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Wo…
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    10/31/2009 ingless sexual affair. And she wasn't going to Blackwood's Woman let him prove his point by showing her that the two of them felt those same animalistic urges.
    She struggled against his hold, a feeling of panic building inside her. J.T. clutched her waist, pulling her up against him. She gasped when she felt his arousal. "We could have what Benjamin and Annabelle had, if that's what you want. We could spend the next week making love night and day, and then I'll go back to Atlanta and you can write in your diary about how exciting it was, having an Indian lover."
    "Let go of me." She glared at him, hating him. Hating him for making light of their great-grandparents' love. Hating him for stirring passion to life within her.
    "You don't want the kind of affair your beloved ancestress had?" J.T. taunted her.
    "Are you saying you didn't come to Trinidad—" he yanked her hand up, entwined their fingers and pulled their hands between their faces so that they could see their matching rings "—with all kinds of romantic notions of a Navajo man fulfilling your sexual fantasies?"
    "You don't know anything about me. About my dreams. Or my fantasies."
    He lowered his head. She held tightly to his hand, trying to keep their clasped hands in front of her face. He pulled their hands down, leaned closer and brushed a light kiss across her lips. She stiffened.
    "I know you want me—as much as I want you," he said.
    She didn't fight him, made no protest when he kissed her. She had thought the kiss would be harsh and cruel and savage. But it wasn't. He took her lips with force, but it was a sweet, tender power that swept through her body like a strong but nondestructive wind.
    She returned the kiss, opening her mouth, allowing his invasion. Tingling warmth spread from her breasts to the core of her femininity. When he cupped the back of her head with one hand and caressed her hip with the other, pushing her firmly against his hard sex, she slipped her arms up around his neck. She had never known anything like this raging hunger inside her, this overwhelming need to possess and be possessed.
    Just when her knees weakened and she trembled with passion, J.T. pushed her away. He stood several inches from her, his breathing ragged, sweat beads dampening his forehead.
    Reaching down, she gripped the arm of her rocker for support as she stared at him, not knowing what to say or do. She wanted to lash out at him, accuse him of something horrible, but she couldn't. She had been a willing participant, her need as wild as his.
    "Go to the reservation, Jo. Paint your noble savages and your magnificent sunrises and sunsets. But find yourself another Indian to take as a lover. I'm not in the market for a summer fling with a bored debutante."
    He glared at her. She stood ramrod straight, unmoving, her face an unemotional mask. When he turned and stomped down the steps, out into the yard and toward the main house, Joanna stayed on the porch, silent and still, until he disappeared from her view. Then she released the tight control she'd been determined to keep over her emotions. Tears filled her eyes. The unbearable pain in her chest burst free when she gulped in a deep breath of air and let out an agonized moan.

Chapter 4
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    J oanna placed her art supplies in the back of the Jeep, then lifted her small floral suitcase and her matching overnight bag. She'd packed light, taking two pairs of jeans, two blouses, a nightgown and several changes of underwear. She would stay with Elena's cousins, Kate and Ed Whitehorn, who had opened their home to her on several previous occasions. She had telephoned them this morning, apologizing for giving them such short notice, and found Kate delighted to have company.
    Joanna glanced down at her watch as she stepped up on the porch. Eleven-twenty.
    She would double-check everything in the house, making sure