Wed to the Witness (6 page)

“Archery begins with the feet,” she commented evenly. If she approached this as teacher to pupil, she might manage to keep her mind focused.

“The feet?”

“A stable stance is the foundation for a good shot,” she explained. “If you get into the same position each time you shoot, you'll be more consistent.”

“Makes sense.” His voice was smooth as silk on the warm morning air.

“It's a matter of concentration,” she said for her own benefit as much as his. “You have to concentrate on what you're doing.”

With the ease of long practice, she shifted into position, the wind picking up strands from her loose braid as she moved. The rush of the stream faded from her consciousness while the target she'd chosen filled her vision. Slowly, she slotted the arrow's nock into the bowstring, drew back the string, sighted, then released the arrow with a smooth roll off her fingertips. The arrow zinged through the air, impaling neatly into the target's bull's-eye.

Jackson let out a low whistle. “I'm impressed, Miss James. Mind if I try?”

She slid him a look. “What about breakfast? And roof repair?”

“On the agenda, too.”

“Fine.” She handed him the bow and arrow then shifted behind him. In a gesture that came automatically with teaching, she reached around him, guiding his arms into position.

“The bow should be held about forty-five degrees above the horizon,” she said across his shoulder as she used her fingertips to nudge up his right elbow.

“Hmm.”

“Place the arrow's nock, or notch, on the bowstring then draw the string back slowly.” She stepped in closer so they could move as one while he pulled the string taut. It wasn't until her breasts were pressed against his back and her hips against his that she realized what she'd done.

Her eyes went wide; the lesson suddenly lost its importance as her blood heated in instant response. Her pulse picked up speed. The gilded sunlight was suddenly too hot, her throat abruptly too dry.

“What's next?” he asked softly.

“Release it. Just release it.” Her spine as taut as the bow's string, she skittered back two steps as if she'd been scalded.

At the same instant, Jackson took the shot. Cheyenne watched the arrow slice the air then disappear into the stand of redwoods that edged the range.

“Missed.” He turned, took a step toward her. She saw desire in his eyes—a reckless desire that had her heart thudding painfully. “Guess that's what you meant about concentration. I think both pupil and teacher had their minds on something else.”

“I…guess so.” She retreated two more steps, halting when the stone table jabbed into the small of her back.

Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he moved to where she stood. Reaching around her, he laid the bow on the table. “What are we going to do about this, Cheyenne?”

She closed her eyes. She'd never known her name could sound like that—soft and smooth and vaguely exotic.

“You should try another shot,” she said almost desperately. Only moments before she had resolved that nothing physical would again happen between them. So, how had she come to be backed against the table, his body brushing hers, his mouth so close, so temptingly close, that she could all but taste it?

“You need to concentrate this time,” she managed to add in a hoarse whisper.

“I did.” Reaching out, he slid off her sunglasses, laid them beside the bow. He trailed his fingers down her cheek to her chin, along her jaw, then down to where the pulse in her throat beat hard and erratic. “I concentrated on the woman who had her body pressed against mine.”

“I'm sorry. I…shouldn't have done that. I didn't think—”

“I've thought.” He drew her into his arms, touching his lips to hers. “For two nights and a day I've thought about the way you look. The way you smell, taste. The way you feel, pressed against me,” he murmured, then quick as lightning, he deepened the kiss.

The jolt, the heat, the yearning all melded together to swim in her head, through her whole body. As she whirled quickly into passion, she forgot to think about her resolve to protect her secrets, to keep him at arm's length. How much easier it was to move into him, to press close and let all of her caution slide away.

Her heart pounded a primitive beat through her blood. Her palms slid up his arms; she felt the power in the smooth, muscled contours of his shoulders before she linked her fingers behind his neck.

His hands dove into her hair, loosening her braid as he arched her head farther back. His mouth moved from
hers to ravage her throat. Against her belly she felt his hard arousal.

Somewhere deep inside her, enough sanity remained that she knew she should pull back, step away before she was lost.

The wild ruthless kisses that raced across her flesh only made her crave more.

One of his hands cupped her breast, kneading, tormenting. “I want you.” His mouth moved against her throat, coaxing, enticing, relentless. “Now. Let me have you now.”

She had heard those same words in another lifetime, had succumbed to the hot, aching desire. She had learned the hard way that the depth and suddenness of passion held its own special danger. That she was opening herself to emotions she'd learned to lock out had reason breaking through the smothering desire with sharp clarity.

“No.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded thin and far-off. “Jackson, no.”

“All right.” His voice was steel, with rough edges as his arms slid around her waist. He rested his forehead against hers. “You're not ready.”

“We should…” How could a man's lips grind her mind to mush so quickly? “We should…”

“Acknowledge the chemistry between us, then decide how far we want this to go?” he suggested, gazing down at her with eyes that had gone the color of smoke.

“No farther.”

“Cheyenne—”

“I don't know you,” she blurted even as the fire he'd kindled inside her blazed red hot. “I don't even know you. You don't know me.”

“I know how I feel.”

“It's all physical—”

“Damn right it is.”

“Emotions.” She pressed her palms against his chest. “They cloud your judgment, make you do things you wouldn't normally do. I don't trust emotions, Jackson.”

His eyes focused on her face, narrowed. “And you don't trust me.”

“I don't
know
you.” She took an unsteady step back, forcing him to drop his arms. “In college, I got involved with a man I thought I knew. Turns out, he wasn't anything like I'd imagined.”

A crease formed between Jackson's dark brows. “I take it you were in love with him.”

“Completely. Totally.” She pressed a shaking hand to her throat. “When we met I didn't
think,
didn't take time to get to know him. I went with my emotions and jumped into the relationship. He…didn't share my feelings. When he walked away I felt as if I'd taken a flying leap off a cliff and landed on jagged rocks. I don't ever want to feel that way again.”

“I don't plan to hurt you, Cheyenne.”

“Neither did he. It happened anyway.”

Blowing out a breath, Jackson nodded. “So, we cool things off and take some time to get to know each other. Is that what you want?”

“Our getting to know each other might not change anything.” She looked away, staring down the length of the empty range while she willed herself to ignore the sharp twinge of regret that settled in her chest. “I like my life. I'm content. I don't know if I
want
anything to change.”

Reaching out, he took her chin in his hand, forced her gaze back to his. “Wanting something and getting it are two different things.”

“Sometimes.”

“Most of the time.” He tightened his grip when she tried to pull away. “Let me tell you what I want, Cheyenne. I want to get you out of my head. I've tried like hell to do that for two nights and a day,” he continued, his intense gaze locked with hers. “Nothing I've done has worked. That's never happened before with any other woman and I can't say I like the feeling. But the fact is, it's there. My entire life I've made a point to avoid any kind of serious relationship. I don't like what they do to people.” As he spoke, his fingers gentled on her chin. “Despite that, I find myself wanting something with you. I'm not sure what that something is.”

“I…” She had to press her lips together to stop their trembling.

“You want me to keep my hands off you?” he continued. “Fine, I'll deal with that,” he said before releasing her chin. “All I'm asking is to spend time with you. Just some time so we can get to know each other. Figure out where we go from here. If anywhere.”

She swallowed around the lump in her throat. With her senses still clouded by desire, she told herself there was no way she could be sure what she thought, what she wanted.
Him,
her traitorous heart whispered before she could steel her resolve.

In the space of the next dozen heartbeats, a brilliant burst of color flashed before her eyes, bringing with it an image of her and Jackson lying naked together, sweat slicking their flesh as candlelight flickered softly. Lovers. Her nerves vibrated even as the vision vanished like a ghost.

She understood now that what they had begun would not be broken. They were destined to be lovers. And she had no clue if that was what she wanted.

It was to be, she reminded herself. Her heritage had taught her she couldn't change destiny any more than she could hold back her visions.

Accepting fate, she lifted her gaze to meet his waiting one. “All right, Jackson. I'll give us some time to get to know each other.”

 

Hours later, Jackson still wasn't sure how he was going to manage to keep his hands off Cheyenne.

He would figure out a way, he assured himself, using his forearm to swipe sweat out of his eyes while he knelt on the roof of Hopechest Ranch's towering horse barn. Overhead, the late afternoon sun beat down with blazing intensity. Waves of heat rose off the cut sheets of metal he'd used to patch hail damage to the structure's roof. Earlier he'd sweated through his shirt and stripped it off. Now he could feel the beginnings of a sunburn across the back of his neck and shoulders, but he didn't give the discomfort much thought.

He was thinking about Cheyenne. About what had happened between them that morning on the archery range.

Dammit, he'd been close to getting on his knees and pleading his case. Would have done just that, if that had been what it took to get her to agree to continue seeing him. He shook his head. Never before had he begged a woman for anything, and he wasn't comfortable with the knowledge he'd been close to that point.

Ready to beg, just so a woman he barely knew would spend time with him!

He thought without smugness of the females who regularly tossed offers at him to join them in bed. He sure as hell didn't have to beg any of them to spend time with him.

He narrowed his eyes behind the sunglasses that fought a losing battle against the sun's glare. The problem was, he didn't want to spend time with just
any
woman. He wanted Cheyenne James.

The instant edge of desire that had hit him this morning when she pressed her body against his had been so sharp, so blinding that it had made him wonder if there was some outside force that had jumbled his system so thoroughly.

No, he told himself as he hammered a nail through metal into the roof's wood frame. He couldn't blame his reaction on some outside force. Whatever change had occurred had taken place inside of him, he needed to accept that. Just as he'd finally accepted the fact he wasn't going to get the woman out of his head.

So, he had talked her into taking time to get to know him. And he would keep his hands off her. Somehow.

He dug nails out of the tool belt strapped to his waist, clamped them between his teeth. Laying another piece of metal over a sizable hail dent, he positioned a nail, swung his hammer.

That Cheyenne might not give him the chance to touch her again was a thought that hummed in his mind like an unrelenting gnat. He wasn't a man who in good conscience could let her walk deeper into any kind of a relationship with him without knowing how things stood. During the hours he'd toiled beneath the sun's searing rays he had made the decision to knock on her front door and lay everything on the table the minute he climbed down off the barn's roof. What happened after that was up to her.

Once she knew the cops had questioned him about the two attempts on his uncle's life—and considered him a suspect—she might tell him to get lost.

A fist tightened in his chest. Not until his trip yesterday to L.A. had he realized to what lengths someone had gone to frame him. He had no idea what other bombs sat quietly ticking in the murky shadows, but he suspected there were more. And that they were timed to go off at planned intervals.

As a lawyer, he knew how bad things already looked. Knew his situation would get even worse if the police questioned Cheyenne. Jackson was certain Thad Law would get around to doing that since the cop had given him the impression he was re-interviewing all those who'd attended Joe Colton's birthday party. It wasn't hard to envision the gleam that would settle in Law's eyes when Cheyenne told him she'd seen his prime suspect drop out of sight in almost the same location where, moments later, the person who'd taken a shot at the Colton patriarch had stood.

The anger Jackson had held in since the previous day strained at his control. Dammit, he was innocent—it shouldn't matter what Cheyenne told the cops. Just because he was at a certain place at a certain time didn't mean he was guilty. Still, add that to the insurance policy he'd supposedly purchased on his uncle's life and his knowledge of how to unseat an inept CEO in order for a son to take over a company and its assets, and the pile of circumstantial evidence against him took on an impressive appearance.