"That's better," he bent to whisper by her ear. "Do you still want me to remove my hand?" She wouldn't answer. "You liked it, didn't you?"
She still wouldn't answer. But her back arched, her head reared back, and her fingers were now kneading his thighs in a desperate manner. He took advantage of her exposed neck to graze his teeth along her skin, sending ripples of excitement down to her belly. His other hand, which had been spread across her middle to hold her against him, came up now to her exposed breast. The nipple was already hard and begging for his touch. He teased it a while before satisfying it with the firm pressure of his palm in a circular mo-tion. The other breast was soon bared for the same tantalizing treatment. And the fingers of his other hand, still slowly moving.
"I'm sorry I couldn't wait, Duchess, but you were given fair warning, weren't you?" His hot breath fill-ing her ear was nearly her undoing.
"I didn't. expect to be attacked. when I wasn't looking," she finally got out, only to hear him chuckle.
"It makes no difference when or how, when it's not up to you. You relinquished all choices when you agreed to take off with me. Actually, you relinquished them a while back. You just didn't know it."
"What are you talking about?"
"If a Cheyenne maiden allows a warrior to touch her body intimately, that warrior wouldn't be criti-cized if he then treats her in a proprietary manner. It would, in fact, be unusual if he didn't consider her his belonging. You allowed me more than a mere touch, didn't you, Duchess?"
Proprietary? Belonging? Why wasn't she incensed by those words? And why was it the deep timbre of his voice stimulated what she was already feeling? And his fingers. dear Lord, she could barely draw breath to answer him.
"I'm not Cheyenne."
"No. but I am."
"Only half."
"And the white half has had one helluva time re-sisting twenty-two years of ingrained customs and beliefs lately. Now turn around."
"What?
"Turn around. I want you facing me."
"But-but why?"
"Why do you think?"
There was enough insinuation in that to give her the answer. And he had ensured, with the deft move-ments of his fingers deep inside her and with his pos-session of her breasts, that she wouldn't object to his intention too strenuously. She just couldn't believe he was serious about the way he meant to do it.
"Why don't you stop the horse?"
"And waste time spreading a blanket? I'd have to take my hands off you to do that, and I don't think I can. Besides, this is the way I thought about it, Duch-ess, when you were making all those sexy little sounds in your sleep. You rode my fingers to the rhythm of my horse. I want you riding me to the same rhythm."
She was lifting her leg over the horse's neck before he'd even finished talking. He helped her bring the other one around. There was a brief problem with her skirt, but by the time she'd solved it, he was also ready, and before she even thought to wonder how they were going to do this, he lifted her, impaled her, and then dug his heels into his mount. With a gasp, all Jocelyn could do was hold on.
It was the most incredible ride of her life. Arms locked around Colt's neck, legs around his hips, she didn't have to move a muscle, just glide with the mo-tion of the man and the horse. It was when Colt took the animal through its slower gaits that things got re-ally interesting, especially when he no longer moved with the flow of motion, but against it, forcing her to bounce, grind, and slam against him.
By the time the horse came to a standstill, she had climaxed three times with soul-searing intensity. She was also slightly dazed, so it took her a while to re-alize they had stopped, or that Colt was kissing her in a sweetly tender way.
"Are you all right?"
"I haven't the faintest idea."
He chuckled. God, she could feel it between her legs — they were still connected. She was also still clinging to him. She let her arms slide down his shoulders as she leaned back. Her blush was thank-fully indistinguishable in what little light there was left in the day. But he must have sensed it. He tilted her chin up and placed another soft kiss on her lips.
"You'll get used to it, Duchess. I intend to see that you do."
To his lovemaking? Or to his new manner with her? She was so accustomed to his surliness, his bitterness, his pushing her away by deed or word. He'd changed since leaving Santa Fe, and she didn't know quite what to make of the new Colt Thunder. She wouldn't go so far as to call him charming.
Proprie-tary came to mind, and she recalled what he'd said earlier. He hadn't really been serious about consid-ering her his belonging, had he?
"Ah — didn't you mention something about dinner tonight? I'm not certain, but I may be starving."
Again he chuckled, something else that was totally strange coming from him. "I guess I should take advantage of what little light is left," he told her as he set her down on the ground. "You can wash up while I scout around. And if you know how, you can get a fire going. There are matches in my saddlebags." He tossed those down by her feet, as well as a roll of blankets. And then he unhooked her hat from his sad-dle horn and plopped it back on her head. "Best cover up, Duchess, before you catch cold."
She stared after him openmouthed as he rode off up the creek. Yes, there was a creek, the reason his horse had halted. And Sir George was there too, munching grass on the bank. She'd completely forgotten about him, as well as everything else, when Colt whisked her onto his horse. But the stallion had, thankfully, followed them.
She called him to her now to retrieve her cloak and valise, and found more blankets strapped to the back of her saddle, as well as a bag of cooking and eating utensils. Well, thank God for small favors. She had pictured herself eating meat off a stick and all manner of other barbaric modes of roughing it in the wilds. No tent, no fat pillows to sleep on, no chamber pot— which reminded her. She ought to take advantage of this small bit of privacy while she could. She had a feeling she wouldn't have much in the coming days.
Catch cold indeed. Good Lord, she hadn't even noticed the cold.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Colt returned with a pheasant and two small quail, some rather large eggs that likely belonged to another species of bird, a leather pouch of greens and what Jocelyn supposed were wild onions, and another one containing an assortment of berries. His pockets had been stuffed with nuts, which he seemed to take plea-sure in dumping into her lap as he squatted down next to her.
She was surprised by the variety of his provender. She had been expecting a dead animal she would have to suffer watching him skin. She was also piqued by his long absence, which had allowed her imagination and fears to run wild.
"What, no deer?"
He answered her as if he hadn't detected the sar-casm in her tone. "You scared away all the big game with your screaming. I warned you that might hap-pen."
"That was miles back."
"I meant when you—"
"Don't say it!" she gasped, vaguely recalling how noisy she had gotten at several points during their passionate ride. She lowered her eyes to the pile of nuts in her lap, realizing it was her fault it had taken him so long to find food for them. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. I had begun to think you weren't coming back."
His hand touched the side of her head and came away with one of her hairpins, which released a long red lock to fall over her breast. "I see you brought more of these along. Am I going to have to steal them all from you before you let your sun free?"
She glanced at him in bemusement. "My sun?"
"Your hair, Duchess. My people would say you had captured the sun in it."
"How poetic," she said as he reached for another pin and another lock fell. She was unaccountably pleased by his fascination with her hair. "You're not angry I scared all the animals away?"