Sheri WhiteFeather - Cherokee Stranger

Should she tell him?

Tell him what? That she was scheduled for surgery in two weeks?

She sat on the edge of the bed and wrung her hands together. The melanoma would send him packing, that much she was sure. What hot-blooded American male would want to discuss skin cancer before sex?

Surely he wouldn’t notice the mark on the back of her leg, the site where a mole had been removed. Of course not. Why would he notice a small, seemingly insignificant scar? It wouldn’t matter to him.

Okay, fine. Then what about her virginity? Should she broach that subject? Should she admit that she’d never been with anyone before?

Emily had talked to her girlfriends about their first times. They’d sipped sodas, munched on potato chips and discussed indecent details, the way women often did. But at the moment, that didn’t help.

She had expected her first lover to be her only lover, the man she married, the man who would father her children. But waiting for Mr. Right seemed foolish now.

The cancer had changed her perspective. Life was too unpredictable to plan, and James Dalton was too handsome, too stirring, too erotic to ignore.

Desperate to relax, she removed her boots, peeled off her socks and looked around.

The motel room was spotless, aside from the makeup bag she’d left on the vanity and a blue T-shirt peeking out of a toppled gray suitcase.

Would James stay the night? Would he shower in her tub? Would he—

A knock sounded, and Emily nearly flew off the bed. With a deep, shaky breath, she stood, smoothed her blouse and answered the summons.

James offered a smile, an expression that gentled his rawboned features and softened the dark, hollow haunting in his eyes.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” She stepped back and allowed him entrance into the room, her heart beating with a girlish flutter.

She locked the door, and he held up the brown paper bag in his hand. “I got ’em.”

Yes, of course, she thought. The protection. He was responsible enough to practice sex safe and experienced enough to sight the topic ahead of time. But the fact that he didn’t keep condoms in his wallet set her mind at ease.

Apparently James didn’t make a habit of one-nighters, of picking up women in bars.

“You still have your clothes on,” he said, his smile tilting one corner of his mouth.

Her pulse leaped like a lizard. “You expected me to be naked?”

He tossed the condoms on the nightstand. “A guy can hope.”

“I took off my boots,” she said, almost wincing at her own naiveté, her inability to say something provocative.

He glanced at her feet. “Then you’re one step ahead of me.” Without hesitation, he sat on the edge of the bed, yanked off his battered boots and placed his socks inside them. “Now we’re even.”

“You’re wearing a jacket,” she pointed out.

He shrugged out of the denim and tossed it aside. “Not anymore.”

Emily hadn’t expected him to initiate a game, to bait her into a striptease.

Nervous, she remained near the dresser, the unit that doubled as an entertainment center.

He pushed his hair off his forehead, where the thick, dark strands routinely fell. “Your turn, pretty lady.”

She didn’t feel pretty, not with the lights blaring, not with him watching every move she made. Would he think her breasts were too small? Her tummy too soft? “You go next.”

“That’s cheating.”

She moved a little closer, determined to relax, to let this happen on her terms. “My room. My rules.”

“You got me there.” He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing his chest and the silver ring that pierced his left nipple.

Stunned, she stared at the shimmering ornament and noticed a black stone in the center.

“I did it a long time ago,” he said.

“You pierced it yourself?”

“It was sort of a spiritual thing.”

To Emily, it looked more sexual than spiritual, but she wasn’t about to say that. “Is it sensitive?”

He glanced up and grinned. “Want to come closer and find out?”

Yes, she thought. She did. She couldn’t believe how alluring he was. Or how incredibly dangerous he looked, half-naked on her bed, teasing her with a flirtatious smile.

He held out his hand, beckoning her. She stepped forward, and he pulled her onto the bed, kissing her hard and fast, pushing his tongue into her mouth.

Suddenly his hands were everywhere. She’d meant to turn out the bedside lamp, to ease into his arms, but he was too anxious, too hungry, too strong and muscular.

“Tell me what you like,” he whispered, licking the shell of her ear, opening the top of her blouse. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Heaven help her, but she didn’t know. She didn’t—

“I’ll do anything, Emily. Anything you want.”

She had to warn him to slow down, to give her a chance to catch up. She couldn’t give him directions, say the naughty things he expected to hear.

Scraping her nail across his chest, she paused at his left nipple, almost touching the captivating ring.

“I’m new at this,” she said.

He lifted his head. She was pinned beneath him, the weight of his body pressing her onto the bed.

“New at what?”

“Sex. Making love. This is my first time.”

His features went still, much too still. Then the scar across his eyebrow twitched. Emily held her breath. Her fingers brushed the piercing, grazing the magic stone in the center.

He pulled back, disconnecting her hand from his skin.

“We don’t have to stop, James.” She glanced at his zipper, saw that he was still aroused. “Do we?”

He frowned at her. Was he angry? Confused?

“How old are you?” he asked.

She bit her lip. She could still taste him, the hard, desperate tongue thrusts he’d given her. “Twenty-two.”

He gazed directly into her eyes, but his were troubled again, as haunted as a ghost-ridden night. “Why me? And why now?”

She didn’t know what to say, how to explain her decision, not without mentioning the cancer. And she wasn’t about to bring that up, to evoke pity, or God help her, revulsion from the man she wanted to make love with.

“I’m tired of waiting,” she said.

“So you pick up some guy in a bar? That makes a hell of a lot of sense.”

She wanted to argue, to fight for her right to be free, to feel whole, to lose her virginity to a tall, dark stranger. “Have you looked in the mirror lately, James? Do you have any idea how handsome you are?”

“And for that you’re willing to sleep with me?” He closed his eyes, made a disbelieving face. “That’s insane.”

“It’s only sex.”

He opened his eyes. “But it shouldn’t be. Not your first time. You need to keep waiting, Emily. To find the right guy.”

Humiliated, she clasped the front of her blouse. He was turning her down. Her fantasy lover was walking away.

He skimmed her cheek, gently, almost too gently for her to endure. She wanted to ask him to stay, to hold her, but she didn’t have the courage to bare her soul, to admit that she still needed him.

He dropped his hand. “I can’t do this.”

She lifted her chin, protecting her pride. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I have to go.” He pulled his shirt over his head and reached for his boots. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll…” The words drifted, fading into nothingness.

Emily remained where she was, watching him. Finally, he stood, looking like the troubled warrior he was, his T-shirt catching on the top of his belt buckle.

He grabbed his jacket, and in the next instant he was gone, closing the door and leaving her alone.

Much too alone.

At 6:00 a.m. James gazed at his reflection in the mirror. When he’d agreed to enter WITSEC, he’d assumed the government would alter his features, but plastic surgery hadn’t been part of the deal. His face was the same as it had always been, including the scar that cut across his eyebrow, the mark he’d acquired the first time he’d gone to prison.