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An Excerpt From: THE LAST WARRIOR
Copyright © L.A. DAY, 2007
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing,
Inc.
Lone Wolf had to stop himself from laughing at the funny
pale face that thought he could not understand her words. He had learned
the pale face language as a child, from a white trapper who lived among his
people. The trapper was the only white man Lone Wolf had trusted, but he
was gone now, killed by the greedy white-eyes three summers ago.
Deciding to humor the white whore by the name of Tar-ah,
he lifted the hand not holding his cup and poked at her chest. His finger
brushed the softness of her shirt—it was unlike any he had felt. However,
it was the feminine softness underneath that drew his attention.
“Tar-ah,” he repeated roughly, the name felt right on
his tongue.
She rewarded his effort by her bouncing up and down
excitedly, her breasts covered by the thin cloth bouncing with her. He had
to hide the gleam in his eyes. The neckline of her small shirt slipped lower,
revealing her deep cleavage to his avid gaze, and his breath caught in his
throat. Her breasts were full globes sitting high on her chest. The skin
was creamy and smooth. Peaked nipples poked at the thin material and his
fingers hungered to learn the texture of her flesh.
She giggled, delighted, as if she were a small girl
child given her first cornhusk doll. This whore must be new to her trade
for she still appeared very young and innocent. Maybe she still needed some
teaching in the ways of pleasing men. He would be happy to help her. His
mind came back to the present when he felt her finger jab him in the chest.
She hesitated. “Okay, now your name?”
* * * * *
She repeated her name again, “Tara,”
and jabbed at herself impatiently. Then she slowly placed a finger in the
middle of his chest. Her eyes, which had been staring into his, dropped to
her finger resting on his massive, hairless chest. My god, he had muscles,
not the bulging kind developed in a gym, but the natural kind gained from
hard, physical activity. His skin tone was light, reddish brown over
rippling muscles. A fine layer of dust covered him but it did nothing to
hide his raw beauty. She bit her lip hard to stop herself from running her
hand over his chest.
“I am going to have to find you some clothes. You are
way too lethal sitting here all muscled, tanned and sexy.” She giggled.
“It’s a good thing you can’t understand me or you’d probably think I wanted
to drag you off to my bed. Of course, I do but I’d never tell you that.”
She lowered her voice until it was almost a whisper. He stared at her in
return and the heat in his eyes burned a path across her flesh. “Okay, if
you won’t tell me your name how about I call you…hmm…a good Indian name—Hung
like Horse.” She shook her head. “Probably something a little nobler, don’t
worry I’ll think of something.”
She darted her gaze back up to his face, his dark eyes
bore into hers, lips parted and his fiery gaze lowered slowly, perusing her
curves. Heat flowed in the wake of his gaze, leaving her body in a
sizzling, melting heap. Her heart turned over, even disheveled and covered
in dust and blood, he was the most handsome, irresistible man she’d ever seen. She leaned closer, craving the touch of
his lips upon hers, her whole body alive, waiting for the contact and then
she hesitated. His eyes had returned to her face—they beckoned her. She
could lose herself in their ebony depths. He was so close she could see the
pores in his bronze flesh, the flecks of caramel brown in his dark eyes.
She stopped abruptly, shaking her head. What was she
doing? Just minutes ago, this man was injured, lay bleeding and
unconscious, and now she was panting after his body. She leaned back, pushed
to her feet, paced the room and finally sat in the high back, floral print
chair facing him. She glanced nervously at him then away. What he must think of her. A blush heated her pale
checks and she wrung her hands as she coyly glanced back at him. “Sorry,
the last thing you need is some desperate woman hunching on your injured
body.” Shrugging her shoulders, she plastered on a smile, hoping he
understood. He might be arrogant but he certainly oozed sex appeal.
CLOSE WINDOW
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