Wind Rider by Connie Mason Page B

for doubt. I am the son of White Feather, respected chieftain of the Southern Cheyenne.”
    “I agree, my brother, and so will the council if they are wise. Runs-Like-A-Deer and I will speak in your defense. So will others of the council.”
    “Thank you, my friend.”
    Hannah watched Coyote walk away, wonder ing what their conversation had been about. It sounded serious. She jumped when Wind Rider said, “Come inside the tepee. I wish to speak to you in private.”
    Hannah scooted inside, wondering what Wind Rider wanted to talk about. Wind Rider closed the tent flap and stared at her with such absorption, she retreated a step, seared by the silver intensity of his eyes.
    “Cut Nose wants you. He offered me his sis ter and is willing to accept you as the bride price since I have few horses.”
    Hannah blanched. She’d die before she’d allow Cut Nose to touch her. “Did you accept his offer?” She was trembling so badly, the words tumbled one after another from her white lips. “Spotted Doe is very beautiful.” She sucked in her breath and held it, waiting for Wind Rider’s answer.
    Not as beautiful as you, he thought. “I do not need a wife,” Wind Rider said harshly. “Nor am I willing to trade you to Cut Nose.”
    His answer gave Hannah the courage to breathe again. What would she have done if he had agreed to Cut Nose’s proposal? When her knees started to buckle Wind Rid er reached out to steady her. His eyes widened when he felt a shock travel up the length of his arm. Had Little Sparrow felt it, too? he wondered.
    “I do not wish to be traded to Cut Nose,” Hannah whispered shakily. “If I must have a master I prefer it to be you.” Hannah couldn’t imagine what possessed her to say such a thing. She wanted no master, espe cially not an Indian master. But Wind Rider was such a contradiction, she didn’t understand her own feelings where he was con cerned.
    She feared him, that was true, yet he hadn’t really hurt her. And sometimes he treated her with more kindness   and consideration than Mr. Harley had. There were times, like now, when she could have sworn he pos sessed not one Indian trait or characteris tic. But when he was painted with hideous stripes, his hair hanging loose about his wide shoulders, carrying tomahawk and bow, he looked every bit as savage as his compan ions.
    Wind Rider’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of whore’s trick are you playing? False words do not impress me.”
    That word again! Hannah’s temper flared. “I am no whore!”
    “Perhaps I will find out for myself.” He reached for her, dragging her against his hard length. Her lips were red and lush, and he ran his tongue over their full contours, sampling their ripeness. She tasted so sweet, he hungered for more.
    In a saloon in Denver he had seen white men press their mouths against those women who sold their bodies for coin. They seemed to enjoy it, and as he licked Hannah’s lips he was tempted to try it himself. Cheyenne did not press mouths like white eyes. They licked their lovers’ faces, and sometimes their bodies, and pressed their cheeks together or rubbed noses. But this, he decided, as he covered Hannah’s mouth with his, was so pleasant, he could easily become addicted.
    Stunned by her reaction to Wind Rider’s kiss, Hannah melted into the hard wall of his chest. It was Hannah’s first kiss, and her mouth opened in surprise. She had no idea it would make her tingle all over or ache in places she had never ached before.
    Instinct guided Wind Rider as he thrust his tongue inside Hannah’s sweet mouth. Her taste was utterly captivating, and he pressed her closer, until he felt the hard peaks of her breasts stab into his chest. A groan of sheer agony slipped from his throat. His big hands splayed over her slim back, sliding down ward along her spine, cupping the sweet mounds of her buttocks into his groin. His manhood throbbed strong and hard between them, prodding the tender curve of her stom