“We can’t build a fire.”
“I understand,” Melissa rested a hand on Dawson. “What about poor Buck? Shouldn’t we do what we can for him?”
The slug had gone clear through the driver’s body, sparing arteries and veins. The knife wound was shallow, the lance wound deep but not fatal. Fargo cleaned all three as best he could without water. While Melissa bandaged them with strips cut from the hem of her dress, he asked, “Any idea what happened to the water skin?”
“Elias Hackman had it last I saw. It disappeared when he did. My guess is he left it somewhere in the gully.”
“I’ll look for it in the morning.” Fargo indicated the bedroll. “You’re welcome to stretch out if you like. I’ll keep watch awhile, then turn in.” He needed to get some sleep or he would be worthless come morning. Exhaustion dulled the senses, slowed the reflexes. To tangle with Apaches he must be razor sharp.
“You’re not going anywhere until daylight? It’ll just be you and I, here alone?”
“And Dawson.”
“Oh. Of course. And Buck.”
Fargo indulged in another bite of pemmican. He’d learned his lesson. To try and find the missing passengers at night was like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack. There was too much ground to cover, too little light to spot tracks.
Melissa walked to the blankets and stretched out on her back. Sighing contentedly, she patted a spot next to her. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? I noticed how stiff you are. A massage might do you some good.”
Her ploy was as transparent as glass. But Fargo went anyway. The Ovaro would nicker if the wind brought the scent of approaching warriors. He and Melissa were safe enough, temporarily. Sitting beside her, he shoved the last of the pemmican into his mouth and leaned back.
“Do I strike you as crazy?” Melissa unexpectedly asked.
“No. Why?”
“Because there’s something I want to do. Something insane, given where we are and the danger we’re in. No one in their right mind would ever do it.”
“Do what?” Fargo inquired, although he already knew.
“Let me show you.” Melissa reached up, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him down on top of her, molding her hot mouth to his.
6
Melissa Starr’s lips were exquisitely soft, exquisitely stimulating. Rippling against Skye Fargo’s, her mouth inhaled him. Her tongue sought his and whirled in an erotic silken dance. It was a simple fact that some women could kiss better than others, that some kisses were as lifeless as a lump of coal and some were volcanic with passion. Melissa Starr had a quality about her that lent her kisses crackling sexual energy. Fargo could not get enough of them.
Melissa’s body rose to meet his as Fargo lay against her. The lush fullness of her bosom held intoxicating promise. It heaved when Fargo placed a hand on her flat stomach. Her knees parted as he roamed his palm lower to the junction of her thighs, a throaty moan escaping her. Greedily, her hands were everywhere, roving over his broad shoulders, his well-muscled back, his tight buttocks. She desired him as much as he desired her, and their pent-up lust threatened to explode with the raw fury of a thunderclap.
Fargo would have liked nothing better than to tear off her clothes and pound into her in unbridled abandon, but a tiny voice at the back of his mind warned him to exercise caution. He mustn’t lose himself in his carnal cravings. Part of him must stay aloof, must listen to the night’s sounds and test the night air. He must never for a second forget Apaches were abroad, or he would pay for his carelessness with his life.
The sexual fire that flamed in Fargo’s veins made him as hard as iron. When they broke apart to catch their breath, Melissa was panting. She cooed while he kissed her cheeks, her ears. She purred as he sucked on her earlobes, as he tongued her satiny throat. Her fingers entwined in his hair, brushing his hat off, then explored his chest, his hips.
Fargo ground his pole against her nether mound and Melissa responded by thrusting up into him. While his mouth was busy, he pried at the buttons on her bodice, loosening enough of them so the dress parted. Moving her underthings aside, he lowered his mouth to her enormous globes. They were as ripe as melons, their tips as hard as tacks. His lips found a nipple, causing Melissa to quiver in the grip of raw ecstasy. He kneaded it delicately and she groaned. He kneaded it roughly and she clawed at his shoulders as if seeking to rip his shirt from his body.
“Ohhhhh, I want you!”
The feeling was mutual. Fargo dallied at her mounds, giving both nipples their due. He licked her snowy slopes, working around them, then up and down, increasing the heat they gave off and causing her to squirm in boiling anticipation.
“You’re good, handsome. You’re sooooo good.”
Fargo had more practice than most, but he didn’t tell her that. He cupped her right breast, kneading it with his strong fingers. Melissa threw back her head, her eyes hooded, her mouth parted in a delectable oval. Her eyelids fluttered when he cupped the other breast and gently squeezed both.
“Harder, big man! Harder! I don’t mind it rough!”
If that was the case, Fargo was happy to accommodate her. He clamped his fingers tight. Melissa had to cram a hand in her mouth to stifle a scream of purest delight. Closing his own mouth on her right nipple, he pulled on it, stretching her breast as he might an elastic band, inciting her even further. Her fingernails sank into his upper back, digging deep, sparking pain and pleasure in equal degrees.
For the longest while Fargo dallied at her breasts, stoking her as a blacksmith stoked a forge. He didn’t undress her, as he would have liked. It wouldn’t be wise, he felt, for either of them to shed their clothes or footwear. But he did unhitch his gunbelt and set it aside, within easy reach.
Melissa mistook that as a sign he was ready to plunge into her. She tore at his pants, undoing them and pushing them down over his hips. Brazenly, her right hand drifted to his organ and her fingers grasped it.
“Ohhhh! You’re so big! I had no idea!”
She was a bald-faced liar. Fargo had caught her staring at his crotch several times, like a matron in a meat market assessing the size and worth of a slab of prime beef. She’d had a fair idea of what she was in for, and it had fueled her hunger, not dampened it.
Women had perfected being coy to a fine art. When it came to what went on under the bedsheets, they liked to pretend they were as innocent as angels. To be fair, it didn’t apply to all of them. And, the truth be known, while many men traipsed around imitating bull elk in rut, as many males as females were shyer about making love than they were about belching in public. Some folks went so far as to only make love in the dark. They would never undress in front of their lovers, never so much as kiss in front of others. They were the ones Fargo could never quite understand. To him, lovemaking was as natural as breathing. What was there to be shy about?
Now, Fargo felt a tingle shoot up his spine as Melissa began to stroke his member. She ran her fingers up and down, around and around, then cupped him and kneaded him as he had kneaded her. It was all he could do not to explode.
“Are you ready, handsome?”
No, Fargo wasn’t. Easing her legs apart, he sank to his knees between them. She guessed what was coming and let go of him. He hiked her dress to her waist, bent, and adjusted her undergarments so her womanhood was exposed. She gasped when he blew on her downy hairs. Her gasp became a strangled cry as his tongue flicked out.
“Ahhhhhhh!”
Fargo licked again, relishing the taste. Melissa was delicious, sweeter than the sweetest fruit, more sugary than a fresh-baked pie. He plunged his tongue into her tunnel and she arched her back, her fingers hooked in his hair.
“Yes! Yes! Keep it up!”
Fargo indulged himself, arousing her to whole new heights of rapture. Melissa was so hot, so wet. Her body
