Page 51 of West Wind

“Then you’d never get to San Francisco.” He kept his voice light. He could never let her see how scared he’d been.

“Maybe I’d be better off if I never saw San Francisco again. I should have become the fourth Mrs. Swift Eagle and disappeared.”

“Don’t say that,” he rasped.

She finally turned to him and gave him a daunting look. “Then you’d have six ponies, and you wouldn’t have to worry about crossing the desert or being forced to spend the next few weeks with someone you can’t stand the sight of.”

“That’s not true.”

“I’m not so insensitive that I can’t tell how much you dislike me.” Her strength was coming back; her voice was back to normal. “Oh, you tolerate my presence well enough, I’ll give you that. I don’t mind. I’d just like to know why.”

He tried to think of a flippant answer, something that would keep her at a distance, but when he looked at her he couldn’t do it. Her brown eyes looked huge in a delicate face with that perfect nose and inviting lips. He searched for the timid girl he’d seen at the Silver Palace, but she wasn’t here. This Annie had a sun-kissed face, and hair like silk, and a body he had to force himself not to reach out for every night as she lay just across the campfire from him. This amazing woman had discarded her widow’s attire for form-fitting clothes, a hat with an eagle feather in it, a medicine bag, a knife, and those damn red boots. She looked directly at him, waiting for an answer.

He sighed. “Ah, Annie. Sometimes you’re so damned dense. It’s not that I don’t like you. I’ve lived on my own for a long time, and I like it that way.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you to marry me,” she replied sharply. “I thought we were friends once. Can’t we at least be friends again?”

“Hell, I don’t think so.”

“You’re breaking our pact again,” she accused.

“Yes I am, goddammit. Hellfire, damnation…”

Annie cocked her head and frowned at him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m breaking the damned pact.” He offered his hand to her. He would show her why they couldn’t be friends. “Your turn.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He slid across the grass and put his arm around her shoulder. “I’m breaking the pact. Now it’s your turn. I want you to touch me.”

She held the blanket under her chin with both hands. “I don’t⁠—”

“Just do it.”

Annabelle didn’t want to release her hold on the blanket, so she turned her head and kissed the side of Shelley’s neck. His skin was warm, comforting and tempting against her lips. She’d barely moved away when he pressed her back into the grass and covered her lips with his. He didn’t give her a gentle kiss, but one that vented all his rage and frustration. When her shock subsided she returned his kiss with all the fire he lit within her. Her hands found their way from underneath the blanket to his throat, his face, the back of his neck.

He pulled his lips away from hers and stared into her eyes. “Do you see what I mean, Annie? You think I don’t like you. The truth is I like you too much. It’s easier for me to keep my distance than to get too close knowing we can never⁠—”

“Why can’t we?”

“Because I’m the worst thing that could happen to you.” Her lips were mere inches away. In spite of his words he kissed her again, but this time it was tender.

“Shouldn’t I have something to say about that?” She held him close, her hands clasped at the back of his neck.

“You don’t know what’s best for you. I do.”

She stared at him, this man who was as much a part of the untamed country as the mountains, the plains, the desert itself. “Look who’s talking,” she whispered. “Let yourself get beaten nearly to death for a woman you don’t even want.” She knew it was a lie. His eyes told her how much he wanted her. His eyes and his lips.

He rolled away from her and spread the blanket that had gotten twisted around her legs and her torso beneath her. His browned hand looked strong and dark as he rested it against her stomach. She didn’t try to cover herself or hide from him as he began to slide his hands over her body.

She watched those dark hands against her breasts and her legs. This was what she’d wanted, what she’d craved for weeks. When he kissed her again she spread her legs. He rested his hand between her thighs, there where she wanted him so much. She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“This isn’t fair,” she whispered when he moved his lips from hers to burn her throat and her breasts with their touch.

“What’s not fair, darlin’?”

“Don’t you think you should get out of those wet things?”