Authors: Sara Craven
She exhaled sharply and headed for the salon to pour herself a cup of coffee. Maybe he was delusional and
they would both die as a result. How had she gotten herself into this mess?
She passed near Clay as she reached the door to the cabin. “Open your mind,” he said emphatically in a deep, but nearly inaudible voice, the first words she had ever heard him speak. “Trust him.”
Before she could respond by gesture or word, he hurried away. A servant realizing he had passed too close to the
mamsahib,
or whatever the boss’s wife was called.
Okay, she decided. She would make herself trust. As if she had any options. Maybe a little meditation would calm her.
A good old Presbyterian prayer might not hurt, either, she thought with a heavy sigh.
They sailed all afternoon and on into the night. The reason for that was a given. The location of the island was to remain a secret. That indicated it might be Quince’s permanent home, or at least his usual base of operations.
The captain looked mighty smug and had an evil glint in his eye. He was probably making plans to get rid of the “bodyguards” Al-Dayal had brought along.
Dawn should be safe enough, though. How much trouble could a woman be anyway, the captain would figure, especially one as meek as Al-Dayal’s wife? Eric almost laughed out loud. She had played her part so perfectly that no one could see her as a threat.
“We’ll anchor here for the night,” the captain said as he approached Eric. “If you and your men could give me some assistance.”
They must be close to the rendezvous. Eric nodded and beckoned to Ressam and Clay.
Once the sails were furled and the anchor dropped, the captain bade them good-night, informing Eric that he would remain topside while Eric and the others were to use the cabins fore and aft.
“You are too kind,” Eric said, shared a meaningful look with his men, and went below as the captain suggested.
Dawn was already in the forward cabin, reclining on the bed with a book. She glanced up as he entered. Since he had only a couple of feet of floor space, he kicked off his deck shoes and crawled onto the king-size bunk beside her.
“Are we there yet?” she asked with a saucy smile, turning down the page to mark her place and then tossing the novel aside.
Eric glanced at the author’s name. Ian Fleming. “We will go ashore in the morning, I expect. So you are a James Bond fan?”
“Not really. I found it in the salon.”
He laughed. “Decadent western novels, scorning your protective attire and taking the tone of a liberated woman. What are you coming to, Aurora? Will I have to take you in hand?”
“Have you the time for that before we disembark?” she asked playfully, all the while glancing curiously around the cabin and pointing to her ear.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “Clay swept the place. There are mikes hidden in the salon and in certain locations topside, but the cabins aren’t bugged.”
She grimaced. “Then why are you being such a jerk when you don’t have to?”
He grinned. “Sorry, just yanking your chain. Are you ready for tomorrow?”
“Absolutely,” she declared. “All this lounging around is boring as hell.”
He lay back, linking his hands behind his head. “There’ll be more of that once we get there, at least for you. But we could have some fireworks tonight if the captain tries to unload Ressam and Clay. No doubt Quince ordered him to.”
“How do you know that?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you if you were him?”
Dawn grabbed his arm and leaned close. “You think he means to kill them in their sleep?”
Eric grinned up at her. “The day they can’t handle one spindly-legged, fifty-year-old wannabe pirate, they’ll deserve what they get.”
“We should keep watch or something in case they need our help.”
“Relax. They’ll be fine.” He loved the feel of her hand on his arm, the concern he felt emanating from her in waves. She had a good heart and was a fine agent. Even though she barely knew Clay and Ressam, she would go to the mat to save them.
Though he sensed her goodness and her worry, it was not extrasensory perception at work, only normal observation.
Normal.
Dawn made him feel that way, and he couldn’t help but love it. She saw him as a man, not some strange, inexplicable phenomenon. Maybe that was the reason he wanted her so much. But was that the only reason? Somehow, he didn’t think so.
At a very young age, he had learned to brush off the awe people sometimes felt at what he could do. He did it with humor, merciless teasing and, if that didn’t work, outright avoidance. Not many bothered to get to know the real Eric Vinland. He wasn’t even certain he knew himself as well as he should.
His life had been mostly smoke and mirrors, a series of acts to either use or to cover his powers, depending on the situation. With Dawn, he felt he could be himself, providing he could figure out just who that was.
“I have you all figured out,” she said, jerking him to attention with her words. God, was she reading
him
and not realizing it? “You observe body language and expressions really well,” she continued. “Then you combine that with things you learn from your sources. For instance, you made a good guess that I lost my ring in a pool somewhere. How could I ever prove or disprove that?”
“Find the ring, maybe?”
She scoffed. “The pool is probably no longer there.”
“Ah. So I’m like the fakers who wow folks at carnivals, huh? Or maybe a con artist on the psychic hotlines?”
She shrugged.
“I get that you don’t believe me,” he said.
Her expression was kind. “I believe that
you
believe it, like celebrities who begin to believe their own press. It could be dangerous, this overestimating what you can do, Eric.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said dryly, now a little miffed that she thought he was so self-delusional that he would risk their lives.
“Hey, don’t be mad. I’m trying to help.”
Eric rolled over, giving her his back. “Okay, thanks. Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s gonna be a big day for both of us.”
“C’mon,” she urged. “Don’t pout. You’re ruining your image. Or have you suddenly run out of jokes?” Her hand closed over his shoulder.
It was too much. Entirely too much to tolerate when he was already hyped up to kiss her. One kiss. That’s all he’d do, to shut that smart little mouth of hers.
He rolled back to her and sealed his lips to hers. Only
hers were open in surprise, giving him full access, tempting him to explore her fully while teaching her a lesson in tact.
Tact went right out the window, along with any subtle punishment he’d intended. How sweet she was, and how perfectly fitted to him. He embraced her full length, planning to enjoy every second until she cried wolf.
But Dawn didn’t cry wolf. She didn’t push back, and she didn’t protest in any other way. Instead, she shifted against him, stoking his need even higher and harder. Damn, he wished she would hurry up and learn her lesson, give him a hard smack on the head or something, because he couldn’t seem to stop himself as long as she was cooperating.
The little groan she made reverberated through him like a plucked string. An electric, erotic note, one that played over and over in his head, drumming out coherence, vibrating, sending all the blood in his brain to parts of him that never thought for themselves.
Her hands grasped his shoulders, slid down his back, firmly gripped his butt and urged him closer. She wants this. She really, really wants this, cried that devil fighting his conscience. And he wanted it even more than she did, too keenly to resist.
He slid a hand beneath her blouse and found bare skin, firm and welcoming, burning with the same fever that gripped him. He felt the budding of her nipples, caressed them with eager fingers and both heard and felt his reward in her response.
She was so damned responsive it blew him away. He had to taste her, touch her everywhere, inhale her, be a part of her in every way possible. This intense need for total possession shocked him. He had never wanted to
own
a partner before, but Dawn was not just a partner. This was not just sex. This was everything at the moment, everything he had
ever wanted or would ever want. No, he knew it was not a momentary thing at all. He might never recover and be what he had been, but he didn’t care.
Dawn filled him up somehow, occupied all those vacant places he never realized existed in him. This phenomenon had been at work for days now, about to culminate in this unstoppable act. The sheer power of his feelings and this new vulnerability scared the hell out of him, but he knew he had no defense. Didn’t even want one. He only wanted
her.
“Mine now,” he murmured against her mouth.
Hardly breaking the kiss, they tore off clothes and came together in a rush of heat. No way to stop, no way. Fractured thoughts tried to intrude, but he drowned them out with a growl of pleasure so intense it nearly hurt. She met his every move, urging him on, banishing any coherent thought he had left.
Her soft exclamation rushed out against his neck when he thrust inside her and took her with all the finesse of a novice.
Regret wouldn’t register. He didn’t care about technique, about anything but becoming one with Dawn, living, breathing, being a part of her. And he was. For a few minutes, it seemed as if her every feeling rushed into him and expanded his own.
Faster and higher, keener and sharper, the ecstasy mounted until they exploded together in a cry of completion.
But once he withdrew, Eric realized he was no longer complete. Something would always be missing unless he held her as close as could be, unless he was part of her and she a part of him.
Breathless and confused, he couldn’t seem to let her go, to give her space to recover. Instead, he pressed her closer and buried his face in her neck, reluctant to discuss what had happened.
“Now I can sleep,” she murmured, placing a soft kiss on his temple. “Don’t talk.”
Well, damn. What kind of woman was she that she didn’t want to dissect what had happened and ruin the magic?
Eric smiled and caressed her naked back with his hand, letting go just a little, certain that he could get the magic back again once they had rested. Dawn amazed him. She just amazed the hell out of him.
Drifting into oblivion was the last thing he wanted to do. She had gone there before him, her breathing already becoming even and her heartbeat calm. His one thought was of how happy he was. For the first time in memory, truly happy. How rare was that, to experience it and know it as it was happening?
Happiness made little sense, knowing what they might face in the morning, how they might not survive if Stefan Cydonia, the indomitable Quince, guessed who they really were. Eric could die a happy man if he expired right now, but he wasn’t ready to go just yet. And he could never let any harm come to Dawn.
Things had to go perfectly. Had he considered and prepared for every eventuality, every contingency? God, he hoped so. He prayed so.
In the aftermath of their lovemaking, Dawn feigned sleep. It was too soon to talk about what had happened between them. Maybe she wouldn’t discuss it at all. If she could pass it off as an impulse, that would be best. People in dangerous situations often did reckless things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. But if she were completely honest with herself, Dawn had to admit she might have done it under any circumstances.
She couldn’t bring herself to regret it, not when her body still glowed with pleasure. There was another feeling as well, the sublime comfort of truly connecting with another person.
She and Eric were special together, even though she knew in her heart that it was only temporary. Eric Vinland wasn’t the type for a girl to pin any long-term hopes on, but that was all right with her. Nope, no regrets at all, she decided.
What if they had never found another chance? They certainly wouldn’t on that island, where they would surely be under constant surveillance. And after the mission was over, assuming they survived it, they would go back to their respective jobs and probably never see each other again.
He was not the marrying kind, and Dawn knew it. Not that she had even entertained the thought of that. Not seriously, anyway. It was just that she had experienced something, however brief, with him that she never expected. That feeling of belonging, of being part of another.
She sighed and snuggled against him, still pretending to be asleep. Maybe it was only great sex that made her feel this way. That was something she hadn’t experienced before, either. All her adult life, she had wondered what the fuss was all about. Well, now she knew.
For the rest of tonight, she planned to luxuriate in the pleasure of being her own well-satisfied self, lying beside her evanescent lover and partner. Tomorrow, she must become Aurora again, a completely cloaked shadow in the wake of the great Jarad Al-Dayal.
Eric sat straight up out of a sound sleep. Whether a sound or a premonition had awakened him, he couldn’t tell. He placed a hand on Dawn’s shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. “Wake up. Something’s going down.”
He hurriedly yanked on his loose trousers and crept barefoot through the salon, sensing Dawn right behind him. He hurried across the salon to the other sleeping quarters.
The aft cabin door stood open. Clay rushed out, glanced around the salon, then pointed to the deck. When they were topside, Clay leaned close and spoke. “I killed the captain. I couldn’t avoid it.”
“What happened?” Dawn asked.
“Ressam, since he’s smaller, hid in the salon. We figured the captain would come after us, so we made a plan. Ressam would grab him from behind when he started for our cabin. I’d be inside, ready to assist. But the door opened and I saw a blade coming at me. I kicked him in the chest. Then he just fell across the bunk, dead to the world. No pulse.”
“You tried to revive him?”
Clay nodded. “The kick must have stopped his heart and I couldn’t start him up again. We need to find Ressam.”
The clouds had passed and the moon beamed down on them, throwing an eerie blue cast over everything on the deck. The scene looked surreal.