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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?”
    â€œYou 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.
    â€œI 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.
    â€œGo 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 FOUR
    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 no electrical appliances had been left on, then she’d fix herself a sandwich and eat lunch before running up to the main house to say goodbye to Elena. She prayed J.T. would still be asleep so she wouldn’t have to see him again.
    The telephone rang just as she entered the house. Leaving the front door open, she dashed across the living room. She picked it up on the fifth ring, just in time to keep her answering machine from being activated.
    â€œHello,” Joanna said.
    â€œJoanna?”
    â€œMother?”
    â€œYes, dear. How are you?” Helene Beaumont asked.
    â€œI’m fine.” It wasn’t like her mother to call unexpectedly. Senator Helene Caldwell Beaumont was the mostorganized person Joanna had ever known. Her mother called twice a month, at nine-thirty on Sunday morning. “Is something wrong? Did Uncle Peter have another heart attack?”
    â€œNo, dear. Peter is just