Part 8 (1/2)
”You look beautiful tonight,” Turner complimented smoothly. It surprised him to realize he meant every word. Dressed in her best gown of midnight blue velvet-the closest thing to mourning attire she owned-Storm looked both demure and sensual at the same time. Fas.h.i.+oned with a high neckline and long sleeves, the form-hugging gown was the epitome of simplicity. Its simple lines and elegant cut hugged her curves like a second skin while the vibrant blue complemented her blonde coloring. There were no frills or furbelows to detract from the natural beauty of the woman wearing the gown.
Storm dimpled prettily. She hadn't felt so carefree since Buddy's death.
”Shall we dance? I'll bet you're a marvelous dancer.” Nat slid an arm around her waist and whirled her into the lively group of dancers.
Later, they ate from the buffet table and drank cup after cup of the delicious punch to quench the enormous thirst caused by the lively dance steps. Nat seemed to know everyone, and in the course of the evening introduced Storm to so many people her head was awhirl with names she'd never remember. But what pleased Storm most was that no one seemed to care that she was appearing at a public festivity so soon after her husband's death. An entirely different set of mores and customs prevailed among settlers and homesteaders, it seemed. What might be considered scandalous at home in Missouri caused hardly a ripple in raw frontier towns like Guthrie and Enid.
”Are you ready for more dancing?” Nat asked as he led Storm out on the crowded dance floor. She slipped easily into his arms, following his lead smoothly as he guided her through the steps.
Soon other men clamored for a dance, and she didn't see Nat again until quite late in the evening, when he appeared with more punch and claimed her for a slow dance. Storm didn't object when he pulled her closer than she thought proper. By now she felt quite giddy and was flushed with the success of her first night out in months. Nat Turner had been a perfect gentleman and she didn't know when she'd have another chance to enjoy herself so thoroughly. Relaxing in Nat's arms, she surrendered to the enjoyment of the dance. A p.r.i.c.kling sensation at the back of her neck was Storm's first indication that she was being stared at. She swiveled her head to search the crowded room.
He was propped against the wall near the open door, arms folded over his broad chest, one moccasin-clad foot crossed over the other at the ankle. He wore his hat pulled low over his forehead, shadowing the vibrant blue of his eyes. He had donned his buckskins for the occasion, in open defiance of the white society he spurned, and wore a fringed jacket she had never seen before. Every splendid inch of him exuded an aura of mystery, danger, and excitement, of lean, hard strength and fierce arrogance. He looked thoroughly, utterly Indian, and he was magnificent.
To Storm's chagrin, Grady Stryker was creating quite a stir among the single women at the dance-and a few that were quite happily married.
Grady's intense blue gaze made a slow, thorough survey of the huge room before coming to rest on Storm and Nat. He usually held frivolous entertainments like this in total contempt, but some perverse demon inside him had made him attend the celebration tonight. The moment he learned Nat Turner was going to escort Storm to the dance he knew he was going to be there to keep an eye on them. Storm was far too gullible to b.u.t.t heads with a persuasive man like Turner, he thought as he watched Turner twirl Storm around the dance floor in perfect harmony with the music.
Turner's fancy maneuvers whirled Storm toward the opposite end of the dance floor, and she momentarily lost sight of Grady. When she stretched her neck to look for him, he was gone. Her relief was enormous as she allowed herself to relax once again in Nat's arms and enjoy the intricacies of the dance.
”May I cut in?”
Storm was stunned to see Grady standing behind them, tapping Nat on the shoulder. But Nat was even more surprised as he cursed beneath his breath. ”Dammit, Stryker, you're not wanted here. Neither Storm nor I appreciate your intrusion.” He swung her away, leaving Grady standing in the middle of the dance floor, looking foolish.
Then suddenly the music stopped and the dance ended. Turner reluctantly moved away as Storm was besieged by men clamoring for a dance with her. When the music started up again, Storm was about to choose her next partner when Grady stepped out of nowhere and claimed her. One or two of the men started to protest, but Grady's fierce expression soon changed their minds. When Grady swept her into his arms, Storm's face showed her displeasure. But when she noted the curious way in which people were staring at them, she reluctantly followed his lead.
”I didn't know Indians could dance,” she hissed venomously.
”And I didn't know white women could be so d.a.m.n stubborn,” he tossed back. ”I warned you about attending the dance tonight with Turner.”
”So you did,” she said sweetly. ”But as I told you, I make my own decisions.”
Suddenly the music grew lively and Grady swung her around and around, until she grew dizzy and her head spun. When she stumbled against him, he was quick to offer a.s.sistance.
”Perhaps you need some air,” he suggested blandly. ”The punch is spiked, you know.”
With an efficiency of motion he maneuvered her toward the door, and they were outside before Storm knew what was happening. Truth to tell, she was too fuzzy-brained to think clearly. He took off his fringed buckskin jacket and placed it over her shoulders. ”Feel better now?”
”There's nothing wrong with me,” Storm protested. ”If you hadn't whirled me around so fast I wouldn't have gotten dizzy. I must get back inside. Nat will be looking for me.”
”I think I should take you home now,” Grady said.
Storm bristled indignantly. ”I didn't come with you, Mr. Stryker.”
”No, but-dammit, Storm, you can't trust Turner.”
”Nat Turner has been a perfect gentleman in all our dealings, which is more than I can say for you.”
”If you're talking about that night we-”
”That's exactly what I'm talking about. I must have been crazy to let you take advantage of me.” She turned to walk away, stumbled slightly, and found herself surrounded by the hard strength of Grady's arms.
”Oh.”
”How many gla.s.ses of punch did you have? Are you tipsy, Mrs. Kennedy?”
”Certainly not!” Her short sentence ended in a hiccup.
”Did you know that you have the most kissable lips I've ever seen?” Grady surprised himself by saying. Now where in the h.e.l.l did that come from? He surprised himself further when he brushed his mouth against hers in a most provocative way. When that didn't seem to satisfy him his tongue traced the soft fullness of her lips with slow, tantalizing thoroughness.
The touch of his lips on hers sent a shock wave spiraling through Storm's entire body. She jerked violently, but before she could twist from his embrace, he boldly thrust his tongue into her mouth in a fiery display of possession. It was a challenging kiss, one that probed deeply into the secret chambers of her heart. When his hands slid down to cup the firm roundness of her bottom and pull her closer still, she felt the hard strength of his desire branding her through the layers of her clothing. His kiss deepened, stunning her with its ferocity as his demanding tongue stroked and explored until she was helplessly ensnared.
Then, abruptly, he released her, holding her at arm's length and staring at her as if she had bitten him. ”d.a.m.nation! What in the h.e.l.l are you doing to me? When I'm with you I lose all restraint. All I can think about is making love to you. You're a witch, created specifically to make me miserable.”
Giddy from Grady's tormenting kisses, Storm could only stare at him and stammer, ”I-I-don't-”
”There you are, Storm. I've been everywhere looking for you. It's nearly time to leave and you promised me the last dance.”
Nat Turner stood a few feet away, having come from the barn in search of Storm. He had had an inkling that he would find her with the renegade, and when his suspicions proved correct he struggled to conceal his rage. It was to his advantage to control himself until he had what he wanted from Storm Kennedy. Afterward the half-breed was welcome to her.
”Of course,” Storm said, stepping around Grady to join Nat. ”I just stepped out for a breath of air. I-I felt a little dizzy.”
He looked at her shrewdly. ”Are you all right?”
”Just fine.” She took Nat's arm, blatantly ignoring Grady and the fact that he was glaring daggers at her.
”Storm.” Grady's abrasive voice brought her to a skidding halt, though she didn't give him the satisfaction of turning to face him. ”My jacket.”
Turner took one look at the fringed jacket around Storm's shoulders, plucked it from her body, and tossed it to Grady, who caught it quite handily. Then, without another word, Turner guided Storm inside. But before he led her out onto the dance floor, he poured her another gla.s.s of punch, which she downed in one gulp just to spite Grady. Then he gave her another, which she sipped more slowly, but nonetheless eagerly.
It was after midnight when the dance ended. Grady was nowhere in sight when Nat handed her into the buggy and settled a blanket over her knees. Her head was reeling and the urge to sleep was a pressing need inside her. She hadn't wanted to believe the punch was spiked, certain Nat wouldn't have let her drink so much if it were. Except for an occasional gla.s.s of wine she'd had little experience with hard liquor. It was unfortunate her farm was ten miles away from Guthrie, she thought sleepily. When Turner hoisted himself into the buggy beside her, she tilted crazily against him.
”Are you feeling ill?” he asked solicitously.
”A little dizzy. Was the punch spiked? I'm not accustomed to drinking.”
”Spiked?” Nat repeated in feigned surprise. ”Wherever did you get such a preposterous idea? Perhaps the dancing tired you more than you know.”
”Yes, I'm sure that's it,” Storm agreed with alacrity. The idea of her being tipsy didn't set well with her.
”It's a long ride home,” Nat said slyly, ”and bitter cold. Perhaps you should take a room at the Guthrie Hotel tonight and return home tomorrow.”
When Storm tried to think of a valid reason to object her muddled brain refused to work. Besides, it sounded like a wonderful idea. And defying the brash half-breed appealed to her. Let him think what he wanted when she didn't return home tonight.
”The idea of postponing the ride back to my farm does sound appealing,” Storm said. She tried to stifle a hiccup, but it came bursting from her throat despite her best efforts. ”Oh, excuse me.”
Nat smiled in mute satisfaction. He was inordinately pleased with himself for manipulating Storm into doing what he wanted. She was already quite taken with him, and the spiked punch he had plied her with was working with devastating effect. If all went according to plan, when Storm Kennedy awoke with a hangover tomorrow morning her homestead would be his. He felt confident that a hotel room was the last place the half-breed would think to look for her. He turned the buggy toward the hotel.