Tender Taming (19 page)

She wasn’t feeling in the least calm or sure of herself. She yearned for a sight of Eagle, but she desperately feared her reactions. Just knowing that he would walk through the door at any minute was causing her pulse to beat erratically at atrocious speed. Her palms remained moist no matter how many times she tried to dry them on a tissue. She was terrified that the pounding of her heart would muffle her speech.

That was one fear she needn’t have worried about. When he walked up and stood in the doorway, nodding to her curtly before his cool blue gaze swept over the room, her heart seemed simply to stop. One glance at his broad shoulders, encased today in tan tweed, his stern, rugged profile and his tall, imposing figure was all she needed to stop her entire respiratory process. She couldn’t look his way again. Draining the water glass before her to ease a throat that had turned to cotton, Whitney returned her sightless gaze to her papers. Soon the room was full—and as soon as she looked up, Whitney wished she could crawl under the conference table and disappear.

She had completely forgotten that the council would consist of the same men she had stood before for her Miccosukee wedding.

Whitney felt like a frozen mold. She vaguely heard all the company introductions; then she was being asked for the proposal. She managed to stand, then she managed to make her lips move. She was thankful that all her information was in front of her in black and white; if it hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have even remembered what they were talking about.

The conference, she saw vaguely, was her victory. The Indians, Seminole and Miccosukee alike, who were as capable as Eagle of remaining completely stoic and giving no hint of any emotion, actually smiled. T and C Development employees were looking equally pleased; it was advantageous to look like the nice guy.

Whitney was the only one in the room who felt ill. As soon as she finished her presentation, she whispered the excuse of a severe headache to her associates and slunk quietly from the room. She couldn’t face either Jonathan Eagle Stewart or the Miccosukee council. The refuge of her motel room was all that she sought.

But driving into the motel’s parking lot, Whitney became convinced that there was such a thing as karma—and that she had done something truly rotten in a previous life to deserve the day she was having. Something that decreed she receive full and drastic punishment.

For standing at her door, impatiently studying his wristwatch, was her ex-husband, Gerry Latham. Slim, impeccable, graying Gerry. Mr. Right. Her father had carried out his threat.

It was difficult to conceal her irritation as she slammed the door of the BMW, gathered her briefcase and handbag and clicked her heels across the concrete as she walked to meet him.

“Hello, Gerry.”

“Thank goodness you got here,” he began immediately, taking her things and her room key in complete charge and efficiency. “I’ve been worried sick! Isn’t that job of yours finished at five o’clock? I thought you’d been dragged back into the woods by another Indian!”

“What?”

“Your father told me all about it” Gerry looked distastefully around the adequate room and sighed. “You know, Whitney, I really don’t understand you. We had such a beautiful home! A really nice thing. You are so young … I can see where you needed a little more time, but all this is so absurd—”

“Gerry, Gerry, wait.” Whitney held up a hand and sank wearily into a recliner. “Stop. Whoa. Hold it. Let me correct you. I wasn’t dragged into the woods by an Indian.” A spark of mischief lit into her. “It was just the opposite. I dragged the Indian into the woods. And I molested him terribly!”

“Whitney!”

She should have had some sympathy for his look of horror, but after her long day she couldn’t seem to help herself.

“Oh, Gerry! You just don’t know! All those dances and secret meetings! It’s so incredible—you couldn’t imagine. The wild parties every night …” He was still staring at her with such a dumbstruck expression that Whitney finally relented. “Gerry, I’m kidding. Believe me, dear ex, even you couldn’t question the virtue of those Indians!”

Gerry shook his head and seated himself on the bed, musing over his slim hands. “I don’t like it, Whitney. Neither does your father.”

“Oh, Gerry! What’s to like or dislike? This is my life!” Whitney settled her forehead in her palm and sighed. “And anyway, I’ve been working for T and C for years now! It’s a highly reputable company. I’m good at what I do, and I enjoy it.” The satisfaction of all that she had achieved warmed her, along with an old affection for a friend. Gerry would never understand her, but he did care about her. “Come on,” she told him, rising and patting the top of his head. “Let’s go get some dinner and I’ll tell you about my job.”

Maybe it was a good thing that Gerry had shown up, Whitney decided as they sipped predinner cocktails. If he hadn’t, she would probably have given in to the tide of emotions surging through her and spent the evening in a crying jag. Being with Gerry didn’t take Eagle out of her mind; he was always in her mind; she was always waging battles against herself. Sometimes she dreamed that the phone would ring and it would be Eagle calling her. But he didn’t call. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he cared nothing for her, and that if he ever had, she had doused his feelings with her irate behavior. Sitting alone in her room at night, she would fight herself when her heart demanded that she find him, beg his forgiveness and be anything to him, even a casual playmate. Then she would come to grips with herself. She wouldn’t allow him to make an even greater fool of her. But the pain of seeing him today …

“So where is the new land?”

“Pardon?”

“The land. Whitney, have you been paying any attention to me?”

“I’m sorry, Gerry. It’s not far. I’ll show you the new site tomorrow if you like.”

“I might as well see what you’re getting into,” Gerry replied grimly. “Although why on earth you want to run around playing in some godforsaken swamp—”

“Gerry,” Whitney interrupted impatiently, “I do not play. I work, and I’ve worked particularly hard to make this whole thing come about amicably …” Whitney’s final words trailed into a convictionless whisper. Beyond Gerry’s shoulder, she saw the arrival of a handsome couple at the bar. The woman was a tall, willowy, natural blonde, probably a few years older than herself.

The man was Eagle, strikingly debonair in black velvet.

Whitney was vaguely aware that Gerry had launched into another lecture, luckily one that required little response. Her eyes and mind were on the dark, raven-haired man who towered above his slim companion and solicitously escorted her to a bar stool. His blue gaze was light, radiating a devastating masculine charm and charisma as he leaned to catch a response from the pale, lovely blonde.

Whitney had never known that jealousy could be such a brutal emotion. It washed over her in waves of agony, drying her throat, strangling her breath and seeming to stab a thousand little daggers into her insides. While Gerry droned on, she desperately tried to breathe normally and drag her riveted eyes from the couple before Eagle could see her.

Succeeding painfully in bringing her attention back to her escort, Whitney interrupted him. “Gerry, let’s go. I—I’m getting a ghastly headache.”

Gerry stopped speaking and peered at her suspiciously through the muted light of the lounge. “You do look pale—almost green in here! Swamp fever, I’ll bet,” he said with satisfaction. “You should have never—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Gerry! I do not have swamp fever!”

“Then you must need something to eat. We’ve already given our name for a table. We’ll dine as soon as possible and leave.”

Every bone in Whitney’s body felt as if it had gone as stiff as steel. “Gerry, I do not want to eat. I am not a child, and I know what I want. You stay if you’re hungry. I’m leaving.”

But she didn’t get a chance to leave. Even as she leaned across the small cocktail table to hiss her words with quiet vehemence, a feeling of acute unease was making her senses tingle. Before she could withdraw from the apparent intimacy of her position, she knew beyond a doubt that Eagle had seen her and had come to their table. The light scent that was enticingly pleasant yet all male was on the air, though his footsteps were as silent in the lounge as they were on the trails of the marsh.

“Good evening, Miss Latham. Sir—” Eagle nodded to Gerry with stiff courtesy. “I hope you’ll excuse the interruption, but I’d like to have a word with you, Whitney. Perhaps your friend won’t mind if I steal you for a dance. I promise to return you directly.”

Eagle had no concern for a reply from either Gerry or Whitney. He corralled her elbow and assisted her up while still speaking, turned a daring smile to Gerry while his eyes caught his in a frosty chill, and led her out to the dance floor, where a few couples were already swaying to the easy tempo of a mellow country band.

Whitney was stunned and spellbound. Still paralyzed by the jolt of his unexpected appearance, she was further bewitched and rattled by the inner tremors elicited by his manipulating touch. She had no thought for the blonde, or for Gerry, for that matter. Thought in its entirety had been swept aside momentarily by pure sensation.

And as they came together on the dance floor, Whitney experienced a rush of bliss. She nestled into his arms as if their forms had been made as a perfect fit for one another. Her head rested automatically on his shoulder; his chin was tickled by the soft silk of her hair. The arms that held her were fierce and possessive—angry, Whitney thought on a whim. Yet she would willingly take angry; she would take anything

“I wanted to thank you on behalf of the tribal councils, Miss Latham,” Eagle said curtly, dispelling the cloud of dreams upon which Whitney waltzed with the glacial tone of his voice. “I’m glad that you decided to see reason. You saved us all quite a bit of trouble with an early surrender.”

Surrender! Was that how he saw her endless hours of work? A cowardly surrender because of fear of a meeting with him in court?

It was impossible to pull out of his arms, but he surely must have felt the steel that meshed into her spine. “My ‘surrender,’ as you call it, Mr. Stewart, had nothing to do with you whatsoever! I simply came across a few people who considered me bright enough to comprehend the spoken word. They merely explained the situation to me, and with amazing clarity I grasped the problem. They didn’t even have to threaten me with exile to the nearest alligator pit!”

“Glib as ever,” Eagle retorted, and the arms that held Whitney became stiff and wooden. “What was your previous assignment—a passionate encounter with the Blarney Stone?”

“Mr. Stewart,” Whitney said concisely, tossing her head back to meet the icy blue daggers of his eyes with cool emerald, “you are the one who seems to be—ah—full of blarney, shall we say.”

“I never lied to you.”

Was there a touch of beseechment in his tone? No. That was wishful thinking on her part. His eyes hadn’t lost a fraction of their cold hostility; his grip hadn’t gentled a shade.

“Omitting the truth is lying,” Whitney said miserably. “You made me think you were an Indian—”

The hold that had been stiff was now painful and crushing. “I am an Indian, Miss Latham. For you to think otherwise—that is deception. I am the man that you met in the swamp that first night—unworthy, uneducated, uncultured—whatever that was to you.”

Whitney wanted to protest, to explain that that wasn’t what she had meant at all. She couldn’t seem to summon breath or form words as he stared down at her, the pride and fury of his forebears stamped rigidly onto a countenance that gave no hint of relenting.

Lowering her eyes with a casual shrug seemed the only way to come to a draw. “What difference does it make? It’s obvious that your blond friend doesn’t care what you are. Perhaps you should bring me back to my table now and return to her. You’ve performed your duty on behalf of the councils.”

“And you’d like to get back to performing yourself?”

“Pardon?”

“Always such lovely, wide-eyed innocence, Whitney!” Eagle marveled disdainfully. “Your executive over there. I gave you lessons; now you’re eager to carry on with practice. He looks like a suitable specimen.”

Whitney was dumbstruck. The music, the couples around her, even the man who taunted her blurred together in a seething haze that could only be composed of steam from her own burning body.

How could he possibly think that she could share the absolute intimacy that had raged between them with anyone else? His words sounded like a death knell as they hit her mind with the accuracy of a physical blow. Her nails dug automatically into the palms of her hands and she stiffened with flaming, narrowed eyes, subtly counterforcing to free herself from his hold with dignity.

But just as subtly his hold switched to the base of her spine and she was dipped back precariously. “Don’t try to fight me, Whitney,” Eagle warned with mocking menace. “You may have come out of your civil little meeting like a water lily, but I wouldn’t push on a one-to-one basis.”

“You are not a gentleman!” Whitney spat.

“No? Not always, I suppose. But then I seem to remember occasions when your behavior couldn’t quite be called ladylike. Funny—neither of us was offended. In fact, I really didn’t mind in the least seeing you be a female instead of a lady—”

Whitney clenched her teeth tightly together and grated, “If there was a civil bone in your body—”

“But there isn’t,” Eagle interrupted in a deathly chilling tone. “And not being civil or a gentleman, I tend to say whatever comes into my mind.”

Whitney longed to cry that she wanted only to be the female in his arms, but to what end would her words be? His contempt for her was pathetically obvious. He would surely laugh and—worse—return to the lithesome blonde anyway.

Tilting her head back, she smiled at him sweetly through half-closed eyes. “Whatever we are, White Eagle—lady and gentleman or not”—she sniffed disdainfully in opposition to her sultry, feigned grin—“I do suggest we get back to our respective partners. As you say, I’m eager to practice, and it appears that the lady entwined with the bar stool might be hungry to teach the teacher a few new tricks.”