Chapter 11 #2
He stiffened. “Better it is that I see you like this than to feel your body next to mine. When we hold each other like this, I think of things I shouldn’t.”
“Things?”
He groaned. “Things like this.” He leaned down to place his lips against hers. It was sweet torture, that kiss. He wanted more, so much more, but now was not the right time or the right place.
“Come.” Bending, he picked her up into his arms, holding her naked body against his chest. Without further argument, he moved as gently yet as swiftly as he could—through the water, onward toward Angelia’s own private nook.
Angelia could feel the heat of Swift Hawk’s body. Moreover, she required no imagination to remember the impression of his hips against hers. It was the first time she had ever borne witness to the arousal of a man.
It wasn’t true that she was too innocent to know the facts of life. Certainly she was more than aware of male anatomy. But she had never experienced it like this. And despite herself, she found it…pleasant.
At the very least, it took her attention off the snake, momentarily.
What would she have done if Swift Hawk hadn’t been close at hand? She had been afraid to scream, had been more fearful of the discovery and censure from her peers than she had been of saving her own life.
Swift Hawk said that the snake wasn’t poisonous, yet Angelia couldn’t help feeling that she had experienced a near brush with death, and the aftershock was affecting her body strangely. She felt cold, so very cold, and she couldn’t stop shaking.
It seemed as if the only warmth in her world at this moment was Swift Hawk, and she wound her arms around his neck, vowing she would never let go.
At last, however, she became aware that he was wading to shore.
Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder to see where they were, breathing a sigh of relief as she recognized the old cottonwood.
She spoke to the tree. “I had an accident.”
Wind whooshed through the tree’s leaves, making it appear as if it answered.
The tree gestured toward a grassy, cushioned spot near its trunk.
And Swift Hawk, who was probably aware of the language of the woods, sat down there, Angelia’s arms still wound tightly around his neck, her body resting in his lap.
Gracefully, the branches of the old tree settled over the pair of them, its leaves hanging downward around them, creating a curtain of sorts. It all but hid them.
Swift Hawk straightened, reaching a hand up, attempting to take one of her arms from around his neck. Angelia wouldn’t let it happen. Holding on tightly, she said, “Do not leave me. I am so cold.”
“I will not leave, but come, let me warm you. If you let go, I will rub your arms and legs for warmth, and then I will find your clothes and will help you dress.”
He again tried to pry her arms from around him.
“No,” she protested, “don’t do that. I am afraid you will leave.”
He frowned, then said, “I understand.” He drew her closer in his arms, doing no more than holding her, although he did run his hands up and down her back.
Up to her neck, down, down, almost to her buttocks, he traced her spine over and over.
Mindlessly, the minutes ticked by until gradually, because his body was so close to hers, Angelia became aware that the man was very aroused.
Because of her? Somehow, the knowledge was a potent stimulus to her femininity, and she felt an answering warmth spreading through her torso. “It would be better for you if I were dressed, wouldn’t it?”
He gave her one brief nod.
“Very well. Will you help me?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, she felt him swallow. Odd. Strange, too, how he was slow to agree, slow to nod. At length, he said, “I will help you, as I said I would, but there is a limit to my control. This you should know.”
“What do you mean?”
He inhaled sharply, the sound making a slight hissing noise. He was otherwise silent.
She prompted again, “What do you mean, there is a limit to your control? Are you saying that your arms are growing weak from having to hold me?”
He met her question with silence, his only answer seeming to be his very breathing. At last he said, “I mean that I want you as a man wants a wife.”
Want you…as a man wants a wife. The words were erotic. They did things to her. Wonderful, warm things. And, though it seemed impossible that she could scoot in closer to him, she did manage it.
He was continuing. “But you are not a wife to me…yet…and so I must exercise control over the desires of my body.”
She didn’t know why she wasn’t shocked by such candid talk.
Maybe it was because the two of them could talk to each other, and often had.
Or perhaps she was simply comfortable with him.
Regardless, she was far from being offended.
Indeed, if she were to be honest, she would admit that his confession did much to stimulate her, and gentle warmth enveloped her.
Moreover, something else was happening to her, a craving for something, a stirring of something, down in her nether region, between her legs.
Was this love?
The thought was startling. Did she love this man? No. Impossible. They were worlds apart.
And yet she couldn’t deny that she wanted his touch, wanted it like she had never wanted anything else in her life.
She whispered softly, “Mr. Hawk, are you saying that you want to make love to me?”
He nodded. “Haa’he.”
It was a simple word, a Cheyenne word she knew meant “yes”, and yet its utterance here, now, sent her head spinning.
She felt herself swooning, melting into him, and all at once it seemed she couldn’t get close enough to him.
His skin was soft beneath her fingers, and she pressed into him, wishing that they could merge into one.
She inhaled, and the musky scent of his masculinity, combined with the fragrance of the Missouri River, filled her senses.
Dear Lord, his confession was building a fire within her, for her heartbeat quickened, and she wanted more…
of him…of his touch. For the first time in her life, Angelia understood on an entirely corporeal level the word “need”.
Was this, then, passion? For if it were, it was delicious. Little understanding what she did or why, she whispered, “Mr. Hawk, if it be true that you desire to make love to me, perhaps you should do so.”
Her statement certainly created an effect. He sat up straighter and jerked his head back, that he might stare directly into her eyes, as if to question her sanity.
She had already gone too far. She wanted him close…very close. She needed him…completely. Softly, she said, “The way I see it, when you saved my life, my life became yours, Mr. Hawk. And if this is something you desire—”
“That is not how it works. You are your own person. You owe me nothing.”
“That isn’t how I see it. I feel very deeply that if this is something you want, then I should be willing to—”
He shook his head. “No. When two people make love to each other, they do so because there is love in their hearts, not obligation.”
“I see. Does this mean, then, that you love me?”
He paused, as though he were carefully choosing his next words. “It is easier for a man to make love without being in love, than it is for a woman, I think. That is why a good man will try to make a woman love him. She will enjoy their physical life better if she does.”
“Are you saying that you don’t love me?”
“I desire you more than I have ever desired another woman in my life.”
Angelia gulped. Did he realize that the way he had said “desire” caused her to wish to keep him in her arms…forever? But all she said in reply was “I too have a confession to make.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I…I desire you too, I think. For, if I am to be honest, I don’t want you to stop holding me. Does that make a difference?”
He drew physically back from her, even though it was only a fraction of an inch. “Do not say these things to me, for you are naked in my arms and it would be easy for me to take advantage of you. A good man would not do so. And I like to think I am a good man.”
“Yes, yes, you are. But would a good man let me catch my death from the cold?”
He moaned, the look in his eyes tender. “I understand. You don’t really want me to make love to you. You are simply cold.”
“Yes, I am cold, but—”
“I will warm you.” He brought a hand up to smooth back a lock of her hair, letting his fingers trail slowly through it. Gradually, he rubbed her head.
“Hmmm,” she whispered. “That feels wonderful.”
“You are beautiful,” he said, “and you could have any man in camp as your husband, if you would but say the word to him.”
She gave Swift Hawk a smile. “Thank you…I think.”
He continued, “Saaa, I do not understand why you have sought me out, amongst so many others. You are white; I am Indian. We share nothing in common, not even the culture in which we have been raised. Why are you here with me now when—?”
“Because,” she interrupted, “you saved me. Because you are helping my brother too. And because I feel as if I could tell you anything and you would probably still like me. I know you desire me now, but you do like me, don’t you?”
“I like you.” His touch fell over her cheek toward her neck. Gently, he rubbed the sensitive spots on her neck. “In truth, I like you a little too much. At times, what I feel alarms me, for I do not understand it.”
“What is there to understand? You either like a person or not, don’t you?”
“It is complicated.”
“Is it?”
He nodded, letting his touch fall toward her bosom.
Slowly, he allowed his fingers to fall down the middle of her chest, tracing her breastbone, and ignored for the moment her two softened mounds on either side of that bone.
Angelia closed her eyes and sighed, arching her back ever so slightly that he might take the hint and extend his range.