"Thank you. I wo­uld lo­ve to," Jole­na sa­id, her kne­es we­ak at the tho­ught of ta­king his hand.

When she re­ac­hed her hand to his and his flesh met hers as he cir­c­led his fin­gers aro­und hers and drew her on to­ward him, Jole­na's bre­ath was suc­ked away and drawn de­ep down in­si­de her, ca­using her to sway from lig­h­t­he­aded­ness. She swal­lo­wed hard and ste­adi­ed her­self, then mo­ved to­ward him.

Her kne­es trem­b­led as he hel­ped her down on­to the warm grass be­si­de him, reg­ret­ting it when he re­le­ased her hand.

Jolena co­uld not ke­ep her eyes off his un­co­ve­red chest. She had ne­ver se­en such mus­c­les, and he was ba­re of ha­ir, un­li­ke her whi­te brot­her and fat­her, who­se chests we­re co­ve­red with fe­at­he­rings of gol­den ha­ir.

Beneath the light of the mo­on, the sle­ek­ness of Spot­ted Eag­le's cop­per skin was very tem­p­ting. Yet she was not da­ring eno­ugh to pla­ce a hand the­re, to fe­el how it might re­sem­b­le her own when, at age six, she had sto­od in front of a mir­ror and had run a hand over her body, won­de­ring why it was dif­fe­rent in co­lo­ring than her play­ma­tes'.

She had then dis­co­ve­red how smo­oth and soft her cop­per skin was and to­ok pri­de from that ti­me on that it was of that co­lor and tex­tu­re.

"You fol­lo­wed Spot­ted Eag­le to ri­ver," he sa­id, yet not lo­oking at her. "That was fo­olish. Many cre­atu­res stalk at night."

Jolena felt aw­k­ward, kno­wing that to re­ve­al the truth to him was to open her so­ul and he­art to him. In­s­te­ad, she sa­id so­met­hing el­se, ho­ping that might sa­tisfy him, at le­ast for the mo­ment. "I co­uld not go to sle­ep," she sa­id softly. "I, too, fol­lo­wed the path of the mo­on to the ri­ver." Then she told a lie that she tho­ught was ne­eded. "I had no idea you we­re he­re. Aga­in, I'm sorry if I've be­co­me a bot­her to you. Just say the word and I'll le­ave."

Spotted Eag­le qu­ickly lo­oked her way. "You will le­ave when I le­ave," he sa­id. "My we­apons will pro­tect you."

Jolena was sur­p­ri­sed that he was be­ing so tal­ka­ti­ve with her. All day, in the pre­sen­ce of ever­yo­ne el­se, he had be­en gra­ve, si­lent, and re­ser­ved.

She was glad that he was mo­re open with her. She so badly wan­ted to qu­es­ti­on him abo­ut what the­re was abo­ut her that was fa­mi­li­ar to him, and then tell him abo­ut her dre­ams and what they might ha­ve fo­re­told.

She al­so wan­ted to prod him for an­s­wers to her qu­es­ti­ons abo­ut the In­di­ans in this area, abo­ut whet­her or not he knew of a fat­her who­se child had be­en lost to him eig­h­te­en ye­ars ago.

But now that she was he­re, the op­por­tu­nity sta­ring her in the fa­ce, she co­uld not find the words to ask him an­y­t­hing. If he was from her tri­be, then she wo­uld want to be ta­ken to his vil­la­ge to me­et her true pe­op­le.

Perhaps even her true fat­her.

Then she might ne­ver want to re­turn to Sa­int Lo­u­is,

to the man who had ra­ised her with much lo­ve and warmth. She felt a ke­en de­vo­ti­on to Bryce Ed­monds.

"Whenever you wish to re­turn to the camp, I wo­uld be gra­te­ful for wha­te­ver pro­tec­ti­on you lend me as I ac­com­pany you the­re," Jole­na sa­id, ner­vo­usly dra­wing her legs up be­fo­re her and cir­c­ling her arms aro­und them to hold her skirt in pla­ce.

Spotted Eag­le ga­zed at her, smi­led, and nod­ded. As the­ir eyes loc­ked in an un­s­po­ken un­der­s­tan­ding, he was re­min­ded of the many qu­es­ti­ons that he wan­ted to ask her, yet at the sa­me ti­me he saw no ne­ed to ask her why she had be­en ra­ised as whi­te, for he be­li­eved he al­re­ady knew the an­s­wer. He wo­uld wa­it for the per­fect ti­me to tell her.

When he knew that her he­art be­lon­ged so­lely to him, then he wo­uld tell her…

"You li­ke stars and I li­ke but­ter­f­li­es," Jole­na sa­id, la­ug­hing aw­k­wardly as she wren­c­hed her eyes from his, fe­eling the dan­ger in his hypno­tic sta­re. She co­uld fe­el her­self be­ing pul­led de­eper and de­eper in­to the mysti­que of this man, her very so­ul crying out to be held by him.

She wan­ted to ex­pe­ri­en­ce ever­y­t­hing with him. She wan­ted to sha­re her de­epest fe­elings and emo­ti­ons with him, if he wo­uld al­low it.

For now, she must ma­ke small talk only. She must mo­ve slowly in­to this true kno­wing of him and his pe­op­le. She did not want to reg­ret la­ter so­met­hing that she might do now be­ca­use of the sen­su­al let­hargy that she was ex­pe­ri­en­cing at his ne­ar­ness.

She wan­ted it to be to­tal­ly right when she mo­ved in­to his arms and al­lo­wed him to te­ach her the true me­aning of be­ing a wo­man…

"You se­ek a spe­ci­al but­terfly," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id softly. "I ha­ve se­en it. So­on I ho­pe you will al­so see its lo­ve­li­ness."

He was glad to be drawn in­to small talk, kno­wing that this wo­uld de­lay what he so badly wan­ted to do. He had wa­ited a li­fe­ti­me for her, and it was hard not to hold her and tell her that she was al­re­ady ever­y­t­hing to him wit­ho­ut even that first kiss.

In ti­me, he tho­ught to him­self.

In ti­me, the mo­ment wo­uld be right for him to draw her in­to his arms, to kiss… to hold… and to cla­im her to­tal­ly as his.

For now, he wo­uld just enj­oy be­ing with her, ab­sor­bing her every mo­ve, her every word, her every smi­le.

All of the­se things ple­asu­red him mo­re than he wo­uld ha­ve ima­gi­ned a wo­man co­uld af­fect him ever aga­in.

But she was not just any wo­man. She was the mir­ror ima­ge of Swe­et Do­ve.

Tags: Cassie Edwards Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net