Tallchief: The Homecoming (8 page)

He’d tried hard to change with Karen, but he’d been paying bills for Reuben’s garage and medical expenses. He’d been too harsh with his wife, when she’d wanted a
few dollars for kitchen curtains—Liam squeezed his eyes shut and hated the words that came so freely to his mouth— “I’m trying to make a living, dammit. There’s no money for silliness….”

He scrubbed his rough hands across his face. He’d regretted the words instantly, and Karen had loved him just the same. But he had steel for a heart, and it was better he kept to himself where women were concerned….

Then a sound took his narrowed eyes to the trail and across the lush meadow, to the beautiful witch with her fascinating green eyes shot from the forest’s shadows. Her long, waving hair caught the sun and the wind, and Liam’s gaze took in her body, the breeze pushing her clothing tight against her. His instincts told him to take her, to fuse his mouth to hers, to hold her and to grasp the fire that only she could give him.

Michelle glanced at the lengthening shadows and kicked the rock in the worn path. “He’s up here somewhere, and I want to tell him exactly what I think of him.”

A noise in the thicket turned her, and Liam’s broad chest gleamed in the half-light. She looked the long distance up into his steely eyes, that hard face. “You need a haircut,” she said, forcing herself to slash at him, when she wanted to fist that shaggy black hair and shake him for frightening her.

The arrogant tilt of his head and the flashing steel of his eyes told her he was in a fighting mood—well, so was she. “I hate you,” she said simply, to deny the fiery kiss they’d shared and give him no room to take another. “I’m a top executive of a major company. I’ve fought my way up a male-entrenched ladder. I didn’t appreciate
being thrown over your shoulder and toted back to the Tallchiefs. You’ve embarrassed us both.”

“So you followed me for a private mauling—to keep our dignities.” A woman who controlled her business meetings, she didn’t understand the warm, dark mockery in his tone. Those smoky gray eyes slowly stroked down her body, a sleeveless cool cream linen top with matching loose slacks. In her struggle up the rugged path, she’d freed the top buttons and ruined another pair of sandals. She jerked her head away from the big hand that reached for her hair, plucking away a twig caught in the strands.

Then Liam’s arms surrounded her, and he lifted her up tight against him, her feet off the ground. For a big man he moved quickly, and Michelle tried to think while her fingers dug into solid muscle and Liam’s dark gray eyes stared across the inches to hers. “You like to start battles, now finish this one before you run away.”

She’d never been handled so easily, most men fearing her reaction—she could scald them with a word—but she sensed Liam would only hold her tighter and flash his heart-breaker smile. “Put me down,” she managed shakily.

“When I’m ready. I don’t like being hunted, or tracked down.”

“You knew I’d be coming after you. You could have made this easier.”

“Ah. For you to reprimand and bully me. Is that what you like to do to the men you like to kiss?” he asked with a soft teasing kiss at one corner of her mouth. “I’ve told you that I’m not a game player, Michelle. You’d better leave me alone. There’s daylight enough for you to make it down the trail. I advise that you do just that and keep to your pretty little life, away from mine.” Then Liam lowered her to her feet, shot her a steely look and
turned to stride through the thick grass, sending waves through the daisies and sunflowers. A distance away, he unfurled a length of cloth. The shades of blue and green caught the slight breeze that riffled his shaggy hair the color of a raven’s wing. He draped the tartan around him, claiming it as his birthright, his male cloak of arrogance.

She couldn’t let him get away, set the terms and tell her how to lead her life. Michelle tromped through the grass to him. She pushed away the warning sirens—a woman alone with a big strong man, aware that she was nettling him and he wasn’t liking it. Oh, wasn’t he? Too bad. “J.T. should have a dog and pets, and a proper yard to play in,” she began.

Her anger flicked higher as Liam looked up to the jutting rock cliffs, ignoring her, a muscle clenching in his jaw. “Busybody,” he murmured finally and strode away from her, making his way to the path and moving upward through the rugged forests. He moved like a hunter, body alert, eyes slashing up at the hawk in the sky.

Michelle searched the shadows falling upon Tallchief Mountain. She could safely go down the mountain and catch Liam another time. But temper and pride drove her to follow him. She passed the grazing deer to find Liam standing quietly. Intent upon a small cemetery set amid the tiny heather blooms, he didn’t seem to notice her standing near. Liam looked so alone, his head bent, studying the stones marking Matthew and Pauline Tallchief’s graves, the other markers, no more than large stones. She couldn’t resist placing her hand on that broad back, the warm tartan covering it.

He turned to her suddenly, eyes flashing like steel, his fists wrapped in her hair. “You want to know, don’t you? You want to dig into my life—Well, it isn’t pretty. I don’t know much. I don’t know that I qualify to know
who I am, because until a year ago I thought I was the son of a bitter, harsh man. I’m like Reuben Cartwright—hard clean through. And then when he died, I found a letter from his wife—she’d died earlier. He’d dragged me from a riverbank, from my parents’ wrecked car and replaced his stillborn son with me.”

He flung her away, turned his back upon her and rubbed his hands over his face, the sound of his evening stubble raking in the soft night sounds. “I don’t know who I am, not really. Elspeth will help, I know—so I can pass a heritage on to my son. But inside I have too much happening now. I’m raw now, lady, and I don’t understand what’s happening to me up here—”

He tapped his forehead, sucked in the mountain air and glared at her in the evening shadows. “I want to feel your breasts against my chest. To feel the scrape of your nipples against my skin, to taste your skin, to kiss you until we both forget who we are and why we’re fighting…. To lay you down and love you, to burn away whatever I feel when I catch your scent, when I look into those witch’s eyes. I don’t feel gentle now, and I could hurt you—but I won’t, because you’re not driving me that far. You want to play? Find someone else. You don’t belong here, any more than I do. Go back to your penthouse or estate or whatever, to your spas and servants and tennis in the afternoon at the club.”

“Beast,” she managed too quietly and softly, rage running through her, plastered with images of Liam’s big body entering hers, demanding— “How dare you!”

“I dare. You’re wanting to play, to experience a mechanic, to lower yourself on the wild side and then go back—”

Her slap on his hard jaw rang through the chatter of the night birds and frogs and crickets. Horrified that she
had let her temper rule her, she shivered and found Liam’s big hand wrapped around her wrist. His expression was too savage, honed by fierce need and by his anger as he tugged her to him and found her mouth with his.

She fought her needs and lost, pitting her hunger against his. She soared into wild freedom, locking her arms around his neck, her fingers diving into that thick shaggy mass of his hair, keeping him close. The rough catch of his breath hit her hot cheek, as she caught his bottom lip with her teeth.

His hands caressed a hot path to her hips, fitting her tightly against his hardened body. One hand kept her locked to him, the layers of the cloth burning between them. His other hand slid to flatten between her breasts. Then with a tug tore away the buttons.

He stilled, their heat rising in the cool mountain night, then slowly looked down at her breasts, nestled in lace against his chest. Electricity raced within her as his hot gaze—the color of steel in fire—stroked her softness and his hand rose to tear away the lace. Rough and dark against her skin, his palm enclosed her, and the ragged groan that ran through Liam’s big body more than pleased her—She’d been waiting for this hunger, for this man to feed upon, a match to her own needs. Her thighs trembled against his as she placed her hand along his cheek, savoring the wildness and the gentleness of his touch. He seemed to calm at her touch; the storms lashing him eased. In that moment an unexpected softness rose in her, the need to comfort him. He turned slightly, holding her eyes, and brought his lips burning against her palm. Liam Tallchief wouldn’t hurt her, not even aroused as he was now—

A methodical woman, Michelle dissected her sensu
ality and knew that she’d never really been open to desire, that sex with her husband was more duty than fire and need. She fought to keep balance, not allowing Liam to think he was in command when the needs ran equal between them and she could hold her own with him. She’d trapped Liam and now he was hers—

His slow grin kicked up her heartbeat and tossed it into overdrive. Liam stilled, barely breathing, his eyes locked with hers, searching—Then he scooped her high against his chest, walking easily with her through the night, across the meadow. He carried her as if he had the right to hold her, to take her, and Michelle would wonder later why she’d placed her head upon his shoulder, why her instincts told her that this moment, with this man, was right. She could trust him, give herself to being a woman for just this night.

He lowered her to her feet and, with a dark look, flung the tartan at her and took the small book from his waist, handing it to her. He walked toward the creek bubbling in the night, and she stood, the tartan in one hand and the book in the other. Clearly, she could make her decisions, and carefully placing the book upon a nearby rock, she spread the tartan upon the lush, sweet grass and sat upon it, her blood pounding and hot and her body needing—

With Liam she was alive, not the machine her parents had bred for a business wife—

“You should have gone.” He came down upon her so quickly she barely had time to see the fierce look honing his face, his hands lightly shackling her wrists beside her hair. His hard body pressed down upon hers, and his desire left her aching and soft and damp. They kissed, a playing battle of lips and tongues and teeth, fierce desire awakening with the sound of their fast, uneven breaths,
the heat rising between them. “You can go,” he whispered against her ear, tugging it gently with his teeth.

“Or you can go. I’m staying,” she whispered back, and dug her fingers into his back to lock him close.

Filled with discovery and need and hunger, wanting Liam, Michelle pushed him gently down and moved over him, holding his wrists to the ground. “Michelle—” he warned roughly. “We’re going down the mountains now.”

“Are we?” she smiled down at him and reveled in the sultry, hungry and frustrated look at her breasts, half-draped in the torn cloth. Liam Tallchief thought of her as a woman, not office equipment, and the heavy, thrusting desire beneath her was honest, not a rushed once-a-week duty. “I’m staying. You go. I took survival training, you know. I can manage to stay as long as I want.”

He tugged a hand free to run it through his hair, his expression clearly frustrated. “Bet that cost a pretty penny, but you’re not staying up here alone. It’s dangerous, no matter how many fancy degrees you have.”

Her summer youth camps had cost more than most people made in a year, but then it was fashionable for her group to play at hardships. Liam was pointing out the differences between them, taking control, and she didn’t like it. She liked frustrating him, nudging him when he seemed too secure. “If I wanted an itemization of the differences between us, I’d have asked for it…. I have a few college degrees. I’ve paid some prices for choosing my career, and I could make life very difficult for you, if I tried.”

His eyes flashed silver, a pulse beating in his temple, his eyebrows fiercely drawn. “You already have. Now get off me.”

She wasn’t ready to let him go, not just yet, and she
tugged his wrist back into her keeping, pinning him beneath her. “I’m not done with you. You can’t define my schedules. Say ‘uncle.’ Apologize for acting like a mountainman and carting me back to the Tallchiefs, looking like a mess.”

“A well-kissed mess,” he corrected, easily moving his hands to lace his fingers with hers. “You liked kissing me. I could barely get a breath—”

“I haven’t had that much practice. Kissing isn’t a sport that I’ve had time for, even in marriage. I’ve been busy building a career, you know. Stop grinning.”

The happy fuzzy feeling inside Liam was too dangerous to trust. But he couldn’t let her go just yet. “Come down here and rest upon me, little witch. Stop fighting and pushing and giving directions and just let me hold you.”

“I’d rather not,” she murmured warily, and the husky timbre of her voice made him want her more.

“So you didn’t kiss in your marriage?” he asked lightly, and knew that the question would set her off.

“On schedule, of course. We were both busy with our careers. Oliver traveled and so did I. But that is none of your business, Mr. Tallchief.” The too-proper tone told him that he didn’t want to know more about the bloodless tie, because what he felt now ran more to steam and fire. He didn’t want to think of Michelle accepting another man, doing her duty—

“You like that, don’t you? Schedules, everything neat and in its place?” Then he gave way to the playful impulse nudging him and tugged her down to wrestle with her. It wasn’t a sport he’d played, but the soft limbs tangling with his were an invitation, and this time he lay over her, pinning her as she tossed beneath him. Could he trust his need to play and tease and watch her ignite?
“Say uncle,” he prodded, teasing her and delighting in the flash of her eyes, the wild hot temper moving up her smooth cheeks.

“You’re mashing me, Tallchief,” she said through her teeth.

“Then you’d better leave me alone, hadn’t you?” he asked, and regretted the gnawing need to look down at her soft, curved body pressed against his.

The next morning Michelle refused to look at Liam’s station as she drove by on the only road out of Amen Flats. A busy, successful executive could always find ways of ending her vacation two weeks early—unexpected emergencies could be convenient.