Nicole Jordan (20 page)

He captured her hands in one of his and held them high over her head as he raised her skirts.

“No,” she declared weakly.

When he said simply, unequivocally,
“Yes,”
her eyes fluttered shut.

He dipped his fingers into the spirals of dusky hair between her thighs, making her limbs go rigid with tension. When he slid his middle finger into her slick folds, it came away drenched with her moisture.

“You’re already wet for me,” he uttered with satisfaction.

Gritting his teeth against the surge of heat shafting through his own loins, he thrust his fingers inside her moist cleft, withdrew, and invaded again, his thumb stroking the nub of her sex.

A shudder rocked Caro as he deliberately explored, and she found herself grinding her hips against his arousing hand, blindly seeking more of this fevered pleasure. His erotic touch was shooting almost painful arrows of excitement deep between her thighs at the same time he held her powerless to move. The sense of being at his mercy was not so much frightening as thrilling. The intensity made her ache with wild longing.

When her hips began writhing, Max broke off to tear at the buttons of his breeches, freeing his rigid phallus; it sprang to attention, thick and hot and throbbing.

Grasping her hips, he lifted Caro to meet his full, swollen length and pressed open her quivering thighs.

She tried not to gasp at the searing jolt when his flesh parted her aching, feminine folds. And somehow she managed to accommodate all of him. The muscles in her entire lower body tightened and clamped down around him, swelling around his large possession.

His blue eyes holding a molten brilliance, he arched up into her, his shaft spearing her until he was sheathed completely inside her. Caro bit back a low, delirious moan at the sensations crowding sweet and tumultuous in her blood.

She heard Max whispering roughly in her ear, telling her how hot and tight it felt to be deep inside her, and she responded feverishly, wrapping her legs around him, her heels digging into his muscled thighs, urging him even closer as he began to move with tender violence.

It was a primal mating, with no pretense of finesse or politeness. His hand tangled in her hair in a hard fist of control as he drove himself into her, big and hard, his powerful body slamming against hers. Caro thought she might burst into flame at the brutal heat of it. His urgent thrusts were twisting her into knots of desire.

She clutched at his shoulders, her flesh shivering under the pounding force of his loins as he took her against the wall, ravishing her again and again.

Her breaths came in gasps now, her body bucking and straining.

“Yes, be wanton for me, be wild and reckless….”

His dark words only inflamed her more, until she was so shameless and needful of release that she was frantically shuddering near the brink. When she pleaded with Max to end it, his fierce, driving rhythm quickened.

She bit his shoulder through his jacket. Max growled in frustration and buried himself to the hilt, as if he couldn’t absorb the feel of her into him deeply enough.

It made her wild. She was beyond words now, beyond thought, overwhelmed by his heat and sexuality, trapped in the dark grip of passion.

Caro strained madly against him. She was on fire, her senses reeling. When her climax came, Max ground his mouth against hers, catching her high, keening sounds as he hurled her into ecstasy.

He held her convulsing body still for his thrusts, his lips drinking in her wild moans. She was still heaving in his arms when at the last instant he withdrew and twisted slightly. His body contracted fiercely, repeatedly, emptying his seed, not within her, but shooting against the rock wall.

When it was over, he sagged against her. His breath beat raggedly against her ear while his body leaned heavily against hers.

Slowly, very slowly, Caro’s senses returned. Even more slowly her body stopped its trembling.

She could scarcely believe what had just happened. Their coupling had been hot and urgent and rawly carnal, unlike the tenderness of last night. They had both been almost frantic with the sheer, overpowering need to mate. Or she had been, at any event. Max at least had had the presence of mind to withdraw from her, she remembered, so he wouldn’t run the risk of impregnating her.

Sated and aching, Caro buried her face in his shoulder. She had gone wild in this man’s arms, yet she didn’t regret it at all. She felt cleansed of her anger, warm and intensely alive. And Max felt intensely vital against her, his body gloriously strong and virile.

“You did that on purpose…made love in order to distract me.”

He smiled into her hair. “Yes. You needed a target for your anger, and I merely obliged.”

“I suppose I will contrive to forgive you,” she conceded.

With a groaned chuckle, he lifted her higher and carried her to the pallet, then followed her down, briefly kissing her lips, which were still dampened and reddened from his mouth.

When he propped himself up on one elbow, gazing down at her, she studied him seriously. “You may have succeeded in your aims this time, but don’t presume too far, Max. Don’t dare try to tell me that I shouldn’t involve myself in Isabella’s rescue because it might be dangerous. I refuse to be coddled, by you or any other man.”

At her challenge, a flicker of something dangerously, sinfully warm shone in his eyes. “Very well, I promise not to coddle you. But you might do well to take some advice.”

“Advice?”

“Your desire to save your friend is admirable, but you need to learn patience. I understand your frustration at not being able to rescue her at once, but railing about it won’t help. Believe me, I know.”

“I realize that,” Caro retorted.

“Then you also realize that weeping about her fate will do no good. You can’t develop a rational plan when your emotions are overwrought. To strategize successfully you have to be cool and dispassionate.”

Caro returned a stubborn frown. “I suppose you mean to tell me that I must mind my temper.”

“No. There’s nothing wrong with anger, as long as you control it and focus it in a constructive fashion.” He flashed a quick, enchanting smile. “Nearly skewering me, however, is
not
constructive. For a moment there I feared you might slit my gullet.”

“I am sorry, Max,” she said, a trifle ruefully. “I would never have truly hurt you.” She let her lips curve in a provocative smile. “Not mortally, at any rate.”

Her qualification made him laugh. “You relieve my mind.”

His expression became thoughtful then, while his thumb absently stroked her jawline. “What if I suggest to Sir Gawain that we do some preliminary planning in the next few days, based on the assumption Isabella is at the fortress? It will allow me to meet some of your other agents, and we can be ready to leave for Algiers at a moment’s notice, as soon as we receive confirmation.”

Her smile turned brilliant. “That is precisely what I wanted.”

Max bent to kiss the tip of her nose, then glanced over his shoulder at the grotto. “At least this solves our problem of privacy. I didn’t relish the thought of creeping up to your bedchamber like a thief to steal a few hours with you. That is, if you mean to share your haven with me.”

Caro pursed her lips thoughtfully as she pretended to debate the issue. “I could be convinced. As you said, I need to learn patience, and you could perhaps teach me. I have frequently been told that I am an excellent pupil.”

A slow smile, irresistible in its male charm, crawled across his mouth as he bent his head. “Well then, angel, if you insist…”

Chapter

Ten

“You say Apollo created this lake for Cyrene’s bath?” Max murmured lazily three afternoons later. They were lying naked on a rock ledge near the cascading waterfall, drenched in sunlight, Max on his back, Caro half dozing on her stomach beside him, her cheek pillowed on her arms.

At the skeptical amusement in his tone, Caro returned a sleepy smile. “So legend holds. More logically, forces of nature formed the lake. Rain collects here in this little vale along with the flow from several hot springs that originate higher up. Our two mountains were once volcanos and still generate heat—which is what the Romans harnessed to build their baths.”

“The Romans had the right idea,” he observed, shutting his eyes with a contented sigh. “But I’m glad they didn’t spoil this place.”

The setting had much to do with his enchantment, Max acknowledged. Caro’s hideaway was unbelievably beautiful, splendorous and wild, truly a seductive paradise. But it was a haven as well. He could feel the healing effect as he lay letting the golden warmth touch his body, the peace seep into his soul.

Yet Caro herself had proved a more profound remedy than even the tranquillity. She had stilled the restlessness of his mind, if not his body.

In turn he had tried to calm
her
restlessness. They had met here at her secret grotto each of the past three days, spending long hours in sensual exploration, indulging in the wildness and desire of new lovers. Their passion was alternately urgent and tender, and, for Caro, an exercise in learning patience. Max could tell she still chafed at the delay of rescuing her captive friend, but she was making a visible effort to quell her anxiety.

Opening his eyes, Max turned his head to gaze at her. The sun beamed down richly, bathing her creamy skin in golden light—and once again rousing his craving for her.

He reached out to touch her shining hair, forcing the clawing rawness of desire to mute.

Just then a sharp hoot sounded above the rush of the falls, coming from the oak branches directly overhanging their ledge. Max jolted upright as if he’d heard a pistol shot. “What the devil…?”

“There is no need for alarm,” Caro said in a soothing voice. Rising to her knees, she peered up through the leaves. “Hello, George.”

Max caught sight of a fluffy brown ball that was nearly concealed by the foliage. An owl, by the looks of it.

With a puffing of feathers, the bird let out another plaintive hoot—“Tyoo!”—and moved along the limb, closer to Caro.

“This is George,” she murmured, smiling. “A scops owl. I found him here with a broken wing two years ago.”

George seemed small for an owl, Max thought, but he had huge eyes that stared piercingly at the strange interloper.

“So you nursed George back to health?”

“Yes, and it took weeks. I fashioned a splint and kept him tethered and fed until he was healed. But even after I gave him his freedom, he chose to stay here. He usually comes out only at night, though. He must have been curious about you.” She glanced at Max. “I am sorry he startled you.”

He ran a hand raggedly down his face. “Loud noises still tend to do that.”

Caro nodded in sympathy. “It is a common affliction with veterans of war.” She paused. “Will you talk about it? I’m usually credited with being a good listener. And it is said that if you can face your worst memories, then you can face most anything.”

Max felt a shudder run through him. Did he want to tell her about the nightmare? About the vivid images that still haunted him? His regiment in the midst of a battle, charging a French artillery position, fighting through the blind chaos of smoke and blood. The thunder of cannon, the ground exploding beneath him. The scream of his falling horse. Philip returning for him, reaching a hand down to save him…

“No,” he said, shuttering his gaze and looking away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Caro’s heart wrenched at the anguish she’d seen flicker in his eyes. It was a pain she would have given anything to ease, a pain she would have borne herself if she could have. The cost of war was so terrible, but Max had paid a higher price than most.

She reached out to touch his arm, wanting to offer him comfort. “After the night we were together,” she said softly, “when you had left Cyrene, I always lit candles for you here, praying you would be safe.”

“Your prayers must have worked,” he replied, his voice tight, “for I managed to survive when others didn’t.”

She wasn’t so certain her prayers had worked; certainly Max still lived with the horror.

She had seen his troubled sleep for herself. Two days ago when he’d dozed off after an exhaustive bout of lovemaking in her grotto, she had watched him as he lay on the pallet, admiring his beautiful features, the curve of his lowered lashes like ebony silk, his chiseled mouth…. His sudden cry had startled her. When his head began twisting on the pillow, his body shuddering, she had pressed her fingers to his brow, stroking gently. Her touch had instantly soothed him, and he’d fallen back to sleep, murmuring her name.

Yet Max still needed healing, to be made whole again, she knew.

She also knew she couldn’t force him to speak of his nightmares, even though unburdening himself would help.

Rising, Caro scooped up the leather flagon of wine they had brought with their bread-and-cheese lunch and picked her way along the rock ledge, closer to the waterfall. Barely a foot from the cascade, she sat down on the damp edge, her legs dangling over the side. After drinking deeply, she turned her face up to the sun and waited, hoping Max was like so many other wounded creatures she’d tended who had learned to trust her.

In a few moments Max reluctantly followed, joining her on the ledge.

A gentle mist swirled around her, he noted as he settled beside her. When she offered him the flagon, he took it.

The wine was sweet and potent on his tongue. The mist cooling, the sun warm and nourishing. A long silence reigned, broken only by the musical sound of the waterfall.

Max looked out over the sapphire lake and found himself speaking words he had kept buried inside him for five years.

“I lost a good friend in the war,” he said quietly. “He was like a brother to me.”

Caro turned her gaze to him, her gray eyes searching his. Yet she didn’t press him the way he expected. “Do you have any brothers? Any other family?”

Max felt grateful she hadn’t probed his deepest wounds. “Only an elderly uncle. My parents both died of illnesses while I was in the Peninsula.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I, although we were never very close. And I didn’t see much of them after I joined the army. My father’s way of showing his disapproval of my choice.”

“He didn’t want you going to war?” She sounded more curious than surprised.

“No. In part because he didn’t want to lose his only son.” Max’s mouth curved in a grimace. “But in his opinion, the sons of wealthy gentry weren’t supposed to shed blood for their country.”

“So why did you join the army? Surely an heir to a viscount needn’t put himself at such risk.”

Max shifted back against the rock ledge, remembering his adamant arguments with his father. “It wasn’t necessary at all. But I wanted adventure and glory, and a greater purpose for my life as well. To make a difference in Napoleon’s rush to conquer the known world. When Boney attempted to invade England a second time, I decided I had to act.”
And Philip had followed.

His throat tightening, Max gazed down at the lake whose near surface frothed and rippled with the plunging waterfall. His life had been much like the lake until he’d left England and home for the turmoil of battle. “The hell of it is, my friend would never even have gone to war if not for me. And then four years later…Philip was killed. Trying to save me.” Max squeezed his eyes shut. “I wish to God it had been me.”

Caro’s voice was soft in response. “That was why you went to such lengths to help John Yates when he was dying. Because he had tried to save you.”

Max swallowed hard, finally nodding.

“And after you lost your friend? You remained in the army when you could have sold out?”

“I stayed to make Philip’s death mean something. I intended to defeat the French or die trying.”

“You must miss him greatly.”

He missed Philip like blazes. As boys they had been inseparable. As young men they had attended Oxford together. They’d sown their wild oats together, laughed and sported and played pranks together, pursued the same lightskirts…fought side by side. They’d saved each other’s lives more than once. Until the last time.

“I imagine your life is very different now,” Caro murmured when Max was silent. “If I had commanded hundreds of men for so many years as you did, I think I would find myself lonely now at times.”

His fingers clenched the flagon. He
was
lonely at times. He’d lost the most important things in his life—his family, his closest friends. After Philip died, he’d deliberately cut himself off from his fellow officers. He no longer felt any joy. Oh, yes, he had lost a great deal.

Drawing a ragged breath, Max put a halt to his morose thoughts, realizing how indefensible they were. Others had lost far more than he had, like lives and limbs. Others had sacrificed far more than he had.

And the loneliness was his burden to bear. His punishment for Philip’s death.

He tilted the flagon to his lips and drank.

“I’ve heard tell,” Caro said finally, “that soldiers in war form a bond that can be closer than most brothers. Is that true?”

Seeing the image of Philip’s laughing face in his mind, Max tried to shrug off his bleak mood. “It’s true. You do form a bond when you endure so much together…all the hardships and miseries of numerous campaigns. I miss that camaraderie—”

He cut himself off and slanted a glance at Caro, frowning. “Are you trying to pry all my secrets from me?”

“No, of course not,” she replied, although her quiet smile said otherwise.

Max felt the dark tension easing inside him. The swirling mist had formed a rainbow prism around Caro’s face and set tendrils of dark hair curling at her temples. He couldn’t remember ever seeing anything quite so lovely.

Reaching up, he tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “Then why the devil do I wind up telling you things I’ve never told a soul?”

“Possibly because you can let down your guard here.” She swept a hand toward the lake. “This island is special. This place is special.”

No,
she
was special, Max reflected, with her healing touch, her tenderness. And her lips were wet with wine.

His gaze locked on her mouth.

Caro had willingly given him her body, but his need for her went far deeper than mere carnal hunger. If he simply wanted to ease the ache in his loins, he could have taken care of himself, as he’d done countless times when campaigning. Or he could have enjoyed the charms of a half-dozen island beauties who’d cast out lures to him since his arrival. If it was only a female body he craved, he could have sated himself with Caro and been done with it. But he wanted, needed, much more.

Only Caro could ease the ache in his soul. Only she could drive away the darkness.

When she looked up at him, desire lanced through his body. Needing to touch her, Max reached up and gently framed her face in his palms. And when she raised her lips to his, he gave a soft groan and kissed her fervently, needing to drink in every ounce of her comfort, accepting her hot, sweet solace as a cherished gift.

Caro felt torn when Max escorted her home at nearly three in the morning, a waning moon lighting their way. The serene beauty of the night, coupled with Max’s passion, had filled her with a sense of tranquillity. Yet that was her chief problem, she admitted. She was failing her promise to herself.

She had thought she would be safe at her grotto. That was why she’d chosen to bring Max there rather than the ruins. Both were enchanting, healing places in their own right, but in her own private domain, she’d thought she would have much better control of herself.

Her plan to keep their relationship purely physical and impersonal, however, was suffering gravely.

Max was largely to blame for her weakness, Caro knew. He made her feel beautiful. He made her feel desirable and womanly, drawing from her the deep sensuality that she had always repressed in herself. For the first time in her life she had begun to feel her feminine power. It was enthralling to discover she could make such a powerful male creature as Max respond wildly to her touch.

And his tender solace made it easier for her to repress her anxiety over her missing friend. Max understood her urgency and had arranged a meeting for the day after tomorrow to begin planning their expedition to Barbary.

And then there was his pain and her instinctive yearning to banish the shadows from his eyes.

Abruptly Caro’s warring thoughts faded when through the darkness she spied a horseman ahead on the road, riding toward them. To her surprise she recognized John Yates. And since they were near her house, she guessed that he had come to summon her.

John spurred his horse faster, halting when he reached them.