Excerpt from Passion's Vision: It is pretty long...
New Moon dug her nails into the soil as she peered out from her hiding place among the river cane. The white man invaded her special place. All the others knew this was her place. No one ever bothered her here. Not until now, not until this...white man. She watched and listened as he washed and sang a white man's song. He sang loudly in his own language. His voice changed in tone in a most unusual, but not unpleasant way. She glanced to the east. The sky brightened as she watched. Her resentment grew and made sitting still more than she could manage. She shifted her weight, a motion too minute to attract attention. The sun rose to brighten the eastern sky and she gritted her teeth. He raised his arms and spoke the first words of the Cherokee prayer. His deep voice embraced the words of her ancestors and presented them with pride to the sun and the Great Spirit, causing her breath to catch in her throat as she listened. He spoke the greeting beautifully. Finishing the prayer he turned back toward the bank. New Moon tensed as his gaze moved across the cane where she hid. She assured herself he could not see her, but still her skin tingled with uncertainty.
This white man was like no other she had seen. Even in nakedness he wore his strength and pride as naturally as a most beloved warrior. This was uncommon for white men who thought the layers of bear-hide and the assortment of weapons hanging from their bodies could enhance their strength. The aura of power that surrounded him intrigued her. She held her breath as water ran from his hair in little streams that captured her attention and carried her vision along. It cascaded over the bulging strength of his shoulders and down his chest to his narrow waist. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard as the memory of that chest and rippled waist pressed hard against her back flooded her being with unwanted desire. Like a person suffocating, she gulped in the air she withheld from her lungs. New Moon stiffened and her eyes flew open. The scent of a mountain cat filled her nostrils. Instantly her warrior instincts came to life and she berated herself for behaving like a silly woman. The cat was near. She glanced at the leaves of the cane, checking the wind's direction. Her entire being tensed with foreboding as she turned her attention back to the No Thing. He took another step in her direction and she saw the smug grin spread across his face. This white man who thought to pass himself off as a warrior was aware of her, but not the cat! Could he not sense the danger? Of course not, he was too busy strutting and waving his spear. He stepped onto the bank and moved with feline grace toward the cane where she crouched. From the corner of her eye she saw the cat as it leapt from the boulder to land lightly on the ground near her
hiding place. It was her own totem, her sister from the animal world. To the white man's credit, he too stood his ground, his eyes boring into those of the cat. The cat dropped her ragged ears low to her head and growled a warning. A muscle worked in the white man's cheek and his fingers curled more tightly about his knife. Great Spirit! Her heart cried out. He was going to make war with the mountain cat! A flood of emotions sprang up within her, but it was anger that finally ruled her actions as she pushed aside the cane and stepped out into the open. James' gaze slipped from the yellow eyes of the cat to New Moon's, and felt the tension arch between them. Neither was willing to break eye contact, even when New Moon spoke to the cat. "Go home to your young ones, little sister. I will not allow you to have this foolish white man." The cat rumbled deep within its chest as she glanced nervously over her shoulder at New Moon. "Go!" New Moon commanded. The cat, as if deciding the effort to stay would take too much energy, turned away and disappeared between the large boulders. "Are you out of your mind?" The anger in his expression was great, but her anger was just as great. New Moon squared her shoulders in challenge as she looked with disgust at James. The cat now forgotten, he let his gaze travel over her. She'd been wet when she pulled on her dress. She was acutely aware of how the soft doe-hide clung to the moisture on her skin. Two long steps and he reached out for her. She swung at him, but was no match for his strength. He caught her easily. Taking hold of her wrist, James pulled her struggling arms to her back and clasped one large
hand around both of her smaller wrists and pulled her up tightly. His grip was as unbreakable as ropes of new rawhide, yet as gentle as a caress. Awareness of his naked body against her spread heat through her wet dress to sear her skin. She clenched her teeth together in an attempt to deny the uncontrollable sensations coursing through her with the vigor of a raging mountain river. This white man who strutted with the pride of a warrior watched her with eyes that pierced her to her soul and grinned. "You look like a she-lion," he whispered. She struggled harder. James chuckled softly and ran the fingers of his free hand along her jaw line. "Your skin is very soft, my little Wa-sa. From this day forward, you will always be my little Wa-sa...my little mountain cat." New Moon growled deep in her throat, sounding not far removed from the very cat he spoke of. "You stupid white man" she spat at him. "That lioness almost had you for her cubs. Do you think I am any less dangerous? Many strong warriors have tried to humble me, warriors who would not have become cornered by a kitten." For all her strong talk her body quaked inside. The lonely hollow place left by her husband's death ached to be filled. She needed a man, but not any man. New Moon wanted a man whose spirit was stronger than hers. One she could not bend to her will. One she could love and respect. One with skin as dark as her own! James seemed not to hear as he smiled down at her. He held her dainty chin with his strong fingers and bent his face close to hers, their lips almost touching. "Have you ever been kissed, my little Wa-sa?' Her eyes bore hatefully into his, "There have been white men in our village before you came, Blue Eyes.
This touching of the lips is nothing more than stalling for time. The weak pale-skin must have time to coax his pitiful manhood to rise so he can try to dominate and humble the women of warriors." With maddening slowness he took his hand from her chin and laid it on the slim column of her throat, feeling the rapid pulse beating there. His hand slid downward over her doeskin-covered breast and lingered to tease the tempting bud that hardened of its own will beneath his thumb. His knowing smile gnawed at her insides. He slid his hand to her waist and then around and down her back. When his hand reached the soft, round firmness of her hips he kneaded his fingers gently around the warm mound before he jerked her up hard against himself. "Do you still think I need to stall for time?" Struggle! Her mind screamed to her unresponsive muscles, but her body was not hers to command. A scent uniquely his filed her nostrils. She could taste his breath on her tongue. She tested his hold on her wrist by pulling against his grip. His hold on her was secure and yet as gentle as one would cradle a baby. He studied her face as he held her. Could he see the sparks of passion in her eyes? Could he feel the weakening of her body, or her heart pounding against his chest? His deep, husky voice slid over her like sun-warmed honey. "You talk strong for a woman. Like a woman who thinks she doesn't need a man." She felt the vibrations from his words. She closed her eyes as rumbling, tingling sensations traveled from her chest to her groin. When she again opened her eyes he stared down at her. Gone from his sky blue eyes was the teasing twinkle, replaced by the dark, smoldering shades of desire.
"Someday you will want me, my little lioness. Then your struggles will be to pull me closer." He rocked his hips forward, and her stomach tightened painfully, causing a gasp to slip from between her lips. "That's when I will show you the pleasure in needing a man." Lowering his head he covered her mouth with his own. She struggled but his hand on her wrist held with little effort. Her body trembled uncontrollably beneath his touch, and she realized her struggles had stopped as she waited in anticipation. His mouth against hers was hard, hot, and wet. She didn't know what to expect next, but the sensations he caused in her now made her head spin. As his wet lips slid seductively over hers he nibbled gently. His tongue came out to trace the outline of her lips. Finally he placed a thumb on her chin and applied pressure. When she opened her mouth to protest, his tongue swept inside to stroke the interior of her mouth with blatant ownership. Passion ignited like a prairie fire within New Moon as his tongue rubbed against hers. She opened her mouth wider to welcome the intimate intrusion. Her spirit soared and her head spun as her inner voice, her spirit voice, told her once again...He is the one. The white man released her arms and they rose upward over his wet chest to his neck and onward until her fingers wound their way into his hair. His warm hands went lower to slip beneath the curve of her bottom. Heat from his naked body scorched her through her still damp dress, and her skin beneath tingled with desire. New Moon could feel his strength as well as his heat. She felt it in the way he held her, in the way his muscles bunched beneath her fingertips. Clawing at his shoulders she returned his kiss in kind. A moan of pure pleasure erupted deep within his
chest. To New Moon the sound was like tossing fresh kindling on an already burning fire. Then his words screamed into her consciousness, "I will show you the pleasure in needing a man." Her slipping resolve strengthened. No man, especially a white man, would ever dominate her! She would bring him to his knees first. She could feel the power she had over him even as her own flesh burned from the touch of his fingers on her exposed skin. Then he brought her further under his spell as he slipped her hem up about her waist, leaving more of her sensitive flesh exposed to his searching hands. The full heat of his hands, no longer kept at bay by her damp dress, burned into her flesh. He pressed her hips, pulling her up tightly against himself. She clung to him as one falling would cling to a vine. There was no longer a barrier between his body and hers. If she did not pull away soon he would slide her legs about his waist and she would be lost. She must pull back first, she screamed silently in an attempt to gain control of her warring passions. He broke the kiss and pulled back to look into her eyes. She gazed into their blue depths and for a moment felt a comfort she had never experienced before. The spell was broken with his next words, "Now is not the time to make you mine, little purring kitten." The reality of what almost happened, what could have happened slammed into her. For a moment she was lost in a swirling mix of emotion, regret, surprise, and finally anger. Her body was still too attuned to his as he held her hips pressed tightly against him. She fought without success to quail the quivering in her own body that called out to his in a way that made her doubt her own control.
In near panic she raked her nails downward from his shoulder and across his bare chest. Finding herself suddenly free from the support of his body she stumbled. Her eyes never left his as she steadied herself. How could he just stand there with that grin on his face? His eyes actually twinkled with laughter as they devoured her hair, her eyes, and her lips while what she wanted—what her body cried out for—was for him to take her. An exaggerated huff escaped her lips while she raised her chin and smoothed her dress down to cover her exposed hips. With as much Cherokee pride as she could muster she turned and made her way to the narrow pass. *** James tilted his head to one side as he watched the retreating hips swish angrily from side to side. Then, with a quick glare over her shoulder, she was gone. The woman must be crazy to step out and face a cat with no weapon! Yet he couldn't help but be impressed by her calm bravery. He was surprised by his own actions. He'd shook with relief that the cat had not turned on her, yet was burned with fury because she took such a risk. But she is alive, he told himself. Alive...and brave and beautiful beyond any other woman. God, but she is magnificent. He looked down at the four long, red welts stretching across his left breast. Several drops of blood oozed slowly to the surface. "So much for not making the same mistake twice," he mumbled as he touched a finger to one small, ruby-red drop of blood. He rubbed the crimson drop between thumb and finger. "So your claws are as sharp as your tongue, my little Wa-sa." Laughing loudly he called out, "Did you know that you have stolen my heart away, Little Wa-sa?"