A Sweet Surrender Page 3

  When the first lights of dawn surfaced, he didn’t have long to wait before she arrived with a small meal and clothes for him. Her simple overdress and skirt couldn’t thwart his memory of her delicate softness. The memory of her womanly curves cushioning his sexually starved body had left him with a primal need to slide inside her and find mind numbing pleasure.

  Outside of his dreams, she was even more spellbinding, more captivating. Her delicate touch and sweet voice sparked a desire in him that had now ignited into a fiery need until he was engulfed by it.

  He wolfed down the simple breakfast, then got to his feet and began to dress. His body was growing stronger and the pain in his leg had almost completely faded. She turned away discreetly and he grinned at her unnecessary modesty. While he had been in her care, she had seen him naked countless times. Hell, his manhood had even stirred against her when he’d lain on top of her yesterday. They were beyond modesty now. Except, she was now sexually aware of him. He had recognized the passion in her eyes yesterday. There was a tug of attraction, a definite connection between them, one that she couldn’t deny, though she was fighting hard to.

  He buttoned up the borrowed trousers then stared down at his exposed ankles and frowned. He was taller than most, broader too. Though those attributes made him an asset as a grenadier solider, it was also a damned inconvenience.

  She turned around to face him then quickly hid her mouth with her hand. Her eyes, however, danced with mirth.

  “You too tall,” she said, shaking her head as she stared at him in his ankle-baring trousers.

  He found her amusement contagious and couldn’t contain a quick smile. “A blessing and a curse, it appears,” he muttered. He didn’t bother to put on the shirt. One look at it told him it would be a snug fit. She realized it too and took the shirt from him.

  “I find you another.”

  “I would appreciate it,” he said, smiling ruefully. “It wouldn’t do for me to walk back to my regime clothed like an ill-dressed savage.”

  Disappointed anger and resentment clouded her dark eyes and he regretted the thoughtless words as soon as they left him. Though the term was used interchangeably to refer to the natives, he’d learned over the course of his time in the colonies how degrading the natives found it.

  He cursed and ran his hand over his coarse hair. “I’m sorry, love. I meant no offense.” She nodded stiffly, though still visibly upset. “For what it’s worth,” he added, “I believe all men to be savage brutes.”

  “Even you?”

  The question took him by surprise, but he stared at her directly when he responded. “Especially me.” He had done things, had led men to do things, that no man should be forced to do. Those atrocities would haunt him for the rest of his days.

  She slowly shook her head. “I think still some goodness in man.”

  James couldn’t agree. He’d seen men decapitated, gutted, burned, and torn apart—physically and emotionally. He’d watched as his young brother gasped his last breaths, blood pouring from his chest. Death and destruction. All by the hands of men. All in the name of so called liberty.

  But he didn’t argue with her. As stupid and dangerous as it was, he found her naive innocence refreshing, even a bit charming.

  “Is there a creek you can take me to?”

  She thought about it, and then nodded. “But you can relieve yourself behind shrub.”

  His lips quirked. “I’m quite familiar with the shrub.” It was an area he’d visited often enough. “I’d like to freshen up and shave,” he explained, rubbing his hand over his jaw. He grabbed a small piece of cloth, the flint knife, and the small container of cream she kept with the healing salve, and then walked up to her. “Lead the way.”

  They arrived at a narrow, shallow creek down an embankment not too far from the makeshift shelter. He sat down on a rock near the edge of the calm water and for a moment, took in the peace and beauty that surrounded him. After days inside his crude enclosure, he missed the open simplicity of nature.

  Siara picked up the cloth he had placed on the ground and dampened it. She came back to where he sat and stood between his legs, her soft breasts inches from brushing against his bare chest. He closed his eyes briefly and breathed in her scent. Earthy with a hint of sweetness, like flowers and fresh air.

  She wiped the cool, wet cloth along his jaw and neck. He stared into her lovely brown face, losing himself in the delicate beauty of her smooth, high cheeks and soft full lips. Her fingers were light as they began to smooth the cream over his overgrown whiskers. His eyes drifted down to her smooth neck where a small, faint pulse throbbed rhythmically. Thoughts of his tongue running along her skin, to the base of her throat made him ache to touch her, to pull her beneath him again until he covered all of her, tasted every inch of her.

  When the blunt, sharp end of the blade came into his line of vision, he seized her arm.

  “What are you doing,” he asked quietly.

  “Shave?” she replied, lightly running her free hand through the hairs on his jaw.

  Her gentle touch sent a charge so sweet through him that he lost his train of thought for a moment.

  Tender touch or not, he couldn’t let her near his throat with a blade.

  “I don’t think so, love,” he said, carefully extracting the knife from her hands.

  She frowned, recognizing the distrust in his action. “I not hurt you,” she replied sharply. “I help you.”

  She held out her hand, waiting for him to return the knife. He continued to stare into her striking, dusky brown eyes. The color of smooth treacle. Behind those eyes were no devious calculations or masked hatred. Only patient exasperation.

  When he didn’t move, she sighed and placed her hand once again on his cheek. Her soft touch and gentle eyes lured him, tugged at a place in him he had long thought dead.

  “Believe in me,” she whispered.

  He believed in no one.

  But with her, he made an exception. She was sweetness and goodness—and had literally saved his life.

  When she reached for the knife, he didn’t stop her. He held still as she carefully scraped the blade along his jaw and neck. She trained her eyes on his face, tucking her lower lip between her teeth in concentration. In that moment, he forgot about everything—about the dangers that lurked, his duties to the Crown, and even his men. He simply focused on her. On the alluring lines of her lips, the way her soft hand curved around the side of his neck to hold him still, the way her delicate fingers curved under his chin to shift his head to the side.

  Her touch, her nearness, was driving him mad.

  Without thinking, he placed a hand on her hip. Startled, she nicked him with a small jerk of her hand. He flinched from the burning cut.

  “You must be still,” she admonished quietly, wiping the damp cloth over the small cut.

  “That’s an impossible feat,” he murmured, tightening his hands around her, “when I have such a beautiful woman standing so close.” He drew her closer until she pressed against him. There was a time he wouldn’t have dared taken such liberties with a fine, gentle woman such as her, but that proper British gentleman was long forgotten.

  She braced herself against him, her fingers clutching at his shoulder. She stared at him with suppressed passion as he leaned toward her, wanting nothing more than to feel those soft lips against his.

  “You mustn’t,” she breathed, turning away from him.

  “Why?” he asked roughly, hating to be denied when they both wanted it bad. “Are you wed?” He didn’t believe she was. What husband would let his wife roam the woods without knowing where or with whom she was with? If she were his, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight.

  “Akando and I will wed once sachem returns to bless union,” she said, keeping her gaze lowered.

  Jealousy like he’d never known washed over him. He didn’t want to think of her belonging to another man, lying with him and letting him touch her.

  “Do you love him?” />
  She glanced up at him in surprise. “It’s not matter.”

  “It matters to me,” he said strongly. “I want you, Siara. And I know you want me too.”

  Her fingers tightened around his shoulder and her gaze lowered to his lips. Desire pulsated between them, becoming almost tangible. Her breath hitched when he looped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Her firm breast pressed against him as he cupped her chin and brought his lips over hers.

  The sensation was explosive.

  The forgotten blade slipped from her fingers and landed on the ground with a soft thud. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he drowned out everything around them, slanting his mouth over hers, devouring the sweetness of her lips.

  He thrust his tongue into her warm mouth and she flicked hers lightly against his, shyly at first then with bolder strokes. He growled low in his throat, his hand cupping the lush curve of her rear and bringing her firmly against him. Straining in the snug trousers, his swollen shaft ground against her, begging for release.

  She was a pleasant ache, a devastating distraction…and everything he’d thought she would be. With each tantalizing caress, she grew more daring, straining against him and running her fingers through his hair. Her low, throaty moans drove him wild until the need to be inside her consumed him.

  He tugged at the hem of her skirt and she tore her lips away from his, breathing heavily. He slowly moved his lips over her cheek and down her neck, nipping at the tender flesh there. She shivered, her fingers clutching at him. He passed his tongue over the smooth skin, tasting the essence of her, the sweetness of her.

  “James…” she gasped into his ear.

  The sound of his name coming from her, breathless and filled with passion, his desire erupted into a need so great, he couldn’t stand it. He jerked up her skirt and slid his hand over her bare thighs. She instantly pushed away from him.

  “No!” she cried, bringing her hands over her chest and throat. “We mustn’t.”

  Frustration rose in him, but he held himself still, his breath rushing out harsh and fast. He willed his heart to stop its frantic racing. He wanted her back in his arms yet the terrified confusion and anxiety in her eyes kept him from reaching for her. It was a decision he struggled with. Having her in his arms had felt so right.

  Carefully, he rose to his feet and walked to the stream. He splashed a handful of water over his face, letting its coolness ease some of the fire raging inside him. Without a word, he went back and collected the knife and discarded supplies.

  In strained silence, they returned to the shrouded shelter. As they drew near, the place that had been made to save his life began to feel more like his punishment than his refuge. Much like the woman walking silently beside him.

  Chapter 4

  Her lips still tingled.

  Siara had spent much of that morning thinking about James Blake and the passionate kiss they’d shared by the creek. She hadn’t known it could be like that—to want a man so fiercely, her body shook with it.

  But he was a temptation she couldn’t indulge. She belonged to another and would do well to remember that. Tomorrow, James would return to his people and she would travel onto the aid of others.

  Siara made her way back to the secluded shelter, carrying the new clothes she had promised James and the supplies for his travel.

  As she neared the small camp, angry, muffled shrieks reached her. Panicked, she rushed toward the shelter and came to an abrupt stop at the sight before her. Siara dropped the supplies to the ground and covered her mouth in alarm—then guilty humor.

  “James!” she shouted. “Place her down.”

  Thrown over his shoulder was an angry and violent Etu. The small, old woman pounded on his back with her fist, shouting curses and insults at him, his children, and his future grandchildren.

  “Who is this crazy old woman?” he asked, irritated. His arms were wrapped around Etu’s legs to keep her from kicking his chest further.

  “She is medicine woman,” Siara explained. “As me.”

  “Siara, run!” Etu shouted in their language. “Save yourself from this great beast!”

  “Etu, calm yourself. He will not hurt us.” She said to James in English, “Please place her down. She has great fear of you.”

  “It is I who should be afraid,” James muttered, easing the old woman to her feet. “The old relic attacked me then proceeded to pummel my back blue.”

  Siara hid a smile as she tried to comfort Etu. She quickly explained to the old woman that he had been awake for some time now—a fact Etu did not appreciate just hearing about—and that she was simply helping him prepare for his return to his people tomorrow.

  “Why is she staring at me like that?”

  “She doesn’t believe to trust you,” Siara explained to him. “She has vision that you will do us harm.”

  James frowned. “Tell her I have no intention of causing anyone harm. You have my word.”

  “She understands.”

  As if to confirm, Etu pointed a trembling finger at him. “You. Away. Now.”

  James raised a brow and Siara moved in front of the older woman. “Etu, please return to the village. I will be there soon.”

  Etu clucked her tongue and frowned, giving James one more narrowed-eyed look before turning to her. “Remember, you are to travel with the others at first light, Siara. Say your goodbyes to the barbarian and return quickly.”

  Siara nodded obediently. “Yes, Etu.”

  Once alone with James, she suddenly became very aware of the two of them in the small space. However, they went on as if that moment by the creek had never happened. She handed him the clothes and he stripped out of the snug trousers. He stood before her gloriously naked and, as she’d done earlier, she discreetly turned away. She had managed to find him a longer pair of trousers from the clothes their Colonist allies had supplied them with, complete with a hunting frock.

  He dressed himself effortlessly. He favored his better leg while he moved, but he still stood solidly on both. She suspected he would forever have the slight limp and wondered if that bothered him. Once he was fully dressed, he looked similar to one of the neighboring white farmers.

  He dug into the simple meal she had prepared. His appetite was big. She hoped she had brought enough to fill him because this was the last meal she would bring him. Tomorrow, he would be gone from here forever.

  She pushed her melancholy aside and reveled in her last moments with him. She enjoyed watching him. He looked less like a feral animal with the hair on his face trimmed. She hadn’t given him a close shave, not wanting to irritate his skin with the blade, but it would do. The shadow of hair around his face gave him a rugged allure she found dangerously appealing.

  He glanced up at her from his bowl when she continued staring at him. “Are there others in your tribe like you?” he asked.

  Siara tilted her head to the side, confused. “How you mean?”

  “I mean dark,” he said plainly, returning his attention to his meal. “I admit I haven’t interacted with many natives, but I expected your people to look more like you.”

  Siara tensed. He was obviously referring to Etu’s olive skin and bone-straight black hair. Whereas, her coloring was of a darker hue and her hair held deep ripples. Though her clan never treated her any different, she had spent most of her life coming to terms with the knowledge that she was a half-breed. In the eyes of others, she was different.

  “Don’t misunderstand me,” he said when she continued her silence. “You’re a beautiful woman.” He placed his bowl beside him and stared at her contemplatively. “I guess I’m just trying to understand you,” he admitted ruefully.

  She studied him, finding only sincere curiosity in his eyes. She guessed then there was no harm in telling him. “My mother Onyota’aka,” she began, “and my father African.”

  He frowned. “Your people allowed this union?”

  “My father was brave man,” she explained with a tinge of
pride. “He danger his life for one of our people, blood son of Clan Mother. As honor, my tribe…how you say, take him inside and make him Onyota’aka.”

  “Adopt?”

  She nodded. “Yes, adopt.” Though the tribe always treated her father as one of their own, his dark skin and coiled black hair made him stick out like a pineweed in a dry wheat field. And though her father had embraced the customs of his new family, he had filled her with stories of his home across the ocean, not letting her forget that she had Africa in her blood.

  “Where is your father now?”

  She looked down at her hands. “He and my mother pass on from sickness.” The illness had raged through the tribes, claiming many lives. There were days she missed them fiercely, but there were nights they came to her in her night visions. They often spoke to her, and she took comfort in knowing they were at rest.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, love.”

  Her heart lurched from the tender compassion in his eyes. “Half of me feels deep love and kinship for my people here, for this land. But the other half of me, my father’s half, thinks on the land he comes from. I would like very much to know that land,” she admitted whimsically.

  He gave her a gentle smile. “Perhaps one day we can travel to that part of the world.”

  She returned his smile. “Yes, perhaps,” she said, though they both knew that could never actually come to be. She placed her hand over her heart. “For now, Africa lives here.”

  He glanced down at her hand, his eyes warm with understanding. Though her physical home would always be here, her heart would always be filled with love for her unknown home. Being far from his own lands, he could obviously relate with her in that, and she loved him for indulging in her fanciful thoughts.

  She froze.

  I love him.

  Her heart fluttered for a moment. It was freeing to finally admit those feelings to herself, even if a love between them could never exist. In the weeks she’d cared for him, there had been a strong connection between them. One that had compelled her to venture into these forsaken grounds and find him. Now that bond trembled from the tension of its inevitable break.