answer her right away. Indeed, he drew in his breath so deeply and let it out so swiftly, she wondered if he were ill. Finally, he said, still without glancing at her, “Look around you.”

She scanned the horizon. “All right,” she said, “I did.”

“What do you see?”

“A flat prairie. Mountains in the distance, some hills; a very blue sky.”

“And where is the sun?”

She glanced up. “Hmmm…almost overhead.”

“Humph!” he said. “And now you know why.”

“Why what? What am I supposed to know?”

He made another one of those animal sounds, deep in his throat before he spoke, at last saying, “We cannot make love…here…now.”

She frowned. “We can’t?”

He nodded, still without turning around to confront her. Then, casually, as though he might have undergone this conversation every day of his life, he said, “Ho! It should have occurred to me, but it did not. Or maybe I did think about it, but did not want to admit it.”

He had lost her. “Admit what?” she asked.

“It did not occur to me,” he said, “that you would not have known a man by now. Since you presented yourself to me in the flesh last night, I assumed that you had been married, or at least had some experience.”

He must have heard her slight gasp behind him, for he went on to explain, “It is not so unusual for me to think this. Girls in our tribe are usually married by your age. Some are already widows. Though you told me you are not now married, I thought perhaps you might mourn a husband.”

“I see,” she said, but did she? What did this have to do with what was happening between them, here and now?

But she did not have long to wonder, for he went on to say, “Your innocence should not be taken here, at this time, and in a place where others could find us. A woman’s first experience should be special for her. We will wait, I think.”

“Oh.” So that was it. She might have said more. Maybe she should have. However, she was at this moment, a little too embarrassed about the subject at hand, too flustered to speak up. Plus, if she were to be honest, she would have to admit to being extraordinarily stimulated. Indeed, at this moment, she simply did not care about the time of day.

She was not so uninhibited that she could tell him that, however.

But he was continuing to explain, extinguishing her need for a reply, and he said, “My friend and his wife, Pretty Moon, will find us soon, and perhaps we should not be caught in a lover’s embrace. In due time, our friends will come to know what is happening between us, but we do not need to show them so plainly. We will wait to marry, I think.”

When he turned around to face her, she thought she espied a look of sympathy, illuminated there within the depths of his gaze.

Sympathy? Why? She needed no one’s sympathy.

And while a momentary surge of protest welled up within her, and she opened her mouth to voice it, the words never materialized. For he had extended a hand toward her, letting a single fingertip smooth down over her cheek.

She bent her head toward that touch, while a flood of unadulterated desire raced along her nerve endings. She even reached out to touch his chest.

But he would not be swayed from his decision, it would appear, no matter what she did. He came up onto his feet, casting one last glance at her before he trod away. And so quickly did he go, Carolyn felt as though she had been left midair.

Worse, she had the strangest feeling. As if she had held the world in her hands and had let it slip away from her.

It was then she realized that she knew nothing about what was going on between herself and this man. In truth, she knew little about Lone Arrow, about love, or about men in general, for that matter. Let alone what might be expected from her in his, or even her culture.

She wondered: What did men want from women? What did women want from men? What did she need? And he? Should she have done something differently?

Would Pretty Moon know?

Briefly Carolyn recalled the other woman’s words in sign: Watch me with my husband tonight and you will see how to manage a man.

Well, good enough, Carolyn thought. It required little effort to sit and observe. Perhaps she might learn something useful.

In the meanwhile, she had better busy herself with preparations for tonight. Surely Lone Arrow would approach her then.

And so it was that on this note Carolyn arose to follow her man.