Tender Taming Read online

  “As you say, madame,” Eagle replied politely. He jerked her foot and released it, sending her back to the bottom.

  Whitney rose to the surface gasping. “Okay, Flapping Feather!” she choked. “This is it. You will get yours!”

  Eagle’s blue eyes danced with a hellfire. “Oh, I do hope so!” he declared. “I’m counting on it.”

  Whitney crashed through the water and into his arms. Her breasts crushed into his chest and the nipples hardened at the sizzling contact. Her face nestled into the. curve of his neck and she clung to him, radiating in the simple ecstasy of being back where she belonged, of feeling their hearts beat as one.

  Eagle caught the hair at the base of her neck and forced her to face him. The bronze skin was stretched tautly over his proud features; the dancing light in his eyes had been replaced by the smoldering cobalt blue. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk first, Whitney?” he demanded harshly.

  “No!” She shook her head vehemently.

  He held her tensely for a second and then sighed his relief. “Good. I don’t think I could do much talking.”

  His lips came down on hers with a fierce possessiveness that left her quaking and gasping for more. Then his head disappeared beneath the water again, but this time his game was in earnest. His teeth moved over a nipple with a gentle tug that sent sparks igniting to her core. Then his erotic water kisses and nibbles moved leisurely all the way down to her toes. When he surfaced again, it was to scoop her into his arms.

  Whitney’s breath was coming in short pants as she slipped her arms around his neck and looked tenderly into his beloved face. “Much more of that and I could quite cheerfully drown,” she purred huskily in spurts of air. “I’m glad we’re heading for shore.”

  “We may not make shore,” he muttered hoarsely. His arms tightened around her and his murky-lashed lids fell so that his eyes were sensuous slits. “And I intend that you should drown, my love. Drown in me forever.”

  They reached the shore—just. Eagle set her down gently so that the water still washed in ripples along her legs.

  Then he moved over her, and foreplay was discarded as they both emitted strangled groans and became entwined in a desperate and urgent mutual hunger. Tears of unprecedented joy came to Whitney’s eyes as their unleashed passion raged to new pinnacles of erotic, shattering, mystical sensation and Eagle urged her ever onward, telling her of his gnawing need, of the awesome pleasure of all that she did, of the perfection and beauty of her undulating hips.

  The culmination of their fierce intensity was explosive. Whitney’s cry of sweet, sweet ecstasy rent the twilight air, and before its echo had settled into the sheltering cypress, she was moaning slightly, her contentment so great that the world continued to swirl until her form slowly, slowly began to relax. As always, Eagle held her tightly to him as they regained their footing on solid earth, his touch gentle and soothing now, no longer a rough and demanding magic.

  He was glorious when he made love, Whitney decided. Most delightfully glorious. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

  He shifted after a moment and leaned on an elbow to watch her as he ran enticing patterns over her belly.

  “I love you, you know,” he said with velvet softness. “More than I’ll ever be able to tell you. I’m not sure exactly how or when, but you wound me hopelessly around that delicate little finger of yours.”

  Whitney inched more closely to his chest, relishing the wonderful masculine scent of him. “I love you.”

  “I want to marry you in a church as soon as possible.”

  Whitney chuckled. “That’s lovely, darling, and I’d like it very much. But, my dear Jonathan White Eagle Stewart, you had better start considering yourself a married man right now. You have had a wife since the first night of the Corn Dance.”

  “Oh? Is that so?” Moving with his startling agility, he pounced over her and his eyes blazed with teasing menace into hers. “Then you’d better consider this! Don’t you dare—ever!—get it into your mind to pull another disappearing act or I’ll skin you alive and tan your hide! Got it?”

  “Yes, sir, yes, sir!” Whitney pledged with mock, round-eyed obedience. “But, Counselor, I only plead guilty with an explanation to the first charge! You were leading me down a primrose trail and laughing your rear off all the while.”

  “No, I wasn’t, Whitney,” Eagle said, suddenly serious. “I admit I did want to get to you, but it was more than that. I knew there was something special about you from the moment I plucked you from the mud. Even when you were being an impudent snob, I really wanted you to understand. It was important to me that you realize chickees were not hovels, and, of course, that I do speak English. Rather well, in fact.”

  “Oh, quit!” Whitney pleaded. “Won’t you ever let me live that down.”

  “Never, love. I cherish all my memories too dearly.”

  Whitney frowned suddenly and ran her fingers tenderly down his cheek. “So do I,” she whispered. “Especially my memory of this morning. But I don’t understand. After last night—”

  “Last night,” Eagle said sheepishly, running his fingers through her hair, “I behaved like a thwarted lover. I had no idea whom you were with, and seeing you with another man—when I had become sure we could work things out—drove me half wild. Then I began to cool down, realizing things weren’t always what they seemed. You had thought I was ‘with’ my secretary. I finally put two and two together. I realized the man you were with had to be the infamous Gerry. I had ribbed you cruelly because of simple jealousy. And as far as I was concerned, too, darling, you were already my wife. It frustrated the hell out of me not to be able to do anything about it! I called your office in the morning, determined to have an honest showdown, and they told me you were going out to the land site. I decided to follow you.”

  “Thank God you did!”

  Eagle’s brows knit tightly together. “At first I wanted to strangle that ex-husband of yours. I knew a lot about your relationship, but he was with you, and love isn’t always rational. He didn’t look like a terrible person. Are you sure it’s over?”

  “I never said Gerry was a terrible person!” Whitney laughed. “He was amazingly decent after your appearance. He was as positive as I that it was all over. He told me to go to you, and I put him on a plane. Everything is over for me that doesn’t concern a wonderfully crazy Indian attorney!”

  Whitney’s eyes shone with bright emerald love, and their track of conversation was temporarily lost as Eagle kissed her with gentle sweetness, savoring the magic moments of revelation. When he finally pulled away, it was to draw a long, shaky breath. “Where were we?” he murmured, bewildered at the way he could lose himself completely in her enchanting warmth.

  “Right here, love,” Whitney whispered dreamily.

  “Now wait a minute, wanton witch,” Eagle said with a laugh, catching the slender hand that teased along the length of his back. “I have a few questions. What made you change your mind when it was so stubbornly set? About the land, and me.”

  “It was simple—your father told me I was trying to build on a burial ground. Then your sister convinced me that you were right—culture and custom mean more to many people than convenience and electric stoves. I’m really a very reasonable person!”

  “Hah!”

  “I am.”

  “It may take you a few years to convince me of that,” Eagle said with a chuckle, running a finger over her lips with thorough fascination. “So that old coot of a father of mine went after you, huh? No wonder he was so smug about things working out!”

  “He’s something special,” Whitney said softly. “And I’m very grateful to him! Without him, there wouldn’t be a you!” She raised a questioning brow. “Is he still in town? He told me he lived in Chicago.”

  “Yeah, he’s still in town. He told me he missed the first wedding so he wanted to hang around for the second!”

  Whitney giggled. “I think you’re all a pack of Hindu mystics, not Indians!
By the way,” she demanded, “just what will my name be?”

  “Mrs. Jonathan Eagle Stewart, of course.”

  “Of course!” she mimicked with an impish grin. “And where will we really live?”

  “We”—Eagle scowled—“will really live at my permanent address—a nice little house in a pretty beach section of Naples called Port Royal. However, I do own the cabin in the woods. And I have permanent reservations for a certain chickee. Do you mind?”

  “Not in the least,” Whitney assured him innocently. “Although I admit I’m not certain I could spend my life in a chickee, I have become partial to certain of the dwellings. And I love rustic little cabins in the woods. Besides, my love,” she told him huskily, “my ties are firmly knotted. I would sleep with you anywhere.”

  “Sleeping wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Eagle declared with silky insinuation. “Not yet, anyway. Strenuous activity before bedtime is known to improve the quality of your rest. Did you know that?”

  “No. Really?” Whitney fluttered her lashes guilelessly and ran a taunting finger lightly over his taut abdomen, delighting in the quiver and sharp intake of breath that were his response. “Then, since we seem to be busy people who need their rest, I suggest we engage in lots of strenuous activity.”

  Eagle laughed and pulled her tightly to his hardening body. “A most pleasurable suggestion.” His lips began a knowing forage against the sensitive flesh of her throat.

  “Ummmmm …” Whitney murmured, allowing her fingers the wonder of sinking possessively into his sleek raven hair.

  He continued to play upon her body with expertise and draw from it the response of a beautiful, perfectly tuned instrument.

  The golden globe of a shimmering orange sun sank slowly in its descent into the horizon. The light was dazzling upon the glassy water in reflection and cast graceful shadows upon the birds caught in silhouette like shadows in the dusk. For a second Whitney mused upon the vivid, primitive loveliness of the land she could now call home. Then it all became part of a splendor that was rightfully hers. Her lover claimed her undivided attention again and she was among those that soared the gold-streaked skies, in flight with an eagle forever.

  A Biography of Heather Graham

  Heather Graham (b. 1953) is one of the country’s most prominent authors of romance, suspense, and historical fiction. She has been writing bestselling books for nearly three decades, publishing more than 150 novels and selling more than seventy-five million copies worldwide.

  Born in Florida to an Irish mother and a Scottish father, Graham attended college at the University of South Florida, where she majored in theater arts. She spent a few years making a living onstage as a back-up vocalist and dinner theater actor, but after the birth of her third child decided to seek work that would allow her to spend more time with her family.

  After early efforts writing romance and horror stories, Graham sold her first novel, When Next We Love (1982). She went on to write nearly two dozen contemporary romance novels.

  In 1989 Graham published Sweet Savage Eden, which initiated the Cameron family saga, an epic six-book series that sets romantic drama amid turbulent periods of American history, such as the Civil War. She revisited the nineteenth century in Runaway (1994), a story of passion, deception, and murder in Florida, which spawned five sequels of its own.

  In the past decade, Graham has written romantic suspense novels such as Tall, Dark, and Deadly (1999), Long, Lean, and Lethal (2000), and Dying to Have Her (2001), as well as supernatural fiction. In 2003’s Haunted she created the Harrison Investigation service, a paranormal detective organization that she spun off into four Krewe of Hunters novels in 2011.

  Graham lives in Florida, where she writes, scuba dives, and spends time with her husband and five children.

  Graham (left) with her sister.

  Graham with her family in New Orleans. Pictured left to right: Dennis Pozzessere; Zhenia Yeretskaya Pozzessere; Derek, Shayne, and Chynna Pozzessere; Heather Graham; Jason and Bryee-Annon Pozzessere; and Jeremy Gonzalez.

  Graham at a photo shoot in Key West for the promotion of the Flynn Brothers trilogy.

  Graham at the haunted Myrtles plantation, Francisville, Louisiana.

  Graham and the Slushpile Band playing the Memnoch the Devil Ball at the Undead Con in New Orleans, 2010.

  Graham with dear friend, actor Doug Jones.

  Graham (third from left) with F. Paul Wilson, R. L. Stine, Jon Land, and other friends at the seventh annual ThrillerFest, held in New York City, 2011. The authors participated in the “Be Book Smart” campaign organized by Reading Is Fundamental, the nation’s oldest and largest children’s literacy organization.

  Graham (seated center) with her local Romance Writers of America group in Broward County, Florida, 2011.

  Graham (second from left) with fellow authors Stephen Jay Schwartz, F. Paul Wilson, and Barry Eisler participating in a panel at the Romantic Times Booklovers Convention, Los Angeles, 2011.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  copyright © 1983 by Heather Pozzessere

  cover design by Connie Gabbert

  978-1-4804-0826-5

  This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media

  345 Hudson Street

  New York, NY 10014

  www.openroadmedia.com

  EBOOKS BY HEATHER GRAHAM

  FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA

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