Apache Summer Read online

  It’s been my pleasure, dear, so you go on and get some sleep.”

  Dolly was gone then. Tess yawned in the luxurious warm comfort of the clean bed. She stretched out, thinking that she would sleep. If she wasn’t plagued with memories of Joe.

  But it wasn’t memories of Joe that kept her from sleeping. Even in the darkness and the warmth, she felt strange 61 chills snake along her body. It was Jamie Slateifs face she saw before her in the darkness, the dry amusement in his gray eyes: Then she remembered the feeling of wicked, surging heat as his gaze fell over the length of her. He had stayed away. And he had been drawn back. Almost as if he was feeling the same thing.

  She didn’t need a lover, she told herself. She needed a hired gun.

  Maybe she would have to barter to gain what she wanted. Barter! she charged herself.

  And in the darkness she admitted that he cola id be as cold and hard and ruthless as stone, he could care for her not at all, or perhaps even want her with a curious interest. It didn’t matter. She hadn’t thought about any man in over five years.

  But she wanted this one. That he could deal well with a gun was all the better.

  When she finally did sleep that night, it was with the stern reminder that she ought to be saying her prayers. That she ought to hope that Jamie Slater wanted nothing more to do with her, that the stoic colonel would take her to Wiltshire.

  She could fight von Heusen, and she would. She just wasn’t sure if she could fight von Heusen and all the decadent and shameful things she felt for Jamie Slater at the same time.

  It was wicked.

  It was true. If Joe had taught her anything, it was wisdom. She couldn’t change what she was feeling, even if what she was feeling could only cause her pain. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she slept. Slept, and dreamed.

  Of smoke-gray eyes, of a man with broad shoulders, taking her into his arms.

  Naked, as she had been by the brook.

  He was moving into a trap, Jamie thought the next night as he walked along to the Casey house, where Tess Stuart was. He was definitely moving into a trap, because he couldn’t call Tess a liar. He did know the Indians well, and he couldn’t let a huge war get started because everyone was unjustly blaming the Comanche. He was going to have to find out what had happened.

  He paused at the door before knocking upon it, swallowing down a startling, near savage urge to thrust the door open and sweep the challenging and all too luscious Miss. Stuart into his arms. No matter how he tried, he could not forget everything that he knew about her. No matter what gingham or frills or lace or velvet adorned her, he kept seeing beneath it.

  He’d lied to her. She was very much alive. She spoke of passionate life and living with her every breath, her every word. Her gpirit was ever at battle, never ceasing. She would stay on in Wiltshire, he was certain, no matter how stupid it would be for her to do so. She was determined to fight this von Heusen, and she would fight him even if they met on the plain and he was carrying a shotgun and she was completely unarmed.

  If. if. Was the man really so dangerous?

  He didn’t want to believe her. He wanted to be a skeptic. But there was truth in her passion, in her determination.

  There was truth in the honesty of her beautiful, sea-shaded eyes, eyes that entered into his sleep and made him wonder what it would he like if she looked at him with her hair wound between them and around them in a web of passion.

  Every time he was near her he felt it more. Something like a pounding beneath the earth, like a rattle of thunder across the sky. Every time. And if he didn’t watch out, the day would come when he would thrust wide a door and sweep her hard into his arms.

  He wouldn’t give a damn then about Indians or white men or the time of day or even if the earth continued to turn. All that would matter would be the scent of her and the feel of her silken flesh beneath his fingers. He was going to a dance, he ~-r. afinded himself. And every officer in the post would be there, and the enlisted men, too.

  He gritted his teeth and willed his muscles and his body to cease tightening with the harsh and ragged desire that seemed to rule his every thought. He knocked on the door. “Come in, Lieutenant.”

  He pushed open the door, irritated that he should want her so badly, determined that he would control himself. She was probably late, women always were. She was probably trying to pin up her hair, or fix her skirts or petticoats.

  She wasn’t. She was standing s’fiently by the small fire that burned in the hearth. She didn’t need to change a thing about her hair—it was tied back from her face with a blue ribbon, then exploded in a froth of sun-colored and honey ringlets. The tendrils curled over her shoulders and fell against the rise of her breasts.

  Her gown was soft blue, with a darker colored velvet bodice over a skirt of swirling froth. The sleeves were puffed, baring much of her arms, and the velvet bodice was low, but just low enough to show the risc of her breasts, the beautiful texture of her flesh, the fascinating way the soft curls of her hair lay upon it. She was even more beautiful than he had seen her before, her eyes bright and fascinating with the light of challenge, her smile soft and untouched by tragedy this night.

  “You’re ready?”

  “Yes, of course. You did say sunset, didn’t you?” He nodded. She reached for a blue silk stole and handed it to him. Woodenly he took it from her fingers and set it around her shoulders. The sweet scent of her hair rose against his nostrils, and the essence of it seemed to fill him. Damn.

  He’d tried so hard to gain control before entering the house. Now the scent of her was tearing through his senses, exciting his temper as well as his passions.

  “Shall we go?”

  “Yes, of course.” Her smile, he decided, was a wan- toh’s. Miss. Stuart was not entirely innocent, but rather a woman completely aware of her power. She hadn’t become a fluttering belle. Her intelligence was apparent, along with her rock-hard strength, in her steady gaze.

  And still . her beauty, her femininity . they were breathtaking. Jon had seen it even when Jamie hadn’t.

  “Where is the dance?”

  “In the alehouse,” he said curtly.

  “But then he determined that he knew the game himself; he would play it, too.

  He smiled graciously, capturing her hand and slipping it around his elbow.

  “The rest seems to have done you quite well. You’re looking wonderfully—healthy.”

  “Why, thank you, Lieutenant. With such flowery compliments a girl could surely lose her head.”

  “What a little liar. You wouldn’t lose your head if the entire Apache Nation was staring you down, would you, Miss. Stuart?”

  “There you go again, Lieutenant, what a dazzling compliment.”

  “Do you need compliments?”

  “Maybe.”

  They had reached the open doors to the alehouse. Already music could be heard, the strains of a lively jig. The notes of the fiddle seemed to be loudest, and for a moment Jamie thought that Tess’s smile wavered. He was suddenly displeased with the night, and with himself. She had gone through a harrowing experience, and she had come through it with tremendous spirit.

  No more platitudes for this chit! he warned himself. But her eyes met his in the dim light spilling from the open doorway. So deep a blue they were mauve in the darkness, so wide and unwavering upon his. He wished suddenly that 65 she hadn’t been young, that she hadn’t been beautiful. That she hadn’t been different from any other woman he’d ever met in his life.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have come tonight,” he said sol fly She smiled.

  “I’m fine, Lieutenant, truly I am. Shall we go in?”

  He nodded and escorted her on into the room. Dancers filled the floor, soldiers in uniform, officers with epaulets and brightly colored sashes, women in their sparkling fin- cry. The floor seemed alive with the blue and gold of the uniforms, and with brilliant reds and greens and soft pastels, lovely silks and brocades, satins and velvets.

 
But none compared with the blue gown that Tess Stuart was wearing. No other garment seemed to so fit a woman, to cling to her shape, to conceal and enhance, to so artfully combine both purity and sweetly simmering sensuality.

  Like the touch of her fingers upon his arm. Like the scent of roses that seemed to fill him and make him mindless of what else went on.

  Jamie saw Jon Red Feather coming toward them, and he swore softly beneath his breath. Normally the darned half breed was as silent as the night. Suddenly these days he was expounding away with his Oxford eloquence.

  “Miss. Stuart! Jamie. Ah, you’ve made it at last. Miss. Stuart, please don’t think me too bold—Jamie! I dare demand the first dance!”

  “Jon” — he began in protest.

  “Jon! Good evening!”

  The delight in Tess’s voice was so obvious that Jamie wanted to spit.

  If the two of them were so damned all-fired eager to be together, Jon should have escorted her tonight. It wouldn’t have made the least bit of difference to him.

  The hell it wouldn’t. She was his.

  He’d found her, he’d touched her and he’d brought her back here. It might be a trap, but he was deep within it now, and there was no crawling out. Still, he had to he civil. Too bad they weren’t out on the plain. He and Jon could go to it like savage kids. They’d done it before.

  He smiled and bowed with the best of the Southern chivalry he could remember from the days before the war.

  “Jori—Miss. Stuart, please. Just return her in one piece, Jon.”

  “He’s trying to pretend that I take scalps. I don’t, you know,” Jon informed her gravely.

  Tess smiled again—brilliantly. Everything about her lit up. Smiles for him, and taunts for me! And still, Miss. Stuart, we are irrevocably bound, aren’t we? “Evenin’, James,” the colonel addressed him.

  “Evenin’, sir.”

  “I see that Miss. Stuart has been whisked away.” He nodded toward the dancers.

  “Well, she’s lovely. A very welcome addition to our little soiree, eh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ah! Well, you shall’t be lonely long. There’s Eliza coming to whisk you away, I dare say.”

  Eliza was on her way over. She had stopped to chat at the punch table, but now, with her fan fluttering against the heat of the night, she was hurrying around the dancers to greet him.

  He hadn’t seen her since he’d come back with Tess.

  But she knew. She knew that he’d come back with a woman, and she knew that he was with Tess tonight. He could see it in her velvet dark eyes. She was smiling, but it seemed that the curve of her lip hid a snarl.

  She was still something to behold. Her neck was long and swan like her hair as dark as ebony, and though she was slender and graceful, a man could g~t lost for hours in her voluptuous breasts. Her skin was ivory and flawless, her lips red, her face lovely. Jamie knew she’d had her mind set on tormenting him for some time. He usually enjoyed her company because she was such a brazen piece of baggage. He’d seen her break half a dozen hearts before she’d deter67 mined to stomp on his, but he’d always managed to hold his distance from her. To take care that he never spoke a word that sounded like commitment.

  He hadn’t been able to refuse her constant seduction. He hadn’t been her first lover, and he was sure that he wouldn’t be her last.

  She was especially seductive this evening, her ink-dark hair caught to one side of her head and plunging in a black cascade over one shoulder, her bodice so low-cut as to reveal the endless depths of the valley between her breasts, her kelly-green gown contrasting beautifully with the darkness of her hair and the perfect ivory of her complexion.

  “Jamie, darling’! Well, you have saved the first dance for me. I’ve missed you so!”

  In full view of the company she slipped her arms around him, rose on tiptoe and kissed his lips.

  He waited for something to stir inside him. He swore inwardly. It was Tess.

  He was obsessed, and any other touch would leave him cold until he had quenched that newfound fire. “Eliza, nice to see you,” he murmured, catching her arms and unwinding them from around him. She pouted prettily, but he barely noticed. He was looking past her, toward the dance floor where Tess smiled and laughed, swirled and dipped and whirled in his best friend’s arms.

  They were striking together, the tall half-breed and the exquisite blond who looked so delicate but had a will of pure steel. “Dance, yes!” he muttered, and he swept Eliza into his arms and onto the floor.

  “I was afraid that you hadn’t missed me!” she told him, her eyes growing dark.

  “What? Of course I missed you,” he said.

  “You didn’t come to see me last night.”

  “No, I had reports to fill out.”

  “I waited for you. Very late. Into the night.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I’ll wait again.”

  It was promising. Maybe he could close his eyes and imagine that he held Tess’s sun-honey blond hess

  No. It wouldn’t be fair.

  He smiled.

  “Eliza, I brought Miss. Stuart to the dance.”

  “Miss. Stuart?

  Oh, yes! I heard about her! The zany woman who thinks white men are Comanche.” She shuddered.

  “Honestly, Jamie, I understand how you might feel responsible, but just walk her home and then come on over.”

  “Can’t, Eliza. Not tonight.”

  She looked furious for a moment, as if she was about to argue. But she fell silent, pressing closer to him. The musky scent she was wearing rose around him. He felt the pressure of her breasts, the flash of a thigh. She wanted to excite him.

  “I’m glad to find you so understanding, Eliza,” he said pleasantly.

  “Of course. I’m always understanding,” she told him gravely, sweetly.

  Like hell, he thought. But he smiled. Jon was no longer dancing with Tess.

  She’d already danced with half the men in the regiment, Jamie thought irritably. She was in the arms of a young sergeant now, a handsome towhead stripling! A kid who probably hadn’t even shaved yet. And he was gushing all over her.

  Just about to trip over his own darned tongue. Jon reclaimed her.

  Jamie gritted his teeth, determined to watch his date for the evening no more. He had no way of knowing that Tess Stuart was watching him every bit as covertly. Those strange stirrings rose inside her as she watched the ebony-haired enchantress laughing, pressing against him, heaving her bovine breasts beneath his nose. She was very anxious to be retrieved by Jon, and managed to dance her way over to the tall Sioux.

  He promptly cut in and swept her around, smiling like the devil’s own disciple.

  “Mr. Red Feather?”

  “yes?”

  “Who is the massive mount of mammary glands?” He laughed and bent low to whisper against her ear.

  “That, Miss. Stuart, is Eliza.”

  He lifted his head again and smiled benignly toward Jamie.

  “Keep an eye on that one,” he warned Tess.

  “I certainly intend to,” she told him sweetly, then she tossed her hair and laughed, and the sound of her voice was like a melody on the air.

  And every man in the place seemed to turn to her. Including Jamie Slater.

  Chapter Four

  Tess didn’t see how or when Jamie extricated himself from Miss. Eliza, but within a few minutes, he was tapping on Jon’s shoulder, claiming her for a dance. She smiled serenely as they moved to the music. Hemust have attended many of these little balls. He was as accomplished at dancing as he was with riding and shooting. She felt suddenly as if she walked on air herself, as if the room and the people all around them faded, as if they shared more than a simple touch. Maybe they did. His eyes were boring into hers.

  “Enjoying your conquests, Miss. Stuart?”

  She widened her eyes.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I mean every snot-nosed young trooper
here is ready to lie down and die for you.” “Really?” she asked with a sweet note of astonishment. “Well, how very genteel of the lads, how kind! But tell me, Lieutenant, how am I doing with the others?” His jaw twisted slightly, but there was still amusement to his smile.

  “The graybeards, Miss. Stuart, are quite willing to dig their own graves, if need be, for your cause.”

  “Oh, dear! Ah, well, let’s hope that it need not be. But I’m curious, sir, how am I doing with the men between nineteen and ninety?”

  “Would it please you to know that a number of them were probably quite ready to slit one another’s throats for the mere bounty of your smile?”

  She didn’t know if he was teasing. Not anymore. The smoky quality was in his eyes again. She lowered her lashes, shivering slightly, wondering if he was really a man to play with so freely. Then she raised her eyes with a bold and sweeping challenge.

  “Thank goodness, sir, that you would not participate in such a skirmish! I mean, as one could see how heavily involved you are …”

  “What?” he demanded, scowling.

  “The bountiful brunette, Lieutenant. Miss. Eliza.”

  “Oh, Eliza.” He said the name dism~ssively. Too dismissively. He knew Eliza well, maybe better than he wanted to at the moment.

  “Yes, Eliza,” she said pleasantly.

  “Are you engaged, Lieutenant?”

  “Good heavens, no!”

  “Ah, was the horror of that statement over the possibility of engagement, or over Eliza?”

  “Miss. Stuart, you are very presumptuous.”

  “Sir, no one is forcing you to dance with me.”

  His arms tightened around her. He was smiling, but there was a sizzle to the smile, and it sent little shock waves rippling all along her system. Maybe she was playing dangerously. It was delightful. Maybe she risked igniting his temper to extremes she had yet to know. She realized that she was willing to do so, that the storm taking place within her own heart and body was demanding that she do so. “Miss. Stuart, I am your escort to this dance, remember?” he said bluntly.

  “Oh … yes, well, I suppose that I had forgotten. When I saw the way your lips became pasted together with Eliza’s …”