Nan Ryan (32 page)

Ben kissed her again, his soft, dry lips moving enthusiastically on hers. Mollie responded, but as she kissed the eager youth the insane thought flashed through her mind that Lieutenant Benjamin J. Atwood sure didn’t know how to kiss like Lew Hatton. Nonetheless she sighed as though swept away by his caress.

It worked wonders on the amorous lieutenant. Desire and confidence swiftly rising, he became more aggressive. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth and touched Mollie’s lips with his tongue. Mollie feigned a swooning reaction to his boldness. Allowing the trembling lieutenant to draw her closer as he deepened the kiss, Mollie slipped a hand into her jacket pocket and her fingers closed around the heavy stone.

Lieutenant Atwood took his lips from hers just as she pulled the rock out of her pocket. “Oh, Ben, Ben,” she murmured breathlessly and pulled his mouth back down to hers.

Ben put everything he had into that kiss. He wrapped his long arms tightly around Mollie and held her against his tall, shaking body and kissed her with all the passion he felt. He was totally lost in the kiss as Mollie slowly raised the rock, lifting it up, up directly over his head.

But just as she started to bring the rock crashing down, strong fingers wrapped themselves firmly around her wrist and stayed her hand. Mollie screamed, but no more than a muffled groan escaped her lips trapped beneath the lieutenant’s. The startled soldier quickly lifted his head, a puzzled expression on his face.

Mollie was just as confused as he. She looked up at the restraining fingers clasping her wrist and automatically took a step backward, bumping into a man’s hard chest.

“Lieutenant Atwood,” came that low familiar voice from over her head, “did that kiss make you see stars?”

Flustered, the lieutenant stammered, “N-n-no, sir.”

“Well, you were about to, my boy,” Lew said, roughly jerking Mollie’s hand down to her side and shaking the stone loose.

The lieutenant stood at attention, baffled and uneasy. “Sir?”

“See stars, son. See stars.” Lew grinned suddenly and said, “At ease, Lieutenant.” He pulled Mollie around in front of him and held her there, his hands clamped firmly down atop her shoulders. He said into her ear, “Little sister, I believe you owe Lieutenant Atwood an apology.”

Mollie tossed her head angrily and tried to pull free of his grasp. Lew smiled at the dumbfounded soldier and said, “She’s a playful little thing, and her manners are abominable, I’m afraid.” To Mollie, “Say good night, now.” Mollie snorted indignantly. Lew shrugged and said to the young man, “What did I tell you?”

Apologizing for her, Lew ushered the angry Mollie back to where she belonged. When they reached their campsite they stood facing each other. Mollie’s eyes flashed with fury. Lew’s were as cold as ice.

He said in a deceptively calm voice, “Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?”

“I beg your pardon,” she snapped.

“You took advantage of a naive boy. You were going to bash the poor kid’s head while he reeled from your kisses. That wouldn’t work on a man.”

“Oh, yes it would,” she said smugly, hands going to her hips.

Lew immediately bent and picked up a rock. He took her hand, placed the heavy stone in it.

“What’s the idea …?” she began.

The sentence was never finished. With a swiftness that caught Mollie off guard, Lew grabbed her by the shirt front and pulled her roughly against him. His mouth came down on hers in an audacious kiss that was so hot and forceful she was as shocked as she was angry. No sweet preliminaries. No teasing and testing. No tender persuasion or gentlemanly consideration.

His muscular arm quickly went around her waist, and he pressed her head back against his supporting shoulder. Long, tanned fingers closed around her delicate throat to hold her still. He kissed her probingly, hungrily, as though he would draw the very breath from her body.

Mollie squirmed and tried to voice her outrage, but the sound never left her throat. Lew’s hot, questing lips remained on hers, and his sleek tongue delved deeply into the warm darkness of her mouth in a prolonged kiss that was invasive, demanding, brazen. And incredibly thrilling in its raw, unleashed passion.

Mollie, reeling from the onslaught to her senses, finally remembered the rock in her hand. The rock that he had given her, so cocksure was he. So arrogantly certain that she wouldn’t use it on him. Mollie raised her hand. She was ready and eager to bring the rock crashing down directly atop his thick skull.

But just as she got it poised above his bent head, Lew sighed softly, coaxingly sucked her tongue into his mouth, shifted ever so slightly, and with a spread hand cupping her bottom, urged her pelvis up to his.

His black soft beard tickling her flushed cheeks, Mollie fought for breath and for equilibrium. Straining against him, she was dazzled by the taste of him and assailed with the masculine scent of him. The lean, hard body pressed so intimately to hers radiated a fierce animal heat that seemed to burn right through her clothes and singe her tingling flesh.

The rock she held above Lew’s head was becoming very heavy.

Lew again shifted and the new position pressed her right breast flush against his heart. She could feel its heavy beating throbbing through her as if it were her own. And somehow he managed to pull his shirttail free of his trousers, found her free hand, and drew it between their pressing bodies. Skillfully he guided her hand down his chest and tucked her trembling fingertips inside the waistband of his pants. Mollie was immediately curious and awed and frightened. Her curled fingers were brushing against a hard, hot belly that seemed to be beating as forcefully as his heart.

She was tempted to slide her fingers on further down inside his tight breeches. She knew that she should yank her hand up out of his trousers at once. She was unable to do either. Mollie allowed her other hand—the one holding the heavy rock—to fall limply to her side.

While Lew’s burning lips continued to set her mouth afire and his tight belly beckoned her to explore all that forbidden virility just inches below her fingertips, Mollie released the rock. It dropped to the dirt with a thud.

The instant it hit the ground, Lew tore his lips from hers and lifted his head. Mollie’s eyes opened in stunned surprise to see him smiling down at her. Her heart plummeted as he moved back a half step and let his accusing gaze slide down to the tenacious fingers still curled inside his pants.

His smile was derisive when he said, “As I told you, it doesn’t work on a man.”

Mollie, although hurt and furious, knew that the last laugh was hers. Leisurely releasing her hold on his trousers, she put out the tip of her tongue and licked her full bottom lip. Then, resting her hands on her hips, she smiled seductively at him and pointedly lowered her accusing gaze to his straining, swollen groin.

“Oh, yes it does.”

A high, piercing scream brought Lew crashing
through the undergrowth. Realizing that he had forgotten to pick up his rifle, he reached the edge of a sun-dappled clearing and saw Mollie. Bare to the waist, her arms crossed over her breasts, she was surrounded by a circle of silent, leering Apaches.

All were mounted, save one tall, broad-shouldered Indian in breechcloth and moccasins who stood directly in front of the terrified Mollie. Lew’s keen gaze flicked to the giant’s coppery face and immediately he felt his tight lungs fill with air, his pounding heart slow. He exhaled and grinned broadly.

“Chief Red Sunset,” he called out companionably.

Every eye turned on him as he came forward, his hands raised in the air. He walked directly toward to the tall Apache. The chief squinted at the approaching white man and began shaking his head.

“Singing Boy,” he boomed, his deep, loud voice coming from down inside his massive chest.

His fierce face broke into an almost boyish grin, and Mollie, trembling violently, watched in disbelief as the big, muscular Indian swallowed Lew up in an affectionate bear hug. As soon as the chief released him, Lew stepped over to Mollie, put his arms around her, and drew her into his protective embrace.

Continuing to smile and nod to the tall chief, he whispered to Mollie, “It’s all right. All right. Do exactly as I tell you.”

She nodded, unable to speak, and turned gratefully into his shielding chest. Trembling, she pressed her face into the curve of his neck and shoulder while the restless, scowling Apaches muttered among themselves.

“Quien es?”
asked the Apache chief.

“Mi querida,”
Lew told the Indian. Then quickly to Mollie, “Unbutton my shirt.”

She anxiously obeyed while Lew’s hands remained resting possessively on her bare back. His body was pressed close against hers, concealing her nakedness from a dozen sets of curious black eyes. He spoke to the chief in Spanish and although Mollie understood little, she knew that he was talking about her. She winced when she felt callused fingers sweep over her trembling back and pull down the waistband of her buckskins.

“Marca de nacimiento,”
Lew calmly explained and Mollie realized it was her birthmark that so intrigued the giant Indian.

“Mariposa,”
said the Apache chief, his blunt fingers tracing the top edge of the birthmark.
“Es mariposa.”

“Yes,” said Lew, “a butterfly. A perfect butterfly.”

His shirt now unbuttoned, Lew took it off and whirled it around Mollie’s slender shoulders. He handled the quick exchange with an economy of motion that managed to preserve Mollie’s modesty. As soon as her arms were in the sleeves, he deftly buttoned the shirt.

Then he drew her around to his side and said, “Mollie, shake hands with Chief Red Sunset, one of the bravest and noblest Apache chiefs ever to ride the Arizona Territory.”

Mollie obediently put out her hand. Chief Red Sunset eagerly took her hand and shook it firmly. His black eyes were on her tumbled golden hair and there was an expression of awe in their glittery depths. He said something to Lew.

“Sí
, Chief.” To her, “He wants to touch your hair.”

Mollie gazed up at the tall, near-naked savage and wisely smiled. She shook her head about so that the tangled locks fell forward. Leaning close to Lew, she fanned her hair out on her palm and then fought the urge to scream as the fierce-looking Indian took a shiny lock between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed it. Muttering unintelligible words, he toyed with the lock of hair, his black eyes glazed.

“That’s enough, Chief,” Lew finally said.

Chief Red Sunset reluctantly released the hair. Lew drew Mollie directly in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her and locked his wrists just below her breasts. She had no choice but to stand there against him as he talked and laughed and carried on with the savages as all the others dismounted and crowded around. They all stared unblinkingly at her and Mollie was reminded of a pack of hungry wolves.

So she didn’t bridle at Lew’s familiarity or try to resist his embrace. Instead, her still-trembling hands came up to clutch at Lew’s tanned forearms and she pressed her head back against his shoulder. She was grateful that he held her. She doubted that her own watery knees would support her.

Mollie stood there listening, understanding enough to know that Lew was inquiring about the chief’s younger sister. The chief informed him that the sister, now the wife of Gilberto Lopez, lived happily with her husband down in Magdalena, Mexico, and that happy pair had many fine sons.

Lew shook his head, exclaiming, “Little Desert Flower a mother! I don’t believe it.”

Mollie wondered how Lew came to know these Apaches. He even knew that this imposing chief had a little sister named Desert Flower. She gave silent thanks that he
did
know the savages. But for his perfectly timed intervention she might well have been raped and killed.

Mollie shivered, recalling how quickly and unexpectedly it had all happened.

She and Lew had left the Fifth U.S. Cavalry at daybreak. Apparently Lieutenant Atwood held no grudges, because he had kissed her hand and said he hoped they would meet again. Captain Jackson had then warned Lew to be careful of renegade Apaches. Said they were off the reservation again, causing trouble.

The mention of Apaches had made Mollie’s blood run cold. Before the soldiers had ridden out of sight, she’d said, “Is it worth risking your scalp to take me in, bounty hunter?”

“Outlaw, if we meet up with any savages, you just kiss ’em and I’ll see to it you have an ample supply of rocks.”

Annoyed that he never took her seriously, she had retorted, “You arrogant fool, your head is as hard as a rock!”

He grinned. “True. And when you’re around—as you pointed out last night—my head’s not all that’s hard.”

She shot him a wilting look and said, “And not an ounce of brains in either!”

She kicked her horse into a gallop and was incensed to hear deep laughter echoing after her. She would never understand the maddening, paradoxical Lew Hatton. She would have thought he would want to forget last night’s embarrassing incident, would be mortified should it ever be mentioned. Yet he had brought it up and was laughing about it. Obviously he was totally insensitive.