The Savage

His lip curled. “Don’t play innocent, princess. You always did have a way of attracting men like bees around a honey-pot.”

Summer thought the accusation totally unfair. She might have unwittingly caught his brother’s eye, but she’d done nothing to encourage his attention. Her behavior toward Fights Bear had been entirely circumspect, nothing that could be considered even remotely flirtatious or enticing. Indeed, she had kept her distance precisely because she was half-afraid of the powerful Comanche warrior.

“I didn’t deserve that,” she said unsteadily. “I’ve never even spoken to your brother, much less given him any suggestion I might welcome his advances.”

“Maybe not, but he wants you.” Viciously he finished tying a rawhide string around the bedroll and started on another. “Fights Bear demanded my cooperation in exchange for helping find Amelia.” Lance swore audibly. “I already agreed to pay him a fortune in horses. That’s more than enough. I’m not giving him you, too.”

Summer took a deep breath. “I don’t believe it is only your decision to make.”

Lance went suddenly still. He turned his head slowly, fixing her with his dark gaze.

Summer swallowed hard at the look in his eyes. “A-Amelia is my sister. I think perhaps I have a right to be involved in any decision that affects her fate.”

“You’re figuring on fucking my brother?” The question was soft, almost casual, but it held a tension as volatile as gunpowder.

Summer winced at his crude language, yet she couldn’t allow Lance’s jealousy—if that was what it was—to concern her; the situation was far too grave. She needed instead to worry about how serious Fights Bear’s ultimatum was.

Forced to consider the question, Summer closed her eyes. Could she do it? Could she give herself to a fierce Comanche warrior simply because he claimed it as his right? What if the alternative was losing Fights Bear’s support? What if her refusal possibly cost her sister’s life?

Bravely she raised her chin, trying to muster her courage. “If that…is what it takes to insure your brother’s support, then yes, I’ll sleep with him.”

In a single fluid motion, Lance surged to his feet. Summer took a startled step back, too late to prevent him from corralling both her wrists in one hand.

“You would whore for your sister?” he asked in that same lethal tone.

The question stung as if he’d slapped her. She realized Lance’s fury had swelled to a dangerous level, but she couldn’t allow herself to be intimidated, not with so much at stake. Tilting back her head in disdain, Summer returned Lance’s gaze, measure for measure.

“I suppose you could call it that,” she replied grimly. “I expect some people would say that is precisely what I did by marrying you. Whore for my sister.”

For a full five seconds Lance stared down at her. A full five seconds that gave Summer the opportunity to regret her ill-judged assertion. A full five seconds before Lance’s temper exploded.

His black eyes glittering and wild, he wrapped a hard arm around her waist and jerked her against him. Her heart gave a sudden lunge as she stared at his dark, rigid face.

“I won’t share you!” He growled as he abruptly lowered his head.

His lips, hard and vengeful, slanted over hers, forcing hers against her teeth, assaulting her with a fierceness that stopped her breath.

Alarmed by his fury, Summer fought to be free, but Lance controlled her struggles by tightening his grip, so that her arms were crushed between them. When she tried to turn her head, his fingers clamped on her chin and held it so he could enter her mouth with his tongue. It swept inside, hot and fierce, brutally lustful.

His kiss was a ruthless act of aggression, a seizure that punished, that dominated, that ravished without ardor. He kissed her as if he were taking what belonged to him, roughly, hurting her, seeming to want to hurt her, his mouth violent with need against her unyielding one.

Summer pushed against his bare, muscled chest to no avail. Her world reeled. She whimpered a muffled cry of protest into his mouth, but his fierce tongue only plunged in more deeply, subduing her, forcing her to open wider, robbing her of breath.

Lance’s rage was beyond control. She was his wife, goddammit; she belonged in his bed, not his brother’s. He deepened the brutal kiss, determined to brand Summer as his own. She would feel him, taste him, think of him, when she gave herself to another man.

His eyes blazed when he suddenly raised his head. Dimly she saw the harsh, almost cruel look of arousal on Lance’s face. The skin was pulled tight over his high, prominent cheekbones; his white teeth were bared like a beast’s.

“You don’t want my brother, princess. He won’t be easy on you. He’ll simply take you like chattel, spend his lust on you, and throw you back to me.”

As if to graphically demonstrate, Lance’s powerful body bent over her, forcing her back against his arm. His knee parted her legs, shoved hard against her femininity beneath her deerskin skirt, threatening her with his overwhelming strength. Yet somehow his assault did more to arouse than threaten. All Summer could manage to think about was their wedding night, the memory of Lance’s thigh moving roughly between hers, giving her her first taste of ecstasy.

He bent her ruthlessly over his arm, but try as she might, she couldn’t seem to care about the pain that shot through her. She felt terrifyingly weak, knowing full well she was at Lance’s mercy. And yet, incredibly, at the same time she felt powerfully feminine, aware that she had driven this strong man to lose his rigid control. She could feel the hunger in his muscular body. His obsidian eyes were wild, fierce, naked in intent, his face dark and taut with both rage and physical need. He meant to take her; she could see it in his violent look, feel it in his brutal embrace.

And yet his possession was what Summer wanted, what she yearned for. It was all too possible that she would be forced to share his brother’s bed, and she desperately wanted Lance to be the first. He was her husband. She wanted to belong to him.

Through a haze of awareness, she heard his threatening growl. “Fights Bear won’t pleasure you beforehand. He won’t do this…”

In two swift seconds, Lance had ripped the buttons from the calico shirt she wore and pushed it open, baring her breasts. His hard fingers closed roughly over a soft mound in a grip that should have hurt but didn’t. She could feel her nipple swelling painfully against the callused pressure of his palm, but she could only gasp at the sensations his touch awakened in her.