Nicole Jordan (12 page)

His fingers clenching on her bare buttocks, he swelled inside her, thick and full, surging, igniting a scorching heat deep within her.

“Yes, be on fire for me.”

Her body surrendered, overwhelmed by blind desire as he swept her to a dark place of searing pleasure—

“Señor Leighton to see you, señorita.”

Caro gave a start as Max was shown into the courtyard where she had just finished breakfasting.

Her cheeks flamed as she unwillingly met his gaze. He had caught her daydreaming about him. Could he tell? Did he know what foolish, erotic visions she had been entertaining just now, or the passionate dreams that had haunted her sleep last night and so many other nights? Could he discern by simply looking at her that she was still aroused?

He greeted her casually, but she felt sure he noticed her flushed face. When his eyes finally broke contact, Caro breathed a sigh of relief.

Max glanced around him with evident approval. The interior courtyard was a place of beauty, one her mother had taken great pride in. A profusion of flowers and vines—bougainvillea, hibiscus, oleander, geraniums—sweetened the air, while a soothing marble fountain whispered a quiet melody.

“So this is your home,” Max said when she had dismissed the Spanish footman. “It’s charming.”

“It seems so to me.” The rural estate she’d inherited from her late parents was not as grand as Thorne’s luxurious villa, but the manor was graceful and comfortable, and the farms provided a generous income that allowed her complete financial independence.

“You live here alone?”

“A friend keeps me company. After my father’s passing, Señora Padilla came to stay with me as my duenna to chaperone me and lend me respectability. But now that I’m well into the age of spinsterhood, she is merely my companion. She hasn’t risen yet, since it is still early.”

“I expected you to be an early riser and risked intruding on you,” Max remarked, offering her a smile that immediately put Caro on the defensive; it was the kind of sensual male smile that made sensible women do foolish things.

“Why are you here?” she asked to hide her flustered warmth. “You are supposed to be at home to callers this morning.”

“I try never to do the expected. In battle, the element of surprise is a prime advantage.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “I wasn’t aware we are engaged in a battle.”

“A skirmish, at the very least. And to make our competition fair, you must give me a fighting chance.” Max’s heated gaze lowered to linger provocatively on the bottom curve of her mouth. “Besides, I look to you to play hostess while I’m here on your island.”

Caro winced, wishing she’d never let herself be goaded into accepting his challenge. “I planned to show you some of the island tomorrow, but I must visit Dr. Allenby this morning. In fact, I was just leaving.”

“I should like to accompany you, if I may. I want to thank Allenby for his part in saving John Yates.”

She drew a sharp breath at the dismaying thought of sharing the morning with Max. His unexpected arrival had given her no time to prepare herself. At the moment she couldn’t even look at him without remembering the way he’d touched her in her dreams, the way his lips had caressed her, the beguiling things he had whispered in her ear. Her gaze fixed on the sensual lines of his mouth….

Abruptly recollecting herself, Caro set down her coffee cup and stood. “I may be gone all day. Most likely I will make Dr. Allenby’s rounds for him today.”

“Is that your usual duty, making his rounds?”

“Upon occasion. He is getting old, and his rheumatism frequently bothers him. And I need to keep busy.”

“Lady Isabella,” Max said sympathetically.

Caro nodded. In her absence, the search had been narrowed to Algiers, but there was still no real word of Isabella’s whereabouts. Yesterday Caro had met at length with Sir Gawain and Alex Ryder and carefully studied Hawk’s report written from Algiers two weeks ago. But her frustration was obvious enough that Sir Gawain had reminded her gently that life must go on. A score of other Guardians were gathering on Cyrene, but there was nothing more to be done at the moment.

Caro had gritted her teeth and acknowledged his wisdom. Meanwhile, she was determined to throw herself into her work to keep from fretting about her friend.

Realizing that Max was still waiting for her answer, she stifled another sigh of frustration. She had no choice; she knew that if she refused, he would accuse her again of being craven.

“You are welcome to come with me this morning,” Caro said, wondering if she was making a mistake.

She led the way outside to the stable yard, where her horse and gig awaited along with Max’s mount. She expected Max to ride alongside the gig, but when after handing her up he joined her on the narrow seat, she had no choice but to give orders to the groom to unsaddle and stable Mr. Leighton’s horse until they returned.

Her intense awareness of Max flustered her so much that she snapped the reins with unnecessary force and sent the bay gelding into a startled trot. She couldn’t get her dreams out of her mind. Couldn’t forget the beauty of his naked body, his potent masculinity, his gentle possessiveness when he’d touched her, caressed her, filled her….

Cursing herself silently, Caro vowed to get her wayward thoughts under control. But Max’s next remark unsettled her nearly as much as his nearness.

“I keep discovering new and surprising things about you. You never told me that you worked for Sir Gawain.”

She cast a wary sideways glance at him. “Why would you think I do?”

“I had some interesting visitors last night. Alex Ryder and your Señor Verra. They told me some curious things about you. It must be quite a story, how you came to be involved in such a masculine pursuit.”

Caro managed a shrug. “My father worked for the Foreign Office. I merely took his place after he died.”

“Ryder also mentioned your expertise with a rapier and said you were a crack shot.”

“And I ride and sail and read Latin,” she said lightly. “And I can saw off a leg if I must. I told you I possessed few feminine qualities.”

“I happen to think your qualities quite remarkable.”

Caro eyed him with skepticism, knowing she shouldn’t allow herself to listen to Max’s admittedly appealing flattery. He was simply being gallant when he called her male pursuits remarkable. Perhaps her uniqueness intrigued him for the moment, but she was a curiosity for him, nothing more.

“Obviously I shall have to speak to Ryder about his loose tongue,” she said reprovingly.

“I confess I encouraged him to talk, and not just to discover your secrets. I wanted to know more about him as well. I have the impression he once sold his services as a mercenary.”

“He did. Ryder is from Cyrene, but before he returned here to work for Sir Gawain, he was employed by a number of foreign governments.”

Her spirits had been buoyed to hear of Alex Ryder’s arrival, for he was one of the most deadly of all the Guardians. In every mission there was the possibility that someone of Ryder’s skills would be needed.

“He’s seems rather enamored of you,” Max observed.

“Ryder? Of
me
?”

“He was singing your praises last evening. Is
he
my competition?”

She couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Ryder being her lover, when he was like a protective older brother to her. “Like Thorne, Ryder is merely a good friend.”

“And Santos Verra? When I saw Verra carry you off yesterday, I naturally was jealous.”

Caro rolled her eyes. “You have no cause for jealousy. Verra is happily married, with four young children.”

“That relieves my mind.”

“Tell me,” she said to change the subject, “why did Ryder and Verra visit you last night?”

“They came for the purpose of looking me over before reporting to Sir Gawain. I had the feeling Ryder thinks I may be too fainthearted to join your group.”

“He doesn’t question your courage, I’m certain. He is merely concerned about your conviction. Ryder doubts that anyone who isn’t committed to our organization would truly want to risk dying for strangers.”

“I am not afraid of dying. I’m not even particularly afraid of killing the enemy.”

She caught the dark note in his voice. “What is it that troubles you, then?”

“Truthfully? It’s having my friends’ blood on my hands. I don’t think I could stand anyone else making sacrifices for me.”

The way John Yates had done, Caro reflected. And Max had spoken of a nightmare, she remembered.

“You can still withdraw your offer,” she said softly. “If we organize a rescue, you needn’t accompany us.”

“No, I want to participate. Like you, I believe taking action is the best way to keep from dwelling on problems. Besides, I owe you a great debt for saving Yates, angel. And I know what it’s like to lose a cherished friend. I would spare you that, if I possibly can.”

His eyes had grown dark, Caro realized, with that hint of bleakness she’d seen during their voyage. She felt a disastrous weakening in the heart she was trying to steel against him.

“Well,” she said, trying to lighten the mood, “you have time to make up your mind. I am to take you to meet Sir Gawain tomorrow afternoon, did Ryder tell you?”

“Yes. I gather I’m to be interviewed.” Max’s mouth curved. “And there is always the possibility that Sir Gawain may not want me along.”

“I don’t believe there will be any question of your being welcomed,” Caro assured him.

Shaking his head to banish his dark thoughts, Max settled back to enjoy the moment. He wasn’t accustomed to having a woman drive, but Caro’s gloved hands were sure and gentle on the reins—those same gentle hands that had soothed his fevered brow in his dreams so many times. The memory made him want to reach out and lace his fingers with hers, just for the pleasure of touching her.

The peace of the morning was like a balm to his soul. It was impossible to think of war in this sun-drenched valley ripe with olive groves and orange orchards and vineyards. In the distance to the north, he could see Cyrene’s two forested mountain peaks, and to the south, a lower ridge of rugged hills. The valleys in the interior of the island were carefully cultivated, but the higher slopes possessed a wild beauty that called to him.

Caro seemed to follow his gaze. “Our mountains protect us from the dry winds that blow from the north and help to catch rain. The Romans brought us irrigation, but drought is our biggest worry. There is a lake at the base of our western peak that has a splendid waterfall. According to legend, Apollo created it for Cyrene as her bath. I know,” Caro said when she saw his mouth twist in amusement. “You don’t believe in legends.”

“Your island does resemble a paradise,” Max admitted.

“It is not very large. You can ride across Cyrene in an hour, and traverse its length in three. But it is a very special place,” she murmured with obvious pride.

Dr. Allenby lived near the edge of town in a small whitewashed cottage. Caro lamented the size as they walked to the front door. “His house has only one room to perform surgeries and to examine patients, but someday we hope to have a real hospital.”

They were greeted by the doctor’s Spanish housekeeper, who looked relieved to see Caro. “Señorita Evers, it is good you are here. I can do nothing with him. He had no sleep last night…not since the baby came.”

“Señora Tompkins’s baby?”

“No, it was Señora Garcia.”

“I did not know her time was so near.”

“It was not. But the little one, he came early. The doctor is in the infirmary.”

Seeming unsurprised to find Dr. Allenby slumped over his desk, Caro gently shook him awake. When he started upright, Max recognized the portly, balding man as the brilliant physician whose novel methods reportedly had saved countless lives.

“You are back at last,” Allenby said, scowling at Caro.

“As you see.”

Fumbling for his spectacles, he peered up at Max. “Do I know you?”

“You remember Major Leighton,” Caro replied. “He brought John Yates home last summer.”

The doctor grunted a welcome and brushed off Max’s attempt to express gratitude for his efforts last year. He was even more irascible now than during their previous meeting, Max decided, but his banter with Caro showed a mutual fondness as she chided him about his work habits.

“You have to take better care of yourself. You have been driving yourself to the point of exhaustion.”

“And whose fault is that? If you had stayed here instead of flitting off to England—”

“It could not be helped.”

“You were gone long enough.”

“Regrettably the voyage takes time.”

“It would have been entirely unnecessary if not for that damned Isabella getting herself captured.”

“You don’t mean to blame her,” Caro replied.

“I do! She should stay safely at home instead of gallivanting all over the globe—and so should you. You are needed here. I have been putting off several surgeries until you returned…blast my damn eyes.” Plucking off his spectacles, he rubbed the offending orbs.

“My eyesight is better than his,” Caro murmured to Max, “so I have been performing some of his surgeries under his direction.”

“And I must order supplies,” the doctor said gruffly.

“That can wait. For now you need to go to bed and get some sleep.”

“I have no time to pamper myself. I have rounds to see to—”

“I will make your rounds today. Maria is already making out a list of patients. Now come. I am not leaving until you are in bed.”

Taking his arm and helping him to rise, Caro bullied and teased him as if he were a recalcitrant patient and finally persuaded him to lie down on the cot in the infirmary.

After covering the weary doctor with a blanket, Caro quietly led Max from the room and accepted the list that the smiling housekeeper gave her, along with a black leather satchel. It appeared to Max that they had performed this routine frequently.

“If you like,” Caro told him once they were settled in the gig, “I can drop you at Thorne’s villa before I make my first call.”

“I want to accompany you. Perhaps I might even be of use.”