Cherokee Stranger. Sheri WhiteFeather

she repeated, gazing up at him, her hair tumbling around her face.

      He pressed his mouth to her ear, anxious to get closer. “Are you going to invite me to your room?”

      She nodded, then turned to kiss him.

      James went hard. Instantly hard.

      She sighed, and he imagined licking her like a lemon drop and watching her melt against his tongue. She tasted like desire, his and hers, swirling in warm, wet—

      Cursing his stupidity, he stepped back. He didn’t have any condoms.

      “I goofed,” he said.

      “What?”

      “I have to get protection.” He motioned to the convenience store across the street.

      Her voice turned shy. “I think I’d prefer to wait in my room.”

      “I’ll walk you.” Her room was located at the top of the second set of stairs. They leaned against the door and kissed, almost too aroused to separate.

      She bumped his fly, and he had the notion to forget the damn condoms, to take a chance, to have unprotected sex.

      But he knew better. He’d already fathered a child he couldn’t keep, a beautiful little boy he missed with all his heart. He wasn’t about to make a baby with a stranger, to leave her swollen with his seed.

      He smoothed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

      “I’ll be waiting.” She gave him a sweet smile and unlocked her door, using the key card.

      He watched her disappear, then turned to leave, thinking this was a hell of a way for Reed Blackwood to start over, to begin his life in the guise of James Matthew Dalton.

      Two

      Emily waited in her room, trying not to pace. Suddenly she was nervous, scared out of her inexperienced wits.

      Should she tell him?

      Tell him what? That she was scheduled for surgery in two weeks?

      She sat on the edge of the bed and wrung her hands together. The melanoma would send him packing, that much she was sure. What hot-blooded American male would want to discuss skin cancer before sex?

      Surely he wouldn’t notice the mark on the back of her leg, the site where a mole had been removed. Of course not. Why would he notice a small, seemingly insignificant scar? It wouldn’t matter to him.

      Okay, fine. Then what about her virginity? Should she broach that subject? Should she admit that she’d never been with anyone before?

      Emily had talked to her girlfriends about their first times. They’d sipped sodas, munched on potato chips and discussed indecent details, the way women often did. But at the moment, that didn’t help.

      She had expected her first lover to be her only lover, the man she married, the man who would father her children. But waiting for Mr. Right seemed foolish now.

      The cancer had changed her perspective. Life was too unpredictable to plan, and James Dalton was too handsome, too stirring, too erotic to ignore.

      Desperate to relax, she removed her boots, peeled off her socks and looked around.

      The motel room was spotless, aside from the makeup bag she’d left on the vanity and a blue T-shirt peeking out of a toppled gray suitcase.

      Would James stay the night? Would he shower in her tub? Would he—

      A knock sounded, and Emily nearly flew off the bed. With a deep, shaky breath, she stood, smoothed her blouse and answered the summons.

      James offered a smile, an expression that gentled his rawboned features and softened the dark, hollow haunting in his eyes.

      “Hi,” he said.

      “Hi.” She stepped back and allowed him entrance into the room, her heart beating with a girlish flutter.

      She locked the door, and he held up the brown paper bag in his hand. “I got ’em.”

      Yes, of course, she thought. The protection. He was responsible enough to practice sex safe and experienced enough to sight the topic ahead of time. But the fact that he didn’t keep condoms in his wallet set her mind at ease.

      Apparently James didn’t make a habit of one-nighters, of picking up women in bars.

      “You still have your clothes on,” he said, his smile tilting one corner of his mouth.

      Her pulse leaped like a lizard. “You expected me to be naked?”

      He tossed the condoms on the nightstand. “A guy can hope.”

      “I took off my boots,” she said, almost wincing at her own naiveté, her inability to say something provocative.

      He glanced at her feet. “Then you’re one step ahead of me.” Without hesitation, he sat on the edge of the bed, yanked off his battered boots and placed his socks inside them. “Now we’re even.”

      “You’re wearing a jacket,” she pointed out.

      He shrugged out of the denim and tossed it aside. “Not anymore.”

      Emily hadn’t expected him to initiate a game, to bait her into a striptease.

      Nervous, she remained near the dresser, the unit that doubled as an entertainment center.

      He pushed his hair off his forehead, where the thick, dark strands routinely fell. “Your turn, pretty lady.”

      She didn’t feel pretty, not with the lights blaring, not with him watching every move she made. Would he think her breasts were too small? Her tummy too soft? “You go next.”

      “That’s cheating.”

      She moved a little closer, determined to relax, to let this happen on her terms. “My room. My rules.”

      “You got me there.” He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing his chest and the silver ring that pierced his left nipple.

      Stunned, she stared at the shimmering ornament and noticed a black stone in the center.

      “I did it a long time ago,” he said.

      “You pierced it yourself?”

      “It was sort of a spiritual thing.”

      To Emily, it looked more sexual than spiritual, but she wasn’t about to say that. “Is it sensitive?”

      He glanced up and grinned. “Want to come closer and find out?”

      Yes, she thought. She did. She couldn’t believe how alluring he was. Or how incredibly dangerous he looked, half-naked on her bed, teasing her with a flirtatious smile.

      He held out his hand, beckoning her. She stepped forward, and he pulled her onto the bed, kissing her hard and fast, pushing his tongue into her mouth.

      Suddenly his hands were everywhere. She’d meant to turn out the bedside lamp, to ease into his arms, but he was too anxious, too hungry, too strong and muscular.

      “Tell me what you like,” he whispered, licking the shell of her ear, opening the top of her blouse. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

      Heaven help her, but she didn’t know. She didn’t—

      “I’ll do anything, Emily. Anything you want.”

      She had to warn him to slow down, to give her a chance to catch up. She couldn’t give him directions, say the naughty things he expected to hear.

      Scraping her nail across his chest, she paused at his left nipple, almost touching the captivating ring.

      “I’m new at this,” she said.

      He lifted his head. She was pinned beneath him, the weight of his