Blackfoot Affair Part 16

"Oh, Marisa, you're like velvet, all over," he said huskily, his cheek against her hair. He undid the clasp of her bra with a stout yank and tossed it on the floor.

"I think I ripped it," he said into her ear.

"Who cares?" Marisa responded, gasping as her naked flesh met his once more. She ran the palms of her hands up his arms and rested them on either side of his neck. He drew back to look at her face, and then dropped his eyes.

"Am I the first man to see this?" he said softly.

"There's not much to see," Marisa replied, almost shrinking under his penetrating gaze.

"You're beautiful, perfect," he replied, bending and taking a pink-tan nipple in his mouth. Marisa sucked in her breath and held his head against her. He s.h.i.+fted position until he was kneeling on the floor in front of her, moving back and forth. Marisa wrapped her arms around his shoulders and surrendered to his caresses.

When he looked up, his mouth swollen and his eyes vacant with pleasure, Marisa touched his face tenderly.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered.

He pulled a folded quilt from the back of the loveseat and spread it on the floor. Then he put his arms around her waist and pulled her down to join him. They lay full length for a long moment, Marisa watching the play of the firelight on his cheekbones as he loomed above her, his dark eyes filling the world.

"I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you," Jack said huskily. "That first day in court, you were wearing a dark blue dress with silver b.u.t.tons down the front, and ankle strap shoes. Do you remember?"

"I remember."

"And silver earrings, like stars."

"Did you take a picture?"

"The picture is in my head," he said, bending to kiss her again. This time there was no mistaking the urgency in his manner; very shortly, there would be no turning back. When he reached for the zipper on her skirt Marisa stiffened.

"What?" he said.

"A little nervous, I guess."

"I'll take it slow, I promise." He removed the skirt and embraced her again, turning so that they lay side by side. Wearing nothing but her thin briefs, Marisa buried her face in his shoulder, touching his scab with her fingers.

"Does this hurt?" she murmured.

"Not anymore."

She kissed the wound, then traced the outline of his collarbone with her lips. He fell back, watching her, as she drew her mouth across his chest, tonguing first his nipples, then the line of dark hair which descended toward his waist. He rubbed the back of her head with his hand, and then, as she explored his navel, he made an inarticulate sound and seized her almost roughly, flipping her onto her back and enveloping her with his body.

"Now," he said urgently.

"I'm ready," she replied.

She watched as he stood, unbuckling his belt and stripping off the rest of his clothes. When he joined her again he held her in the curve of one arm and tugged on her panties impatiently. When the material resisted he ripped the briefs free of her limbs with one tight motion and tossed them aside, mounting her.

"I'll buy you another set, all silk," he said into her ear.

"I don't care," she replied, sighing as she felt him, full and ready, against her. He lifted himself off her with one arm and ran his free hand between her legs. Marisa moaned and closed her eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his muscles trembling with the effort of restraining himself.

"I'm sure," she whispered, gasping as he stroked the sensitive flesh. "Please, I'm sure."

He settled into position and she wrapped her legs around his narrow hips.

"This... it may hurt," he gasped.

Marisa pulled him tighter.

When he entered her Marisa stiffened and he stopped immediately.

"All right?" he said hoa.r.s.ely.

She said something in a low tone, her voice m.u.f.fled against the side of his neck.

"What?" he whispered.

"More," she said.

He gave her more.

When Jack awoke a few hours later, the fire was dying and Marisa was gone. He got up, slipping on his jeans, and added a couple of logs to replenish the blaze. Then he padded barefoot into the kitchen where he found Marisa, seated at the deal table and sipping a cup of tea. She was wearing his plaid bathrobe, which reached to her ankles and came down over her wrists.

With her wavy blonde hair and oversized outfit she looked like s.h.i.+rley Temple in Little Miss Marker.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Never been better."

"Do you need to use the bathroom?" he asked anxiously.

"Already found it. This," she indicated the robe, "was hanging on the back of the door."

"And you're okay?" he repeated.

Marisa smiled. "Jack, I've been deflowered, not shot. I a.s.sure you, I'm fine."

He bent over her and lifted the trailing hair off her neck, kissing her nape. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't want to disturb you."

He slipped into a chair across from her, sliding down until he was resting on his spine.

"I was enjoying the sleep of the satisfied. I wasn't sleeping so well before tonight."

"Were you tormented by thoughts of me, poor boy?" Marisa asked teasingly.

"I was," he said seriously, holding her gaze.

The silence lengthened between them as Marisa felt her mouth going dry.

Jack got up and took her hand.

"Want to try the bed this time?" he said.

Marisa rose and followed him to the stairs.

The telephone rang at seven-thirty the next morning. Jack fumbled for it with his free hand as Marisa raised her head from his shoulder.

"Yeah?" he growled. He listened for a second and then handed the phone to Marisa.

"For you," he said and fell back on the pillow.

"H'lo," Marisa said.

"News flash," Tracy announced. "That creep from the Indian Affairs Bureau is back again, and he wants to see you. Today."

"Randall Block?"

"The very same."

"How did you know where to find me?" Marisa asked, her head beginning to clear.

"Wild guess," Tracy replied dryly. "I got the number from Ben Brady. After a struggle, I might add."

"All right. I'll be there as soon as I can make it."

"Did the big event take place?" Tracy asked eagerly.

"I'll tell you about it later," Marisa replied.

"Spoilsport," Tracy observed. "I'll see you soon. And I mean soon. I can't handle this guy alone. 'Bye."

"Goodbye." Marisa hung up the receiver and collapsed onto Jack's chest.

"Don't tell me. You have to work today."

"Right the first time."

"You grab a shower and I'll make the coffee," he said, sliding out of bed.

"I'll have to sneak past the doorman. I'll be wearing the same clothes I wore last night," Marisa observed, wrapping herself in the sheet.

"Not to mention no underwear," he replied, grinning.

"That's right, it's in shreds," she groaned.

"The doorman will have a treat."

"I don't think so. He's gay."

"I'm not." He pulled the sheet off Marisa and tumbled her onto the bed.

"I have to hurry," she protested. Feebly.

"I can hurry," he answered, pressing her back into the mattress.

"What about the coffee?"

"We'll pick it up at the convenience store on the way into town," he murmured, nibbling her neck.

"Oh, all right." She sighed deeply and surrendered.

Chapter 6.

"So what's up with Randall Blockhead?" Tracy greeted Marisa when she entered the hotel suite that afternoon.

Marisa dropped her briefcase on the bed and shook her head. "He's very displeased with me," she said dryly.

"Do tell."

"I am not winning the case, that's clear, and what's worse, I have not reached an 'accommodation' with the Seminoles."

"What the h.e.l.l does that mean?"

"It means he wants this over, that's what it means. It's dragging on forever, much longer than antic.i.p.ated. Ben Brady is throwing up every obstacle he can concoct which is costing the feds a fortune. All of this I heard from Mr. Block's lips, as if I didn't already know it."

"What does he expect from you, a miracle?"

"Evidently. I told him if they had found someone who could do a better job I would be happy to turn over all my materials to that person and go home, humming all the way."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing, of course. The problem with this situation isn't the lawyer, it's the case. We haven't got one, not one good enough to s.n.a.t.c.h that burial ground from people who've had it for hundreds of years. Block knows it. He's just taking out his frustrations on me. I let him do that for a while and then I came back here."

"Sounds like a fun time," Tracy said gloomily.