But his plan had backfired. He’d wanted Summer to realize he wasn’t the savage she feared, but all he’d done was confirm it, telling her about killing Texas settlers. And he’d succeeded in letting her probe old wounds as well. She’d dredged up hurtful memories he had done his damnedest to forget.
Lance wrapped his fist around his horse’s reins as he recalled those times. The pain hadn’t lessened much over the years. Summer was right. All his life he’d been lonely as hell. Lonely, empty, angry. Moving from one battle to the next without having anything to show for his efforts.
He’d give a lot to change all that. He wanted to make something of his life. He wanted a woman to fill his arms and banish the emptiness inside him. Not just any woman. He wanted Summer. Her or no one.
It had always been Summer. It was always her face in his dreams. Her scent he remembered. Her honeyed voice he heard in his mind. He thought he might sell his soul if she would just look at him like she wanted him in return. If she could come to care for him the way she cared for her sister. If she would be willing to sacrifice her future, maybe even her life, for him.
Remembering the hurtful accusations he had thrown at Summer a minute ago, Lance gave a harsh, silent laugh and shut his eyes. He’d been lying when he’d said she didn’t know anything about hardship or bravery. He could see a lot of his ma’s grit in her. Summer had kept the Weston ranch going during the war when other women would have folded, for one thing. She’d shown incredible courage riding into Indian Territory with him in search of her sister. And she’d tackled the backbreaking work of a Comanche woman without a single word of complaint.
He wished he couldn’t see how hard she was trying. How much she had changed from the spoiled belle who had cut out his heart. He wished he could have saved himself this time. But the past few days had destroyed the last of his defenses.
He’d been battling the truth for days now. He had fallen again for Summer, this time beyond hope. Tumbled heart-first into her silken web, despite his fierce effort to stop it from happening.
Against his will, Lance let his gaze seek her out. She was kneeling on the blanket, tying the end of her braid with a strip of rawhide, the way Comanche women did. But the sun had set just enough to bathe her in golden light, turning her sable hair to fire.
The sight just about took his breath away. He wanted Summer, more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life—but he wanted her to come to him. On her own. Without reservation. He didn’t want to just have her. He wanted to protect her, keep her, guard her, love her. He wanted to win her, wanted to bind her to him. He wanted to make her love him.
It sure as hell didn’t look as if it would happen anytime soon, though.
He didn’t know how much more he could stand, how much longer he could keep his distance from her. His body burned with need, with a fierce possessiveness he’d never felt for any woman but her. His heart hadn’t known one moment’s peace in her presence. She had the power to turn his insides to jelly with her beauty, her sensual allure, the grace she had just breathing, damn her.
His torment didn’t end, either, when a short while later he mounted his horse and pulled her up behind him. Having Summer pressed against his back, her slender thighs on either side of his hips, her warmth surrounding him, was pure agony.
They rode back to the Comanche village in silence, but every one of Lance’s nerves screamed at him all the while. Every time the movement of the paint horse rocked Summer against him, Lance swore under his breath, cursing her allure and his damnable need.
Chapter 10
His restraint shattered the following afternoon. Lance was sitting in front of the tepee he shared with Summer, sharpening his weapons while she labored over the deer hide, when his brother strode up. Lance’s grin of welcome, however, faded abruptly as Fights Bear stopped directly beside Summer.
The war chief wore little clothing but more decoration than usual. In addition to the eagle’s feather dangling from a scalp lock, he had plaited clusters of shiny red beads into his long black braids, while a necklace of elk’s teeth adorned his bronzed bare chest, and blue-painted shells hung from his ears. His finery had a purpose, Lance realized with a sense of foreboding.
Standing over Summer, Fights Bear reached down and lifted one of her braids. “Nananisuyake tsop-yaapt.”
Summer froze like a startled doe, simply staring up at him. Lance could have translated, could have explained that his brother thought she had beautiful hair. But he wasn’t inclined to encourage another man’s appreciation of his wife. From the look of satisfaction on his brother’s face, though, he suspected his caution might be too late.
A tight fist clutched Lance’s belly, even before Fights Bear turned to him.
“I would speak with you, Kanap-Cheetu.”
Returning his knife to the scabbard at his waist, Lance rose silently and entered the tepee, dreading what he knew was about to come. He offered his brother a seat in the rear of the lodge, the place of honor, and waited until Fights Bear initiated the conversation.
“We are still brothers, is this not true?” he said. “Even though you now live with the whites, the blood of our father runs in your veins.”
“I am honored to call you brother, yes,” Lance replied warily.
“Then I claim the privilege of brothers, and ask you to share your wife, the white woman you call Tahma.”
The fist in Lance’s stomach squeezed tighter. He didn’t answer, knowing he could never agree to his brother’s request.
At his silence, Fights Bear grinned. “I offer you any one of my wives in exchange, all of them. You may have your choice, even of my favorite.”
“Why—” Lance cleared his throat of the sudden restriction there. “Why do you wish this, Wasape Naaohrutu?”
“I would enjoy the novelty of sleeping with a white woman such as yours. I have taken white captives before, but none that were willing. I think I should like it.”
Lance fought the need to ball his hands into fists, struggled to keep his voice low and not reveal the turmoil raging inside him. His brother would never understand the fierce posses-siveness he felt for Summer. He could only explain her white background and hope Fights Bear would accept it as justification for refusal.
“But she is white, brother. She does not understand our customs. To her, sleeping with another man, even though that man is her husband’s brother, is adultery. She only understands the white law that makes adultery a crime.”