The Savage

Mutely she wet her parched lips with her tongue and nodded.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Slowly she shook her head. She was less frightened of Lance than of the intense pleasure he had made her feel. And more than a little confused by her own wild response, the devastating way he had shattered her control. “No…I… I’m not afraid of you.”

“That’s good. A wife shouldn’t be afraid of her husband.”

Wife. She was Lance’s wife now. Summer tensed involuntarily at the reminder, and yet Lance seemed to understand her unease.

He was still watching her, his obsidian gaze smoldering and intense as he began whispering to her again in that strange lover’s tongue. And then he began stroking her again with his hands—his unexpectedly, wonderfully gentle hands—arousing her taut nipples, moving over her belly, her naked thighs, making fresh desire kindle inside her.

Surrendering helplessly, Summer closed her eyes and let her head fall back. When his fingers tangled in the thatch of her woman’s mound, her legs parted wide to give his searching fingers access. He meant to do it again…make her come apart in his arms. And she wanted him to.

The fevered throbbing between her thighs grew in intensity, till it seemed like unbearable fire licking at her womb, along her limbs, through her veins. Summer whimpered mindlessly, caught up again in the same storm of passion that had swept her away only moments before. She clung to Lance, hardly aware of what she was doing, what he was doing.

The flow of foreign words had stopped, that much she knew. He was kissing her while his fingers worked their magic. She could feel his mouth grinding against hers, his tongue thrusting deep as she writhed against him in a frenzied attempt for deliverance.

A score of pounding heartbeats later, her frenzy erupted in a shattering explosion.

The long moments afterward were filled with her rasping breaths, with her violent tremors.

Keeping himself still, Lance held Summer as she quieted, savoring her response…her shaking body, her naked skin sheened with sweat, the erotic scent of feminine arousal mingling with the aroma of coffee. His own desire was like a firestorm raging inside him, but he was willing to accept the delay. Just now it was enough to have Summer clinging to him in the aftermath of passion—the fulfillment of one of his cherished dreams.

After a while, though, when she remained unmoving, Lance shifted his weight to his elbow and raised his head. Her face was flushed, her lips slightly parted and still, her eyes shut.

Her eyelids fluttered open even as he watched, and he caught his breath, seeing the emerald depths shimmering with tears.

“You okay?”

Vaguely Summer returned his gaze, nodding mutely. She didn’t want to talk; if she did, she might break down completely. She closed her eyes, suddenly assaulted by a tremendous weariness. She was so tired, so tired of being afraid, tired of being alone, of being proud.

She drew a deep, shaky breath that incredibly, helplessly, turned into a sob; she couldn’t stop it. She felt a loosening, a melting inside her, and suddenly the tears were running down her cheeks.

“Summer?” His voice was rough with alarm.

“I’m fine…” She shook her head, trying to swallow, trying to smile through her tears. “I don’t know why I’m crying… It’s just the last two days have been so hard. I’m just tired…”

Lance felt his thudding heart settle down a notch. Tenderly he gathered Summer in his arms, pulling her close against him. He thought he knew what had happened. She wasn’t playing games with him this time. She was simply exhausted after the strain she’d been under, and the powerful sexual climax she’d just experienced had sparked a physical release of tension, like a dam letting loose.

He needed badly to feel the same kind of release… needed to feel the hostility, the resentment, the fierce anger, draining out of him as he poured himself into her. And yet somehow he needed more to offer her comfort.

Gently he pressed his lips against her temple. “We’ll find her,” Lance said softly, in understanding. “We’ll find your sister.”

Summer swallowed hard, gulping back her sobs, and buried her face in his throat. That was what she’d needed to hear. She needed to believe she wasn’t alone. That Lance would ease her burden of fear.

“Go to sleep,” he said, regretting the words but knowing he had no choice. He couldn’t take her now. Not with her weeping for her sister. Not when she was so utterly vulnerable.

“Yes,” she murmured shakily, and closed her eyes.

It was several moments, though, before her convulsive sobs lessened. Sometime later, Lance felt her quivering body relax, heard her breathing grow slow and even. He lay there, her forehead tucked under his chin, cursing his nobility while primal feelings of desire and hunger and protectiveness swirled through him.

He hadn’t taken her, and yet he was almost glad. He didn’t want Summer to think of him as a brute, didn’t want to force her or leave her afraid of him.

Hell, if it weren’t for the circumstances, he would have been willing to give her time to grow accustomed to being his wife, instead of demanding she sleep with him tonight. He wasn’t a savage—even if he felt like it at the moment. His groin was ready to burst, but he could live with the pain.

If for a single instant he considered easing himself between her thighs, sinking his shaft deep within her shivering warmth and taking her while she slept, he ruthlessly crushed the notion. Even if he had to lie there and ache all night as punishment for having scruples, he wouldn’t claim his right like that. Not when Summer might hate him for it in the morning.

Lance tightened his hold on her—and suddenly realized how cool her skin had grown. He frowned at the ceiling. He ought to let go of her long enough to cover her with the blanket. He needed to put out the lantern, too. Needed to get up and take the coffee off the stove so the pot wouldn’t boil dry.