Carolyn Davidson – The Outlaw's Bride (страница 12)
“I know nothing but what my mother told me of men,” she said simply. “She might have given me instructions of my duty to a husband if she hadn’t died so young, but as it was I came here to the farm as a girl, not yet a woman, and probably not ready to hear such things.”
“Don’t girls of your tribe marry young?” he asked, wondering that no young man had craved her attention during her growing-up years.
“Many of them long before my age,” she said, nodding as if she remembered such things happening. “But my mother kept me away from the men who would have asked for me. She said I was too young to have a husband.”
“And she was right.” Tyler’s voice was strong, his words definite, as if he were thankful for the intelligence of her mother.
“I’m glad she protected me,” Debra said softly, remembering the woman who had cared for her during those years with her tribe. “She taught me to cook, and sew my clothing. My father had shown me how to skin and gut a rabbit. I suppose I could do the same with a deer, but I’ve never shot one. I didn’t know what I’d do with all that meat, and so I just use whatever I can barter with my neighbors for. And I sacrifice a chicken once in a while.”
“On the altar of your hunger?” he asked, his face sober, while his eyes laughed with pleasure at her words.
She smiled, pleased at his humor. “I guess you could say that. Although I’m not often hungry.”
His look was critical. “I’ve noticed. You’re entirely too slim. Almost thin, in fact.”
“Thank you,” she said, and frowned as she recognized that her tone was as chilled as a December morning. “I’ll try to add some weight to make you happy.”
Allowing a grin to curl his lips, he shook his head at her. “You don’t need to do anything but breathe to make me happy, sweetheart. I’ll take you just the way you are, and as often as possible.”
What he’d meant by that remark was a puzzle, she thought, allowing her mind to repeat his words silently.
“You look like I’ve said something to upset you, and I didn’t mean to. I was only being—”
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I’m not upset, though I’ll admit I don’t understand some of the things you say. I’m afraid I’m a simple soul, Tyler. You’ll have to speak plainly to get through to me.” Her hands pushed at his chest and she stepped away from him, from the hold he’d managed to maintain on her waist.
But even that small move didn’t keep him from her, for his face darkened, as if with anger, and yet he was not harsh as he reached for her again. Perhaps it was fear that spoke aloud, maybe only the innocence she hated, even as she acknowledged its presence.
“Don’t manhandle me, Tyler. I’ve never allowed any man to put his hands on me. And you’ll not be given that privilege, either. Until I marry you, you’ll let me be.”
“Wrong, Nightsong.” His eyes narrowed as he scanned her form, his gaze seeming to dwell on each small part of her, and she felt her breasts beneath her clothing, knew they swelled to fill the fabric of her chemise. His hands were warm against her waist, his long fingers resting just beneath the heaviness of her breasts. He had no right, no reason to treat her so. And she turned on him in anger.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to speak of marriage any longer. Allowing you into my bed doesn’t seem like such a good idea, and unless I miss my guess, you think I’m going to submit to whatever you have in mind for me.”
“All this because I like to touch you?” he asked, his smile lacking humor.
“Is that what you call it? I had to put up with your shenanigans the first few days you were here, Tyler. I’ve managed to get you out of my bed and onto the floor, and unless I change my mind in the near future, that’s where you’ll stay.”
“I don’t think so.”
As a statement of intent it could not be bettered, she decided and she turned from him, the need to hide her tears of major importance right now. And why the man had the ability to make her shed those hated salty drops was beyond her. She only knew that she somehow allowed him to make her feel helpless, like a woman without strength to make her own choices. Debra Nightsong was not a woman to be subdued so easily.
“Have I frightened you again?” His words angered her and she felt her face burn with humiliation.
“You don’t frighten me. You never have. I fear no man, Tyler whoever you are.”
He grinned, the challenge of his frown, the dark anger he’d directed at her a thing of the past. “I think we’re having an argument, Nightsong. Our first, if I’m not mistaken. And I’d just as soon not be exchanging harsh words with you.”
“Then just be quiet and leave me alone.” She turned away, her hands peeling his from her body, and went into the house. The kitchen was dark but she knew her way well and walked across to the hallway and from there to her bedroom. In a house this small there was no trick to gaining the one room she could claim as her own and hope for privacy to be granted her.
The door closed with a solid sound behind her and she leaned against it, her mind spinning. She was so angry at him, and for the life of her she wasn’t sure why. He’d handled her as if it were his right, and that alone was enough to fire her temper. But his intentions were honorable, she’d stake her life on that fact. Yet, she could somehow not give her total acceptance to his proposal, for he asked more than she was willing or perhaps able to give him.
Behind her the door moved, and she recognized that he had lifted the latch, that he was putting his weight against it, moving her from her position. In mere seconds he would be trespassing in her domain—
“Step away from the door, Debra. I don’t want to hurt you when I push it open.”
She trembled at his words, knowing that he would not back down, that his determination exceeded her own in this matter. Her head bowed, she walked into the center of the bedroom, and behind her, heard the door swing open, knew the moment he entered the quiet of her bedroom.
“Why are you running from me?”
She turned to face him, knowing she was but a dim shadow in the darkness of her room. He was limned in the doorway, the kitchen lamp glowing behind him, and she was struck with the size of him, the width of his shoulders, the way his head brushed close to the lintel. “I haven’t run. Only tried to find a place by myself, where I can think my own thoughts without you…”
He walked closer to her, almost touching her clothing with his own, so near did he stand. The warmth exuding from his body touched her with fingers of fire and she withdrew, almost trying to shrink within the contours of her dress. “I’ve never tried to infringe on your privacy, Debra, only tried to speak with you, to make you understand my thoughts and ideas. I don’t know how to convince you that I’d be a good husband to you, that marriage for us would be a good choice.”
“You’re infringing on me now,” she said harshly, her voice lifting with the anger behind it. “Go away, Tyler, and leave me be. I don’t want you near me.”
He smiled, and she was almost convinced by the gentleness that expression conveyed. “I think your problem may be that you
He would touch her now. She knew it, in the depths of her body, where the gentle fires of her newborn passion burned. And when his hands were on her, when she yearned to crush herself against his greater strength, those fires might burn out of control, and she would no longer be able to refuse him.
As if her thoughts reached his mind, as if he knew exactly what she feared, his hands gripped her waist, drawing her closer to his form, and then slid behind her, capturing her in the warmth of those muscular limbs that held her with the tenderness of a mother with a child.
She wanted to melt against him, her body cried out for the heat that radiated from him, and her legs trembled with weakness that was not usual for Debra Nightsong. She’d always been strong, capable and certain of her needs. Now this man held her body next to his, and suddenly her needs were those he’d brought to life within her.
She craved his fingers beneath her breasts as they had been only long minutes ago on the porch, and at the same time, she hated the yearning she felt. For it could only make her weak to so cling to a man. She must be strong, as her mother had bid her. She must stand on her own two feet and make a life that would be safe and under her control.
Yet, the strength of the man before her drew her inexorably into his shadow, and she felt almost a part of him, her breasts crushed against his wide chest, her legs parting for the intrusion of his muscular thighs between them. He smoothed the fabric of her dress down the full length of her back and his hands cradled the firm rounding of her bottom, lifting her against himself, holding her high so that her face was on a level with his.