Savage Heat (6 page)

“Please, please, my love …” she breathed as the heat between her pale parted thighs blazed out of control.

Agilely he moved into position, and the woman gasped as the hard, pulsing length of him slid swiftly into her. For one brief instant she felt as though that throbbing power invading her with such brutal force would surely spell her end, but she didn’t care. What a lovely way to die; impaled upon this beautiful naked prince of love.

Then he started the slow, deep thrusts she’d come to crave as her arms entwined around his neck and she looked once more up into those black, fathomless eyes that impaled and invaded her with a force equal to the deeply buried pulsing male flesh.

For the next hour the man made love to the woman, bringing her to climax again and again, before seeking his own release. His dark body glistening with a sheen of perspiration, he finally eased off the limp and sated woman and stretched out on his back.

She lay quietly beside him for a time, sighing and smiling, her long auburn hair a tumbled mass of curls about her bare apricot shoulders, her eyes misty with satisfaction. Easing herself up onto an elbow, she watched the even rise and fall of the dark, gleaming chest with the fascinating white scar he refused to speak of. She knew he was on the verge of dozing. His eyes closed, girlishly long black lashes rested on the high, slanting cheekbones, and his mouth had lost some of its hardness.

Knowing it was past time to leave, her thoughts were pulled back to reality. And to her upcoming party. Placing a small white hand on his flat belly, she said softly, “Jim, darling, please say you’ll come to my party. I do so want it to be a success and I’ve promised an interesting mix will attend.”

Not bothering to open his eyes, Jim Savin said, “No, Regina.”

Pouting, letting her fingertips lightly tickle his stomach, she said, “Jim, is it because you feel guilty about us?” She smiled then and added, “You said yourself you’re always more than willing to ‘entertain a military man’s wife.’ Isn’t that what you said?”

“It is.”

“Then come, darling. I’ll not give us away. My husband will be there, so I’ll hardly get the chance for more than a couple of dances with you; but the girl I’m giving the party for is said to be quite hard to impress, so I’m determined to have a number of handsome, charming people there. At first I had planned to invite all ages, but I’m just not going to do it. I told my husband I’ll not allow anyone over thirty-five years of age to attend. That way there won’t be a bunch of stodgy old folks there watching every move so they can gossip about it. Besides, that will leave out Betty Jane and Dolph Emerson, as well as the girl’s father, and I’m sure she’ll enjoy herself more if they’re not there breathing down her neck. I do so want Miss Kidd to …”

Hooded eyes slowly came open and the lithe bronzed body tensed. He heard only snatches after that as Regina Darlington chattered on, explaining she was intent on having the most extravagant party that Miss Martay Kidd of Chicago, Illinois, had ever attended. At last she concluded, saying, “My goodness, where has the time gone? I shall be late getting home and the colonel is coming in from the fort this evening.” She shook her auburn curls, swung her bare legs to the floor, reached for her silk stockings and, giggling naughtily, added, “I must wash your scent from my body before he arrives. I hope Thomas isn’t in an amorous mood, because I’m so …”

Interrupting her monologue, Jim Savin said casually, “I’ll be there.” One shapely leg raised, the sheer silk stocking pulled up to her knee, Regina Darlington’s hands stilled and she turned quickly to look at him, her eyes questioning. He smiled lazily at her. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll come to your party.”

Martay lingered in her bath.

Almost asleep in the long marble tub, she lay totally relaxed, her neck resting against its rim. Golden tresses pinned haphazardly up, her head lay back on the pillowed headrest and her slender arms were draped along the tub’s sides. Her long legs were stretched out the full length of the enormous bath, toes pressing the smooth marble. Gallons of hot, steaming water filled with scented, foamy bubbles covered her reclining form, the thick suds reaching just to the tops of her full, high breasts.

It was two hours until time to leave for the Darlington party. Enjoying the sweet lassitude claiming her, Martay was in no particular hurry to get dressed, nor for that matter was she eagerly looking forward to the occasion. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the Darlingtons; she found Colonel Thomas Darlington to be a most pleasant gentleman, and the one time she had met Regina Darlington, the pretty red-haired woman was both gracious and friendly.

Martay yawned and sighed.

Languidly she picked up the perfumed soap and dampened sponge from the small gold-and-white tubside table and began rubbing the two together, elbows still resting on the tub’s rim, head still pressed against the pillowed headrest.

She felt sure it would be a carefully planned, elegant party with mountains of tempting foods and bouquets of cut flowers and an orchestra and dozens of interesting guests. And she would, she knew, behave as was expected of her. She would laugh and flirt and dance and convince everyone that she was having a wonderful time and she’d do everything within her power to make the others enjoy themselves as well.

Martay lazily placed the lathered sponge atop her bare left shoulder and slowly spread a soapy trail down her arm. Changing hands, she repeated the action on her other arm. Then dipped the soapy sponge into the hot water and brought it up to her throat.

No, she was not looking forward to the Darlingtons’ party, and the reason she wasn’t was that she was to be escorted by Major Lawrence Berton and she didn’t want to go with him and she felt downright mean about it.

But there it was.

She faced the truth now as she sat in her hot tub in the privacy of her bathroom. She did not want to spend her entire evening with Larry. She didn’t really want to spend any more of her evenings with Larry, because she could tell that he had fallen in love with her, though she’d known him for only six weeks. He was beginning to behave just like Farrell T. Youngblood, Jr., back in Chicago.

Again Martay sighed wearily and wondered if there would ever be a man in her life who did not turn into a spineless, moonstruck boy after she’d shared a few moonlight kisses with him.

The abrasive sponge moved around her slippery left breast in a slow, tickling circle.

What would it be like, she wondered dreamily, to meet a man so fierce and strong, he could overpower her with the sheer strength of his will. A man dark and handsome whose cocksure manner and natural arrogance could not be altered by her. A compelling, godlike creature whose very presence would render her totally speechless and awed. A virile, untamed male who could silence her with a look, frighten her with a word, tame her with a touch.

The warm sponge, guided now with both her hands, was moving over Martay’s wet belly, and she realized, guiltily, that the nipples of her breasts, now fully above the water, were standing out in twin erect peaks. Face hot, she continued to conjure up an image of the man she was yet to meet. And as her daydreams grew more vivid, more real, the untapped passion deep within her rose ever closer to the surface.

An underlying fire that was totally foreign caught her by surprise, spreading through her bare wet body with unsettling speed. A tickling, thrilling feeling that made her long legs tense, her back arch, her breath grow short. An intense heat, far hotter than the steamy bathwater, was centered between her pale thighs, and the telltale nipples of her breasts were now tingling points of sensation.

Frightened yet intrigued by this new experience, and never one to back away from pleasure of any kind, Martay remained as she was, allowing the abrasive sponge to roam at will over every inch of her trembling, ignited body. And she closed her eyes once more, the better to imagine the tall dark man she could almost see beneath closed lids.

With her eyes tightly shut, she surrendered completely to her enchanting charade.

It was his dark hands that guided the soapy sponge so tantalizingly over her bare, burning body. His gentle coaxing that caused her knees to fall apart in expectation. His commanding touch that moved unerringly toward …

“Martay. You better get out of that tub,” came Lettie’s intrusive voice from just beyond the door, “you’re going to burn completely up.” Martay jumped as if she had been shot.

Face flaming red, she leapt up, sending water splashing over the tub’s rim, and reached anxiously for a towel.

“Be right out,” she called, her heart pounding as the heat that had claimed her body was replaced by a definite chill.

6

A
n hour later Martay descended the stairs, looking very much like a shining angel come down to earth. The ball gown she was wearing was of shimmering white silk and was of the latest fashion. Small capped sleeves that left her slender arms bare were attached to a closely fitted bodice that continued to a deep point on her flat stomach. The dress was cut quite low, displaying lovely ivory shoulders and the swell of her pushed-up breasts. Its waist was very tight and the skirt was molded snugly from her rounded hips down to her knees, where it flared dramatically, making it possible for her to walk and to dance.

Her golden hair was parted in the middle, pulled to the back of her head, and caught there with a pearl-and-gold barrette. Glowing, perfumed curls fell halfway down her bare back and danced prettily with every step she took. Pearl earscrews clung to her small shell-like ears, and a long strand of cultured pearls caressed her bare throat. Her gloves were white satin, as were the dainty dancing slippers peeking from beneath her rustling white silk skirt. She carried in her hand a fragrant white gardenia.

Martay reached the bottom of the stairs and, not bothering to take one last look in the tall hall mirror, swept into the drawing room, where her father and the Emersons were gathered. Pausing in the arched doorway, she waited until all three pairs of eyes were on her. Then she smiled, held out her arms, and spun about so that they might get the full effect.

They did.

Though all were used to her spectacular beauty, she took their breath away. Never had she looked lovelier, more fragile, more innocent. Betty Jane Emerson clasped her thin hands to her breasts and sighed. Colonel Dolph Emerson, bolting up out of his chair, rushed to take her hand, saying, “Child, you are truly a vision in gold and white!”

Her father, rising also, remained where he stood, his green eyes locked on his lovely daughter, his chest filled with pride and with fear. God, she was so breathtakingly pretty and so damned naive for all her coquettishness. Was such a dazzling creature ever safe? Could he trust even Major Berton not to take advantage of this fair child? Would Almighty God watch over such appealing innocence?

“Daddy, you are staring at me,” said Martay as she entered the big room on Dolph Emerson’s offered arm.

“Yes,” he said, and smiled at her. “I am staring. I’m staring just as every other man will stare at you this evening. You’re exceptionally lovely tonight, angel. Prettier than I’ve ever seen you.”

Dropping Colonel Emerson’s arm, she came to her father, stood on tiptoe, kissed his cheek, and teasingly accused, “You’ve said that before, Daddy.” Before he could reply she had hurried to the long brocade sofa where Betty Jane Emerson was seated. Dropping down beside the older woman, Martay took one of Betty Jane’s hands and lamented, “I do so wish you and the colonel and Daddy were coming to the party.”

Betty Jane smiled. “So do I, dear, but Regina Darlington explained that she is having only the young set this evening because she thought you’d enjoy it more.” She squeezed Martay’s slim fingers. “I think that’s very thoughtful of Regina, and perhaps it will be fun for you young folks to be free of the elders for one night.”

“Well, I disagree and I think it’s …” Martay was interrupted by the loud hammering of the front-door knocker.

“That’s your young man,” said Colonel Emerson, and went to let him in.

In his dress military blues with his face scrubbed shiny clean and his blond hair carefully brushed, Major Lawrence Berton, smiling broadly, entered the room looking boyishly handsome and appealingly bashful. When he caught sight of Martay, the big smile left his face and he swallowed hard. Courteously shaking hands with General Kidd and bowing politely to Betty Jane Emerson, he stared, speechless, at Martay as she rose gracefully from the couch and said, “Hello, Larry. How nice to see you this evening.”

Not trusting his voice, Major Lawrence Berton just nodded and grinned and was grateful when Colonel Emerson clapped him on the back and said, “Son, what you need is a drink.”

The small glass of good Kentucky bourbon was indeed just what the nervous major needed. Soon he was engaged in polite conversation, relaxing a bit, and eager to get the beautiful silk-gowned Martay alone for the ride up into the foothills of the Rockies.

Half an hour later the handsome pair had said their good-nights and were headed for the front door. While they stood in the foyer with Lawrence carefully draping Martay’s delicate lace shawl about her bare shoulders, General Kidd startled them both.

He came charging toward them, his face strangely set, his green eyes almost wild. “Child,” he said, his voice rough, and he grabbed Martay and hugged her, crushing her to his broad chest.

“Daddy,” she said, feeling the trembling of his big solid body, “what is it?”

Patting her slender back and giving her one last squeeze, he said, “Nothing, sweetheart. I just wanted to hold my baby girl one last time.” He released her, setting her back.

Her hands still clutching his ribs, she smiled up at him. “Don’t be silly. You may hug me whenever you please.”

“I know,” he said, “I am being silly.”

But after he had bid them good-night and the carriage had rolled away down the avenue, and he had ordered the two mounted horseman, “Don’t let her out of your sight tonight,” and had returned reluctantly to the veranda, he stood there alone in the gathering dusk, again wondering how long his lovely daughter would remain as safe and as innocent as she was on this warm July night in 1879.