Chapter Seventy-Three
Jack was relieved. It had been so hard watching Luz slip away bit by bit, day after day. She passed on in her sleep. It was Datiye who found her that way. Two women, Luz’s cousin and sister-in-law, came to help Datiye prepare her for burial. They took her away to bathe and dress her.
“Are you all right?”
He turned to look at Candice. He wanted comforting, wanted her to hold him, love him. Instead he nodded abruptly and walked away. To think and grieve, although in truth he had little grief left to give.
He wandered down to a secluded glade by the creek, clad only in a loincloth and moccasins, and perched on a boulder, the sun warming his bare torso.
It was still hard to accept that Shozkay was gone—that was harder than accepting Luz’s self-willed death.
He thought of his wife. Incredibly, she had adapted, or appeared to have adapted.
He knew she hadn’t forgiven him for getting Datiye pregnant, but she seemed to have accepted it, and he was hopeful that that was the first step in the direction of understanding and forgiveness.
Somehow, someday, he wanted them to be able to put all this behind them and live as friends and lovers, man and wife.
And he wondered if it would ever be possible.
Of course, she still hated Datiye. Or maybe hate was too strong a word. He always felt uneasy when he left the two of them alone at some task, dreading that he would return to find a dead woman and a battered victor. He wondered how long they could go on not speaking to each other.
And, of course, Datiye hated Candice. Even more than vice versa, although Candice didn’t realize it.
Datiye knew her position as Jack’s wife was solely because of the child, while Candice was his wife because he loved her.
There was also the fact that Candice chose to make blatant her claim on him by sleeping with him in his bedroll every night.
Now, that was torture. And getting worse day by day.
He was afraid one night he’d wake up and find himself Coupling with his wife in the middle of the camp.
It would be the height of bad taste, worse, a loss of face.
Just thinking about it made him hard.
He had carefully kept away from several divorced women who had made it known they would be only too happy to cheer him up while he was burdened with two pregnant wives.
Not that he wanted any of them, he truly didn’t, but the last thing he needed was for Candice to stumble across him while he was being propositioned, as he had been yesterday by Gaage.
She was very young, recently widowed, but apparently not grieving.
She had given him coy looks on several occasions.
Yesterday she had intercepted him on his way back from bathing and had engaged him in a conversation.
When he had cut it short, she had grabbed him and rubbed herself against him.
There were some things a man couldn’t avoid, especially after a couple of weeks of denial, and a physical reaction to a warm female body was one of them.
Thank all the gans Candice had not chosen that moment to appear.
He had sent Gaage away with unequivocal words, but he had the unhappy feeling she would be back.
He heard a noise behind him and felt himself grow grim. He was sure it was her, come to tempt him again. He started when he saw Candice.
She paused uncertainly at the base of an ancient oak. He tried not to look at her as if he were starving, but she was incredibly beautiful, and he could not be unaffected looking at her. Especially when she was carrying his child.
“Jack?” She came forward.
He wanted her touch. He stiffened. “Candice, I need to be alone,” he said, but his voice was husky.
He stared out at the creek, but was intensely aware of her having stopped behind him.
He felt her hands on his shoulders. They slid up to his neck, firm, kneading, then dropped.
She walked around the rock to his side. Her eyes were big, navy blue, sad.
“I feel sad too,” she murmured.
He looked at her. Then, simultaneously, he reached out for her and she leaned against him, wrapping her arms around him.
They held each other, rocking slightly, hearts beating together.
He closed his eyes and pressed his face against her silken hair.
Somehow she was standing between his thighs.
She leaned fully into him, her thigh pressing against his thick arousal.
She looked up.
He caught her face in his hands and kissed her. The first touch was soft, then exploded into urgent need. His lips tore hers. Biting, nipping, pulling, and slanting down with an insatiable possessiveness. She moaned. He invaded with his tongue. He needed her … now.
He picked her up effortlessly and carried her away from the creek, into the woods, deeper and deeper, until he was sure no one would stumble across them.
She was clinging to him, her face against his bare chest, her lips moving, caressing his skin, finding a nipple and teasing it with her tongue.
With a groan, he sank to his knees, lowering her on a natural bed of pine needles, and with trembling fingers he began to unbutton her blouse.
She strained toward him, catching his face in her hands, kissing him hard, demandingly.
“Damn.” He groaned, rumbling with her buttons while she poured kisses on his mouth and jaw and throat.
He pulled away, finally getting the last button open to reveal her white, swollen, blue-veined breasts.
With shaking hands he pulled off her shirt, then her chemise, clutching her lush flesh and lifting it up for his intent gaze. “Candice,” he said, “God, Candice.”
She whimpered.
He took a large, darkening nipple in his mouth and tugged with his teeth.
She reached out and deftly untied the loincloth, letting it drop, exposing the swollen length of him.
She stared for one long moment, then lifted her eyes to his.
When she looked back down it was to reach out one forefinger and touch the quivering tip, removing a drop of semen.
She touched it to her lips. Jack groaned.
She lifted her skirt up to her waist, spreading her thighs to reveal glistening pink flesh.
He was breathing too loudly, too raggedly. He rolled onto his back, pulling her up on top of him in one movement. He held her hips immobile as he thrust upward, deeply, while she eased down fully on his length, trembling, the sensation of fullness exquisite. He reached for her breasts.
She moved.
He slipped one hand beneath her skirt, finding her moist, slick flesh, sliding his finger over her clitoris, around it, beneath it, lifting it.
She whimpered, and he watched her, knowing she was close, so close …
She fell forward with a cry. He surged up into her, letting himself go, exploding harshly, uncontrollably, ecstatically.
Then he sank into bliss, with Candice embraced firmly in his arms.
“Oh, Jack,” she said.
He stroked her face. Then he cupped the back of her head with one large hand and pulled her closer, kissing her. When he opened his eyes he saw that hers were closed. He kissed her again. “I love you,” he told her hoarsely, then felt himself go tense with expectation.
She looked at him solemnly. Then she smiled slightly, brushing a lock of his hair from his forehead. “No need to deny ourselves, just because the Apaches do.”
He kept the hurt from showing in his eyes.
But he wanted to know, had she fallen out of love with him? Or had she ever even loved him? They were not thoughts he liked. “We should try,” he said, then pulled her closer and began moving slowly inside her again.