Across the sweeping plains of the American west comes a heartfelt story of self-discovery, reclaimed heritage, and eternal love.
“Wiwasteka, my beautiful woman….”
Gabrielle opened her eyes and gazed deeply into his. He thought her beautiful. She had wanted this, to see his desire. She had waited patiently for him, knowing what would happen once he saw her. She had scrubbed her skin until it tingled and then dried herself with fur. A mixture of pulverized columbine seeds, and water, perfumed her entire body. For what had seemed like an eternity she’d brushed her hair until it shone. For what seemed like an eternity she’d waited, letting the warmth of the sun shining from the opening above finger her naked body, preparing herself for his return.
“I burn hot for you,” he whispered against her ear.
His voice soft, deep and sensual, licked her skin like the heat of a flame.
“And I for you.”
“Listen to the language of my heart.” He placed her hand against his bare chest. She could feel its rapid thumping.
“My heart too, speaks your language.” She brought his hand to her breast.
His dark velvet eyes beheld hers. Slowly, seductively, his gaze slid downward over her body, a gaze as soft as a caress.
The air around them seemed electrified. She drew in a shuddering breath. The fresh scent of pine and mountain mahogany leaves, that lie scattered around them, filled her lungs.
He leaned closer, wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her near. She wrapped her arms around his neck. His leather loin cloth pressed against her hips. His chest crushed her breasts.
“Winyan. Tanyán yahí yélo.”
Their lips only inches apart, she could taste his hot, hypnotic whispers upon her mouth. The need to touch him – to feel him touch her, was insatiable.
She stared deeply into his eyes. Magnificent dark eyes, warm with desire. “I do not understand your words–“
”Woman,” he repeated. “I am glad you came.”
His musky scent intoxicated her. “I love the way you speak.
Tell me more.”
“You wish to speak my tongue?” His brows rose and he smiled. “That is good. There are many words I’d like to say; much I’d like to teach you.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. His long black hair tickled her collar bone.
“This is ituhu and this…” His lips were warm upon her nose. “Poge.”
He ran his finger lightly across her cheek, then down, trailing a blaze of heat to her mouth. “Wicai.” The word, a bare whisper, fanned her face. “And one such as yours was made to be kissed.”
His moist, firm lips pressed against hers. His tongue gently coaxed her to let him in – and she did. He tasted of tobacco and sweet grass.
His kiss grew hungry, urgent and she returned that kiss with the same wild intensity. Breathless, they parted.
He kissed the pulsating hollow at the base of her throat. “Tahu,” she heard him say before he moved to her earlobe and sucked.
Between each whispered, erotic word describing her body, he planted kisses on her shoulders and neck, down her arm and kissed her knees. When he edged his way back up to claim her lips, his eyes burned with a savage inner desire that made her head spin.
His large hands explored her body. His tongue darted in and out of her mouth. She breathed quickly between parted lips. He eased himself lower and playfully planted kisses around the outer part of her breast, then worked his way in a circular motion coming closer and closer to her nipple. She could feel her tips grow hard. “Azepinkpa…” He swallowed the word in his throat.
She watched him stretch out beside her and the jagged gash marring his shoulder caused her concern. “Your wound. We must–“
”It is nothing but a scratch I barely feel.”
She stroked his cut lightly. “I promised I’d clean this–“
“And the thought of your touch upon my skin sets my heart a flame, but it is not a bath I need right now.” Again, he kissed her. “The flame that burns…” He nibbled her neck. His fingers played with her hair. “…is not of my shoulder. The fire that burns is much, much lower.”
About the Author ~
Petit is a past President of the Long Island Chapter of the Romance
Writers of America. Her love of writing stems back to high school.
She spent hours reading Nancy Drew, Alfred Hitchcock and historical
romances. At the age of fifteen, she wrote a short story for
children, as well as numerous works of poetry. Her love of history
stems from her father, Roger, a Frenchman, whose love of American
history greatly influenced her writing interests.
Newsday and several local newspapers have written articles on Ms. Petit and she was interviewed on TV for her first book, a time travel entitled: A Find Through Time.
She is a past President of the Melville Lions club, and currently 1st Vice District Governor for the Lions of Suffolk County, Long Island NY, a service organization that raises money for the less fortunate – especially the sight impaired.
She loves to ski, raft, horseback
Marianne lives on Long Island and is happily married for forty-years. She has two sons, two wonderful
Click to visit her website for extensive research links and excerpts of Ms. Petit’s books.