Nicole Jordan (10 page)

Before she could say a word, Max held up a hand to forestall her. “I owe you an apology, angel. I know you only meant to help last night.”

She regarded him warily. “Yes, I did.”

“I don’t like to talk about my nightmares.”

“I could tell,” Caro said dryly. “But you should have no fear that I will repeat my mistake. I won’t try to comfort you again.”

“I would regret that immensely. Last night I wanted like blazes to do much more than kiss you. But I knew if I started, I would never stop.”

The dark, intent look in his eyes suggested he was telling the truth.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now in the least,” Caro replied with a shrug.

“It matters a great deal,” Max countered.

Taking a step closer, he slipped a hand behind her nape and brought his mouth down on hers. His kiss was hard, sensual, compelling…deliberately arousing.

Beyond her gasp of surprise, Caro was too startled to struggle. How could a single kiss resonate in every inch of her body, filling her with such dizzying waves of sensation? At the delicious taste of his mouth, all her senses came to instant, vivid life, while scalding heat flared inside her, pooling low in her middle.

His kiss was all too brief, though. Just as abruptly, Max released her.

Caro stood there, dazed and momentarily speechless, while his searching gaze raked her face. He must have been pleased by what he saw, for a gleam of male satisfaction lit the blue depths of his eyes.

“I thought so,” Max said, his voice low and slightly husky. “You can’t pretend indifference any more than I can.”

Lifting her chin, Caro speared him with an accusatory glance. “What the devil do you mean, kissing me right here where anyone in the crew could see?”

“Next time I will be certain to ensure our privacy.”

“There won’t be a next time!”

“Of course there will. You just proved my point.”

“What point?”

“That I want you, sweet angel. And that you want me almost as badly.”

That was indisputably true, Caro admitted to herself. She did want him—intensely. But she didn’t mean to give Max the satisfaction of knowing it.

Cursing her deplorable reaction, she inhaled a steadying breath and fumbled for the knife in the pocket of her cloak. When she drew it out, showing Max the sharp, four-inch steel blade, his eyes abruptly narrowed.

“As you can see,” she declared, “I have my own knife.”

It was Max’s turn to look wary.

“Don’t worry, I promise not to hurt you,” Caro said with an indulgent smile of her own. “I thought we might hold a competition.”

“A competition?”

“A knife-throwing contest. Something to distract us both. To help work off our restlessness. I intended to make the suggestion before you so unceremoniously assaulted me. What?” Caro asked when Max’s gaze continued to measure her. “Are you afraid I will best you?”

His mouth curved in a grudging—and unmistakably amused—smile. “Perhaps I
should
be afraid. I’m beginning to realize it is unwise to underestimate you.”

“It is indeed. But our competition will have to wait until this afternoon. I told Captain Biddick I would review the ship’s ledgers this morning, since he has so little fondness for tallying. Shall we say three o’clock?”

“Very well, angel. Three o’clock it is.”

They met at the appointed time and set the rules and conditions of their competition, agreeing on the best of ten throws for each target, with ten different targets to make a game, three games to a match.

“You may very well win for now since I am out of practice,” Caro acknowledged as they placed casks at varying heights and distances and marked bull’s-eyes, “but I am a swift learner.”

“I remember,” Max said, a glint in his eyes.

At his pointed reminder of their night of lovemaking, color rose in her cheeks, but it was Max’s next remark that flustered her.

“If I win, I intend to claim you as my prize.”

“Certainly not! We will play for pennies.”

When she took her first practice throw and came only inches from the bull’s-eye, Max nodded in appreciation.

“Who taught you to wield a knife?”

“My father.”

“He evidently had some unique ideas regarding a daughter’s upbringing.”

You don’t know the half of it,
Caro thought. “True. But our island is much more accepting of unconventional females. We also have a great many intriguing male characters. I once knew a pirate who liked to throw knives at live targets.”

“That was his idea of entertainment?”

“Yes, but he encountered a fellow pirate who preferred sabers, and so lost his head.”

“A bloodthirsty lot on your island.”

Caro smiled enigmatically. “Not at all, but we do have more than our share of adventurers.”

The afternoon sun was warm enough that Max took off his coat. Seeing the play of muscle beneath the fine cambric of his shirt, Caro told herself it was only the exhilaration of the competition that made her heart pump faster, but she knew she lied.

They both quieted when the match began, for winning required concentration. Watching Max, Caro knew at once she was dealing with a master. His throws seemed effortless yet so controlled they landed with lethal precision. And unlike her, he knew how to make allowances for the roll of the ship.

It irked her that Max was so skilled, since it had taken her years to perfect her own talents.

It annoyed Caro more that she couldn’t repress her admiration for him. He was every bit as good as the Guardians who had taught her. The distressing truth was, she reacted very differently to Max than she did to her fellow Guardians. She couldn’t possibly look at him as a brother. The raw sexuality that hummed around him was impossible to ignore, as was his vital strength. Even more profound was the almost tangible sense of fortitude she recognized in him.

He was a warrior, every inch of him, and it spoke to the warrior in her.

That
was what made him so dangerous to her, Caro realized.

It was also during their match that she acknowledged her miscalculation. She had meant to prove to Max how misplaced his desire was by showing off her masculine skills, but he seemed to find her unconventionality highly intriguing rather than worthy of disdain.

She almost regretted suggesting their competition. And yet she had only to see the fierce gleam in Max’s eyes to know he was taking great pleasure in their contest.

When the match concluded, Caro had lost, but by a respectable margin. She owed him six shillings but told Max she would wait to pay her debt.

“For tomorrow I intend to beat you,” she announced with a defiant toss of her head.

A lazy smile flickered across his mouth. “Did I ever tell you, my fair witch, how much I relish a challenge?”

She had the distinct feeling Max wasn’t simply talking about their game with knives.

“So do I,” she retorted.

His blue eyes narrowed, appraising her. His look was provocative and sensual enough to make her heart skitter. “Then we are well matched, I would say.”

A shiver of anticipation ran down Caro’s spine. She would say the same thing—they
were
well matched. Yet she knew she would require not only all her skill but all her willpower to hold her own with Max.

Although she never quite won, Caro did come to relish her rivalry with him, for their contests not only helped ease her restlessness during the final days of the voyage, but provided her a distraction from the despairing thoughts that had haunted her ever since learning of Isabella’s disappearance.

It was only, however, when they passed Ibiza and the other Balearic Islands, Mallorca and Menorca, that the knots in Caro’s stomach began to lessen. Soon she would be home. She would be able to act, to do something toward helping find her dear friend, instead of merely enduring this interminable waiting.

She wanted to reach Cyrene for Max’s sake as well, knowing the serenity of the island would benefit him. His own restlessness seemed to have diminished—he was a fierce competitor and seemed to find their rivalry as stimulating as she did. But she knew he still sometimes woke in the dark hours of night to pace the decks.

And finally, she wanted to be home for her own sake, on her own familiar ground where she could have better control of herself. She still hadn’t conquered her damnable attraction for Max, especially in moonlight.

On the final night of their voyage, they dined with the captain and first mate. When afterward Caro accepted Captain Biddick’s invitation for a stroll, Max joined them. Then a short while later, the captain was called away on a matter involving a crew member’s discipline—much to her dismay.

Left alone with Max, Caro felt an abrupt return of the tension that had plagued her during the first part of their journey. The waxing moon was only half-full, but brilliant enough to turn the sea to a shimmering, rippling mirror, reminding her of their moonlit tryst when she had made love to him.

And when Max turned his head to gaze at her, she knew he was remembering as well. The intensity of his expression made her heart race, sent heat lancing through her body.

“Whenever I see a moon this bright,” he murmured, “I think of you.”

Caro couldn’t trust herself to reply. Her nerves suddenly felt on a razor’s edge, her senses sharply heightened.

Then Max moved to stand behind her.

If he meant to remind her of the passion they had shared, he was succeeding. He didn’t even have to touch her—he aroused her just by his nearness. Her body reacted with sexual need; her heart leapt and her skin ignited with searing warmth.

She reached out to grip the railing to steady herself, gazing helplessly out at the vast, silver sea.

Behind her, Max remained silent. They might have been in their own secret world, their own dream, just like at the ruins.

But if this were a dream, Caro thought, dazed, he would take down her hair and twine his fingers through it, stroking and arousing her. If this were a dream, he would bare her breasts to the moonlight and lower his mouth to suckle her. If this were a dream…

Caro squeezed her eyes closed. She didn’t want this moment to be a dream. She wanted it to be real. She felt so alive when she was near Max, felt reckless and wild. He was temptation incarnate.

She dragged in a breath. It was alarming how badly she wanted him to touch her.

As if granting her wish, he brought his hands up to lightly clasp her arms and pressed his lips against her hair.

Every muscle in her body tightened. Then he bent lower, his lips hovering at the nape of her neck, his hot breath fanning her skin, assaulting her senses. He was intentionally tormenting her, she suspected.

Her breathing sharpened painfully, blood pounded in her ears. She could feel her nipples suddenly ache with longing, could feel moisture gathering between her thighs. She wanted to feel Max glide sleek and hot inside her….

When his lips touched her nape in the lightest of kisses, she arched against the exquisite pressure. The physical attraction assailing her was as powerful, as overwhelming as her first time with him, perhaps even more so. Desire flared in her, wild yearning roaring again with life, with hunger.

Heaven help her, this was dangerous, Caro’s conscience screamed silently. Max was dangerous. He made her feel too much. He made her
crave
too much.

A craving she
had
to conquer before she foolishly succumbed to his temptation again…

Pulling away from him abruptly, Caro stepped aside on shaking limbs. “I intend to retire now,” she said unsteadily, “since I want to be well rested when we arrive tomorrow.”

He didn’t try to stop her, but she felt his gaze follow her as she made her escape and took refuge in her own cabin. She could feel her heart still thudding, her body thrumming with awareness.

Forcing herself to let out the breath she had been holding, Caro went to the porthole window and opened it, letting the night breeze flood her tiny cabin and cool her fevered pulse.

It was deplorable how she lost control of her senses whenever she encountered that man in moonlight. She was a Guardian, as close to a warrior as a female could get. She had faced challenges that would daunt the bravest of souls.

Yet she was clearly unable to deal with Max.

Swearing under her breath, Caro curled her fingers into fists. She couldn’t let this continue. She would have to find some way to take the offensive.

It was either that or allow Max to slowly drive her mad.

Caro spent a restless night tossing and turning, but by the following morning she had settled on a plan. The moment they arrived on Cyrene, she intended to find someone else to capture Max’s interest. Another woman, a ravishing beauty to attract and fascinate and comfort him. She had two excellent candidates in mind, both far more alluring than she was.

Perhaps then she could turn his unwanted attention away from her.

Once she resolved to fight back, Caro felt more in control of herself. After breakfast, she went above decks to watch for signs of land.

A shout from the lookout in the rigging alerted her that Cyrene had been sighted. A short while later, Caro finally spied a dark speck on the horizon. And at length, the speck grew until she could make out the outline of Cyrene’s two forested mountain peaks.

Her heart lightened at the sight of her beloved home. Even from a distance, the island seemed to possess an enchantment that never failed to stir her soul. The very air shimmered with brighter clarity here, the sky gleamed a deeper blue, the sea dazzled with vibrant jeweled colors—sapphire and turquoise and aquamarine.

Already the magic was having a soothing effect on her restless nerves. She turned her face up to the sun, drinking in the nourishing warmth.

She sensed Max’s presence even before he spoke from behind her. “You look as if you’re paying homage to the sun god.”

Caro smiled, knowing her expression showed pleasure, if not actual awe. “That isn’t as far-fetched as it sounds. Apollo has long been revered on our island.”

“I take it you are eager to be home?” Max asked as he joined her at the railing.