Native Gold (24 page)

Sakote knew he shouldn’t touch the white woman. He knew how dangerous the road of desire was. But Mati felt so right tucked against his chest. Her breath tickled him, and her curled fingers felt cool on his skin. He tentatively brushed the curve of her back, the back of her head, and then, with a sigh at his own recklessness, succumbed to pulling her close against him.

When he’d seen the mountain lion edging toward Mati, dwarfing her with its large, muscular body, his heart had dropped to the pit of his stomach. He’d acted on pure impulse, firing the arrow to frighten it away.

Never had he felt such a powerful surge of protectiveness. It didn’t matter that the beast had likely not intended to hurt her, that it had only come to the pool for water. The need to keep Mati safe was overwhelming.

She settled into his arms now as easily as he slipped into his moccasins, fitting perfectly into the crook of his shoulder. Her hair felt like soft doeskin beneath his fingers, and her scent...

Sakote breathed deep of the woman, and he realized he didn’t want to let her go. The thought was terrifying.

The silence stretched between them like a canyon, growing deeper and harder to cross by the moment, as he stroked her hair and listened to the ragged sound of her breathing.

Finally she tilted her head up to look into his eyes and whispered, “You saved my life...again.” She tried to smile, but it quavered on her lips.

Her words pleased him, and her eyes—so green, so grateful, so trusting—took his breath away. But he couldn’t take more credit than was his due. He thumbed a stray lock of hair back from her forehead. “You probably frightened him more than he frightened you.”

She pushed away slightly, leaving her small fists upon his chest. “He wasn’t hunting me?”

“He came to the water to drink.” He slid his hand down to rest at the back of her neck, longing to wrap the curls around his finger.

“But you shot at him.”

“Only to chase him away.”

Mati seemed to consider this for a moment. She caught her lower lip beneath her teeth. He remembered how soft that lip was. "Will he come back?"

Sakote almost didn’t hear the question. He could think only of her mouth and how he wanted to make a kiss with her again. His voice cracked. "Eventually."

“Maybe I’ll wait till he returns and do a sketch of him.”

Sakote raised a brow. He doubted the mountain lion would sit still for a picture. And just because he hadn’t been interested in eating the white woman didn’t mean he wouldn’t be hungry later. Attacks were rare, but they did occur.

“Oh!” Mattie said, pulling out of his embrace. “Your portrait.” He began to miss her warmth at once as she reached down to pick up the drawing that had fallen to the ground.

He furrowed his brows over the sketch. It made him look like a capable hunter, worthy of the title of headman. “It’s good.”

Mattie stared at the portrait. It
was
good. But she could do better. At a distance, his manner was too aloof. The sketch didn’t capture the proud jut of his jaw or the sparkle of his eyes. It didn’t capture his spirit. He deserved something more intimate, more revealing.

"Don’t give it the name of a god," he instructed.

She smiled, taking the drawing from him and locating a pencil. "What shall I call it then? Fierce Konkow Warrior? Hunter of the Great Lion? Sakote the Magnificent?”

"Just Sakote."

She placed the tip of the pencil on the page, keenly aware he watched her every move. "How do you spell that?"

He gave her such a quizzical look that she forgot her nervousness and almost giggled.

"I don’t," he said.

It was her turn to be puzzled. "You don’t? What do you mean, you don’t? Do you mean you can’t write?"

"The Konkows don’t write words. There’s no need. I am called Sakote."

Nonplused, she lowered the drawing to her lap. "But if your people don’t write, how do you...remember anything?"

He chuckled, then locked his arms around his knees. It made him look boyish and utterly charming. “Words.”

“Words?”

“We...tell stories."

Just the way he said it, with a twinkle in his eyes, Mattie knew Sakote must be a master storyteller. She imagined him sitting by the fire, holding Hintsuli spellbound with tales of adventure. "What kind of stories?" she prodded. "Can you tell me some of them?"

He shrugged and poked a finger at the ground, feigning reluctance. "They wouldn’t interest you."

"Oh, but they interest me immensely. Please won’t you tell me one?"

He absently drew a line in the dirt. "Maybe later."

He was being intentionally coy. It made her heart flutter. And now she knew how she could achieve the sketch she desired. "Please?" she crooned. "I’ll make another portrait of you while you’re telling the story."

The corner of his mouth curved up, and she knew she’d convinced him.

"Come into the light," she urged.

The waterfall framed him perfectly, a dark angel against the churning white froth, and his skin glowed like polished bronze in the sunlight. Mattie found the effect he’d had on her before, from across the pool, only intensified at close range. Now she saw the rise and fall of his splendid chest and the flex of his shoulders as he settled cross-legged onto the grass. This close, she glimpsed the subtle curve of his lip and the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that spoke of a happy life.

This portrait would be special. This was the one she would keep by her bed to look upon, years hence, when Sakote sat around the fire telling stories to his children…and she slept alone in her cabin in the gold camp, when the nights grew cold and her heart lay empty.

Where that ridiculous, melancholy thought came from, she didn’t know. After all, her future still lay bright before her, didn’t it? Besides, it was absurd to pine over someone she hardly knew.

She picked up her pencil and touched it to the paper. He was staring at her. Why it unnerved her, she didn’t know. After all, she’d just spent several moments in the man’s arms. But his black eyes seemed to bore into her soul.

She cleared her throat and tried to focus on the page. "Perhaps if you..."

She looked up. Something was wrong with his pose. His hair. It should be down, flowing over his shoulders, a visual echo of the water coursing over the rocks.

She set aside her sketchbook and approached, crouching beside him.

"If you could..."

She lifted her hands to his hair, but her fingers trembled as if she were trying to touch lightning. Mentally scolding herself, she set about briskly untying the thong binding his hair. When it loosened, the strands spilled like ink over her fingers and down his back. She moved before him then and ran both hands through the hair at his temples, bringing his locks forward over his collarbone. His hair felt like China silk, and she brushed her fingers through it several times before she realized he’d stopped breathing.

His eyes had a dark cast now, as if a mist of desire clouded them, and she felt the same mist darken her own vision. His nostrils quivered once, like a hound that has caught an unfamiliar scent, and she sensed momentary fear in him. Her fingers still wove through his hair, white warp against black weft, and she rubbed the gossamer texture between her fingers. She wanted to feel those silken threads across her cheek, against her mouth, upon her breast. Her eyes grew languid with the thought. His skin, vibrant and lush, shone the color of creamed tea. She wondered if he tasted as smooth. Her lips parted of their own accord, and Sakote’s eyes lowered at once at their invitation.

She could think no more. All she could do was react. Curling her fingers into his hair, she drew near, letting her eyes flutter closed as longing overwhelmed her. Touch alone guided her mouth to his, and when her lips found their harbor at last, she gave a small whimper of relief.

His breath was sweet as it rushed out of him. She pulled him even closer, wanting to taste more of him, needing to devour all of him. She let her tongue slip between her lips and brush over his, and white-hot fire seared her body.

Suddenly he was answering her, and a thrill of fear sent her heart racing. His mouth consumed her. His tongue danced over her lips and plunged deep between them, ravishing her thoroughly, sending flames of lust flickering along her skin. A low growl sounded in his throat as he trapped her in his embrace, holding her helpless in unyielding arms.

She moaned in sweet anguish as he knelt closer, catching her thighs between his own and pressing his body boldly against hers. There was no mistaking the rigid member brazenly making its presence known against her belly. Mattie gasped softly. Lord, she’d witnessed but a fraction of his vigor before. She had every reason to be terrified. He was strong and commanding, seductive and powerful. But, God help her, she was overwhelmed and hungry for more all at once.

Sakote groaned and felt his groan echo inside Mati’s mouth. He no longer controlled his actions. A wicked spirit must possess him to make him do such savage things to the white woman. His arms enclosed her like the eagle guarding its kill, and he fed on her like the great bird of prey, attacking her brutally, savoring the taste of her flesh. He’d never put his tongue inside a woman’s mouth before. The sensation was like lightning snaking through his veins, searing his body alive.

But he couldn’t stop. Though she whimpered and dug her fingernails into the flesh of his chest, he couldn’t silence the storm raging all around him. He crushed his man’s-knife against her soft belly, desperate to quiet its relentless longing.

And then the worst happened. He heard a noise.

"
Pinsuani!"
he hissed in the wrong language, jerking back from her and cupping his hand over her mouth to insure her silence.

He could hardly quiet his own ragged breathing, and it seemed like his heart beat as loud as a
kilemi
drum. He knew what the sound was. He’d heard it many times. It was the sound of menace, something far more dangerous than a mountain lion.

He had to run. Now. But how would he explain to Mati?

He pressed a forefinger to his lips in warning and released her mouth. Her eyes were wide with fear, but she wisely made no outcry. He ran his hand through his hair, and then clasped her by the shoulders. Great Wonomi, she was so beautiful. He could hardly bear to leave her.

"It’s...white men,” he whispered. “I have to go.”

Her brow crumpled in disappointment, and he felt as if a stone fell upon his chest. But there was no time to waste.

He scanned her face, memorizing her features. Then he retrieved his arrow, snatched up his bow, and sprinted up the hill, turning to take one final glance, one final drink of the intoxicating woman kneeling forlornly by the pool.

It was reckless, but he lifted his voice to her, just enough to carry to her ears. "Tomorrow?"

Taking heart at her quick nod, he crossed the stream and melted into the trees just as the two prospectors crowned the top of the rise.

Mattie supposed it was good Sakote had left when he did. If Swede and Zeke had come upon her draped in wanton abandon across an Indian—which she very well might have been in another minute—they would have...well, she didn’t know what they would have done, but with the fatherly concern Swede seemed to have for her, he might have stripped out a willow switch and turned her over his knee.

At any rate, given her dishabille and the flustered state of her nerves, she was less than civil when they came traipsing over the rise. Blushing furiously, she stammered in no uncertain terms that this was where she’d chosen to make her ablutions, for heaven’s sake, and if they respected her delicate sensibilities as a lady, they ought not to come by unannounced ever again.

The ruse worked. Swede turned berry red, and Zeke nearly dug himself into a hole, kicking abashedly at the leaves. While they explained they’d been worried about her, Mattie gathered her things, careful to conceal her morning’s sketches, and followed them back to the camp.

At Paradise Bar, purchasing supplies for the next week took Mattie’s mind temporarily off of the morning’s indiscretion and the pair of sparkling black eyes that made her heart skip. It also took the bulk of her earnings. She’d used up most of her reserves and eagerly bought all the tinned peaches and oysters the supply man could spare. Looking over the pinch of gold dust that remained in her bag, she realized she’d have to wait till the next mule’s arrival to buy the yardage of calico to line her cabin walls. Then, on sudden inspiration, she poured the last of her wealth into the man’s palm and took a handful of nails in exchange.

An hour later, Mattie dusted her hands together and perused the interior of her cabin. Her own sketches lined the walls, tacked artistically here and there to make a time line of sorts of her adventures, as well as covering the drafty cracks between the timbers. Argonauts and Panama natives, crusty miners and fresh-faced boys peered at her from the pictures, along with quail and lupines, manzanitas and butterflies. The only sketches she omitted from the gallery were those of Sakote. They were too personal, too revealing to include on the walls. No, those she would keep for her own private viewing.