Echoes of the Past

ECHOES OF THE PAST

Susanne Matthews

Sensual Romance

Secret Cravings Publishing

www.secretcravingspublishing.com

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A
Secret Cravings Publishing Book

Sensual Romance

Echoes of the Past

Copyright ©
2014
 
Susanne
Matthews

E-book ISBN: 978-1-63105-247-7

First E-book Publication: July 2014
   

Cover design by
Dawné
Dominique

Edited by JB George

Proofread by M.S. Daniels

All cover art and logo copyright ©
2014 by Secret Cravings Publishing

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Dedication

For Michelle, you’ve touched our lives in so many
ways, and for that we’ll be forever grateful.

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank The Lake of the Mountain Resort for
the ability to use the location in this novel.

    
This is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events,
and locales in this novel are either a product of the author’s imagination or,
if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons
(living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

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ECHOES OF THE PAST

Susanne Matthews

Copyright ©
2014

Chapter One

He
lays
on his side on the animal hide, his head propped up on his elbow, watching her
sleep. How long does she think her excuse of gathering roots and snaring
rabbits will last, especially when she has so little to show for the time she’s
been away?

The naked woman beside
him stretches in her sleep. Her copper skin glows even in the dimmest light.
Her ebony hair spreads fan-like around her head. Her features are
fine,
her lips lush, begging to be kissed. When open, her
almond-shaped brown eyes, flecked with gold, add to her exotic beauty. She’s
unlike any woman he’s ever known, and he’s known many despite his mixed blood. It’s
craziness to stay here like this, but he can’t leave without her. The odds of
getting caught increase with every visit she pays to his secret grotto, but he
loves her more than he’s ever thought possible.

He reaches for her, runs
his calloused hand down the side of her warm, silky torso. Her nipples pucker at
his touch. Her eyes open, and she smiles. She raises her arms and pulls him
down on top of her. His lips meet hers with an insatiable hunger. His tongue
delves into her warm, willing mouth, feasting on her sweetness, and he hardens painfully.

Without any warning, the
dreamscape shifts, and he runs through the brush, fleeing for his life. Twigs
and branches tear at his buckskin garments. A thorn bush rakes his face. If he’s
caught, it’ll mean torture and death, but he isn’t worried about himself. He
worries about her. Has she gotten back safely? He slows his pace. Through the
trees, he looks over at the far side of the lake and sees her tall, lithe
figure standing on the beach. Her beauty, grace, and majesty set her apart from
the other squaws. Those harridans point and scream, but she stands still,
wrapped in the woven, quilted blanket she showed him not two hours ago. He doesn’t
dare stop for a better look. His heart thunders in his ears, his side aches,
but he increases his speed, pushing his painful muscles beyond their limit. The
enemy approaches, but she’s safe, and that’s all that matters. He doesn’t see
the log across the path. He stumbles and falls…

Tony Steele awoke with a start. His heart pounded, and sweat
covered his body. His ragged breathing dragged air into his oxygen deprived
lungs. His muscles screamed and cramped the way they did after a particularly
grueling cross-country race.
Not again.
For weeks now, these strange dreams had haunted him.
Dreams?
Hell. These memories lingered as if it he’d actually done these things.

He shuddered despite the heat emanating from his body. He rose,
went to the window, and opened it slightly. He breathed deeply, hoping to calm
himself, knowing it wouldn’t happen any time soon. He glanced into the parking
lot. Through the curtain of rain, he noticed Aaron’s car parked once more in the
lot, but not in its regular spot.

Somewhat cooler, he shut the window. He raised his hand to
his stinging cheek, surprised to feel wetness there. He padded into the
bathroom, turned on the light, and stared in the mirror. Blood seeped from the ugly
red scratch on his face.

Damn! That’s a hell of
a scratch. I need to cut my nails
.

Using a tissue, he sopped up the blood and touched a septic
pencil to his cheek to stop the bleeding. He cursed at its sting, tossed the
tissue in the garbage can, and left the bathroom. The stairs creaked under his
heavy footsteps. He entered the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a
bottle of water. Half of it disappeared in one gulp, and he wiped his mouth
with the back of his hand. These dreams disoriented him and had taken on a life
of their own. Like a voyeur peeking through a window, he watched the carnal
scene unfold night after night. He recognized himself as the man in the dreams
despite the longer hair and the scars and tattoos marring his body.