Cherokee. Sheri WhiteFeather
Читать онлайн книгу.
other goals—like finding his biological mother, bonding with his heritage. He couldn’t think about love and commitment. Not until he knew who he was and where he had come from.
He released a heavy breath. So where did Sarah fit into this? Why was he so eager to see her again?
Because she fascinated him, he realized. And she could lead him to his roots. Adam knew he was lost, a ship that needed to come to port. The adoption had him feeling so damn disconnected. For the past month he had been floating. Going nowhere.
And he had the same vibe about Sarah. He suspected she was troubled, too. And that drew him to her, made him want to help. She was solid, real—so unlike the superficial women who chased him. She would make a good friend.
A good friend? he asked himself. Or a compatible lover? He couldn’t very well deny the sexual spark between them. He hadn’t counted on it, but it was there—lurking, hiding, waiting to be released.
Well he wasn’t about to release it. The last thing he needed was to complicate a new friendship with sex. He would just have to keep those urges under control.
And just how was he supposed to do that? He had already booked another facial for next week. He wanted her to stroke him again, enchant him with her magic.
Her mystery.
Adam frowned. Already his hormones were interfering with a friendship that hadn’t even happened yet. He could find another connection to his heritage, couldn’t he? He didn’t need Sarah to show him the way.
A beautiful, exotic woman. A dark-eyed Cherokee mystery.
Damn. Maybe he should just forget the friendship and have an affair with her. A passionate one-night stand. That would satisfy his hormones, the unexpected lust.
Disturbed by the thought, he shook his head. Maybe it would be better if Sarah did stand him up. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about their attraction.
Adam checked his watch again, then glanced up and caught his breath. It was too late, he thought. Much too late.
Beautiful, dark-eyed Sarah was already walking toward him, and all he could think about was tangling his hands in all that glorious hair and kissing her senseless.
Two
Sarah scanned the menu, wishing she could think of something to say. She wasn’t good at small talk and was even worse at dating. How was she supposed to concentrate on what to order with Adam sitting across from her? A man who appeared relaxed and confident? He probably had the dating ritual down pat.
She stole a quick glance. Of course he did. Look at him. God’s gift to womankind. He wore his hair in a ponytail, his clothes casual but trendy—a printed shirt and pre-washed jeans sporting a well-known label. California ranch wear, she decided, designed for the city cowboy. His rugged style appeared natural. He didn’t try to attract attention. He just did.
He caught her eye, and she looked down, studied her hands.
“Did you know that they don’t serve fortune cookies in China?”
She glanced up again, forcing herself to hold his gaze. “Why not?”
“They were invented in the U.S. They don’t exist in China.”
“Have you been there?”
“No. I read that on the Internet in a travel guide. I spend a lot of time online.”
Sarah took a deep breath, told herself she would get through this date. It helped not thinking of him as a world traveler. She had never even been on a plane. “I’m glad they serve them here. Fortune cookies are my favorite part of a Chinese meal.”
He smiled. “Me, too.”
When his smile faded, their eyes met. They sat in a small red booth, candlelight flickering between them. His face fascinated her, but she had already touched it, explored the ridges and angles, the masculine texture of his skin. She didn’t want to remember every detail, but looking at him made that impossible.
He lifted the teapot and offered her a refill. She shook her head. She hadn’t finished the first cup yet.
“Let’s choose a few extra entrées so we can share,” he said.
“All right.” She agreed even though the suggestion sounded oddly intimate. “I would prefer chicken and vegetables, though. I don’t eat red meat.”
He smiled at her, something he did often, she noticed.
“Me, neither,” he said, his voice as easy as his smile. “I guess that means we’re going to get along just fine.”
Yes, she thought, if she could just get over her nervousness, tame the unwelcome flutter in her stomach.
When the waiter arrived, they ordered a variety of dishes. Adam spoke a little Cantonese, enough to surprise Sarah and please the grinning waiter. Sarah wondered if Adam had learned the language on the Internet. He appeared to know a lot more than just the history of fortune cookies.
“Ancient cultures fascinate me,” he told her. “I had some training in traditional Chinese medicine. It’s an integral part of their philosophy and religion. Much like the Native American culture.” He lifted his tea. “I’ve been reading about the Cherokee.”
Sarah frowned. She didn’t want to discuss her heritage. And coming from Adam, the term Native American sounded almost glamorous. A far cry from her roots. She was just a simple Indian girl from Oklahoma.
“Where did you get your formal training?” she asked, hoping to steer clear of Cherokee subjects.
“First I attended a school of herbal studies in Northern California, then transferred to a university in London”
“London? You went to school in England?” Maybe he was more of a world traveler than she had originally thought. “Did you like living there?”
“Sure. It’s a beautiful country, and the University of Westminster was an excellent school.”
His casual response made her feel even more Indian, and she hated the feeling. Adam’s adoptive mother might have been Latino, but he’d been raised in a predominantly white world. Apparently his brown skin hadn’t hindered his experiences. “It sounds exciting, but expensive, too.”
“My dad was an accountant, one of those conservative guys who saved money for his son’s education. We weren’t rich, but I didn’t go without, either.”
His adoptive father must have been an honorable man, she thought with a twinge of admiration and a sting of envy. Sarah’s father hadn’t saved a dime. She had struggled to pay for her own schooling.
Their dinner arrived, and they ate in silence, his gaze catching hers between bites. Feeling shy, she glanced away. His mouth fascinated her. The way he moistened his lips before he lifted the fork.
He leaned toward her, and suddenly, foolishly, she wished the table wasn’t between them.
“Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“Are you enjoying your meal?”
She nodded, even though her stomach was still alive with nerves, the flutter of feminine anxiety. “Yes. It’s quite good.”
He smiled, and she took a deep breath, recalling the warmth of his skin.
Night settled in the sky, scattering stars around a quarter moon. Adam and Sarah walked through the Chinatown courtyard, strolling in and out of boutiques. Adam loved the area. A few of the vendors knew him by name. He spent a lot of time in Chinatown, purchasing herbs and admiring the culture.
He turned to look at Sarah. As many times as he came here, he had never brought a date. Not until today.
She smiled a little shyly, and he considered holding her hand. Then reconsidered when she clutched her purse strap with the hand closest