Nicole Jordan (28 page)

“No. They all know that I am eager for word of the outside world and won’t think it strange that I would question you. We have a few moments together.”

“You can’t know how worried I have been,” Caro said fervently. “Are you all right?”

Isabella smiled archly. “Indeed I do know, my love, for I realize how I would feel if this had happened to you. Perhaps now you can understand the agonies I suffer each time you fly off on one of your missions.”

Caro refrained from protesting that it was not the same thing. “You look well, Isabella. You weren’t treated harshly?” she asked instead.

“Not at all. I have been treated like a princess, albeit a captive one. I am in excellent health and relatively good spirits—since I never doubted the Guardians would come for me. Indeed, I decided I might as well make the most of my captivity. It has been an…adventure.”

“And your captor, Lord Saful?”

“Thankfully he is quite generous and kind.” Her mouth formed a small, secretive smile. “To say nothing of a wonderful lover. That facet has been enjoyable, I must confess. Had we met under other circumstances, if our cultures were not so different, I even might consider taking him for my fourth husband.”

At Caro’s frown, Isabella’s black eyes laughed wickedly. “Alas, Lord Saful has two wives already, and I am not inclined to share. Those ladies will doubtless be glad to see the last of me. I trust you are here to rescue me?”

It was Caro’s turn to smile. “You don’t believe we would come all this way simply for sport?”

Quickly then, she told Isabella about their plan. They had chosen four a.m. to slip stealthily out of the house, in order to avoid any early risers. They would wait in the stables, however, and delay the explosion until a half hour before dawn, when they would make their way through the stronghold to the gates. The visibility would still be poor then, but the sky would grow light enough by the time they reached the nearest mountain pass. It would be suicidal to flee through the treacherous terrain in the dark, Caro explained.

To Caro’s relief, Isabella saw no impediments to the plan.

“What of Lord Saful?” Caro asked. “Is there any danger that you will be summoned to his rooms tonight?”

“No, not while my courses are flowing. And even if it should happen, I am not without persuasive skills of my own. I can arrange to return here in good time.” She pursed her lips. “I do believe I will miss Saful. Perhaps I will write him a note to be discovered after I am gone, inviting him to come to Cyrene to visit me.”

Caro shook her head in ironic amusement. Yet it wasn’t impossible that the Berber chieftain would travel all the way to Cyrene to pursue his escaped captive. Her chief concern, however, was focused on the next twelve hours.

She went over a few more pertinent details with Isabella, laying out the exact schedule, finally adding, “It is important that my baggage be brought here so that we will have the proper disguises.”

“I will see to it,” Isabella said with total confidence. “I have a room all to myself, and I will demand that you be brought there to keep me company. And I will also ensure that we are well fed, so that we may endure a swift journey across the mountains. We cannot be certain when we will next have a decent meal, you know.”

Caro even laughed this time. Considering how healthy Isabella’s appetite was, it was a wonder she wasn’t as plump as a roasting hen. Bella’s next comment, however, nearly made Caro choke.

“So tell me about this Mr. Leighton, my love,” she said without warning.

Caro felt her cheeks flush under her friend’s perceptive gaze, and she quickly took a sip of her fruit juice to hide her dismay. Evidently her feelings for Max were too transparent.

“There is nothing much more to tell,” she lied. “He is simply a close friend of Thorne’s and has been invited to become a permanent member of the Guardians.”

“Very well, I won’t pry,” Isabella said archly. “But I should very much like to meet this man if he can make you blush like a shy virgin.”

This time Caro did choke as her juice slid down the wrong way.

The last three days had been hell, Max conceded as he sat drinking strong black coffee at the conclusion of the evening meal. Yet he tried to keep the scowl from his face so as not to offend their Berber host.

The dishes had been plentiful and delicious, starting with a rich lentil soup, followed by squabs, roasted chicken stuffed with olives, a savory meat pie, and as usual, couscous. Then barley bread and honey for dessert.

Thankfully Ryder had kept up a steady conversation with the Berber chieftain, for Max’s own thoughts were all centered on the nether regions of the house, wondering if Caro had found Lady Isabella, and if the scheme they’d planned would succeed.

In truth, if he was honest, his thoughts had never strayed from Caro for a single waking moment during the entire journey from Cyrene. The torment of being near her but unable to touch made his body burn, but even more, he missed the sweetness of her smile.

Her withdrawal was understandable, of course. He had earned both her disappointment and her anger by allowing his dark fears for her to drive him.

He couldn’t help himself, though. He’d suffered that same terrible nightmare about Caro last night, where she was killed right before his eyes, trying to save him. He’d gathered her bleeding body desperately against him, willing her to cling to life, to no avail. A primal grief welled inside him, and he felt shattered yet at the same time filled with a frenzied rage. He threw back his head and howled his agony even as scalding tears blinded him.

Remembering that dark vision now, Max felt a cold sweat break over him. He wanted only to protect Caro, to shield her from harm. He didn’t doubt her courage or conviction or abilities in the least. She was the most capable, courageous woman he had ever met. But she had no control over fate.

Nor did he. He would do everything in his power to make their mission succeed, to ensure that his nightmare never came to pass. But no matter how he vowed to protect her, he couldn’t guarantee her safety. She could be hurt or even killed, and the thought tore at his insides.

Even now his stomach was tight with nerves. Still, he had overstepped the bounds, Max knew. He had no right to ask her to abandon her closest friend.

He owed Caro an apology for asking her to remain behind, although he doubted she was in any mood to listen to him.

Max felt his jaw tighten. The worst of it was, he knew she was right. There were times when taking risks was imperative, despite the possible cost.

But he would have to keep reminding himself of that truth until their mission had ended and she was safe.

Moreover, if they were to succeed tonight, he had to play his assumed role to the hilt.

Forcing himself to attend to the conversation with their Berber host, Max refrained from glancing at his pocket watch. Yet he counted the minutes until he could retire to his rooms and summon Caro to him.

Chapter

Sixteen

The hour was late when the dinner broke up and a servant showed the guests to their rooms. As Max walked the dark, quiet corridors, he concluded that much of the household was already asleep, which should prove fortuitous when the time came to depart.

Santos Verra was already present in Max’s room, pretending to perform the duties of a valet. Ryder, after examining his own nearby sleeping quarters, joined them.

“That door,” Verra murmured as he pointed to the far wall, “leads to an outer courtyard.”

Max and Ryder went outside on the pretext of smoking cigars, to judge the height and scalability of the walls, then returned to await Caro’s arrival.

When she entered a half hour later, her eyes were shining. She didn’t have to say a word for Max to know she had seen Isabella and that the news was good.

Verra broke into a broad grin. “The señora is well?”

“Yes,” Caro replied, her relief evident in her smile. “But she is eager to be free.”

Keeping her voice low to prevent being overheard by any curious ears, Caro related the details of her meeting and that Isabella foresaw no difficulty with the arrangements.

“Then we will proceed as planned,” Max said. “Is everything ready in the stables?” he asked Verra.

“
Si.
The gunpowder is stored there, awaiting Ryder. And I will sleep there with the horses until it is time to drug them.”

“I don’t think Saful suspects us,” Ryder added. “Leighton charmed our host well enough to put him in a congenial mood.”

Max could have refuted that remark, since Ryder had carried the burden of disarming the Berber chieftain, but he said merely, “It helped that the rifles were such a new make.” He glanced from Verra to Ryder. “You both know what to do?”

“Of course.”

They all checked the time on their watches, and a short while later, Ryder and Verra left.

When the door closed behind them, Max focused on Caro, his gaze skimming her face. This was the first time they’d been alone together since their argument.

She must have had the same awareness, since her expression instantly grew cool.

“I am relieved you found Lady Isabella well,” he said into the silence.

“So am I. Now I’m just anxious for this night to be over.”

As if eager to be away from Max also, Caro moved toward the door. She had one hand on the latch when he spoke up.

“You cannot go just yet.”

Caro halted in her tracks. “Why not?” The question was defiant.

“Because it would make Saful suspicious. In order to make our pretense look real, you must remain with me at least a few hours. He thinks I summoned you here to make love to you.”

Her shoulders stiffening, she retorted in a tight voice. “Very well. I will stay for a while longer.”

Not looking at Max, she turned and began fitfully circling the room. Occasionally he could hear the jangle of the elaborate gold and silver jewelry she wore at her throat and wrists.

Max went over to the low table in one corner and poured himself a cup of fig brandy. “I also want to keep you near me for your own protection,” he added casually. “Saful was eyeing you covetously tonight, and I don’t want to take the chance he might abuse his position as host by claiming you for his own.”

Caro paused to cast him a sharp glance.

“Saful has excellent taste in women, I’ll give him that,” Max remarked.

“I don’t need your empty flattery.”

“It is hardly empty, my lovely witch. Those cosmetics you’re wearing give you a mysterious allure that any healthy, warm-blooded man would appreciate. Trust me, Saful wants you for himself.”

Caro shook her head scornfully and resumed her pacing, but Max remembered the lustful way the Berber chieftain had eyed her earlier. Possessiveness surged through him—the primal male instinct to fight for his woman, the wild need to mark her indelibly as his.

“I haven’t had a chance to apologize for last night,” he said finally.

Her glance skewered him. “Then you admit you were wrong to ask me to abandon my friend?”

“I hardly think it wrong to be concerned for you.”

“It
is
wrong if it comes at the expense of one’s principles!” Caro declared.

Max repressed a wry smile. “True. What will it take for you to forgive me?”

“Isabella going free,” she snapped. “And true sincerity on your part. You don’t seem in the least contrite.”

He
was
contrite, but she seemed determined to maintain her fierce mood. He took a sip of brandy while he watched her restless movements, noting the graceful way her hips swayed beneath her robes.

He felt himself grow hard.

“Do you intend to pace the floor all night?”

“Yes. I couldn’t possibly sleep.”

“Who said anything about sleep? I know of a much more pleasurable way to pass the time.”

He glanced pointedly at the bed. Typically Arabs slept on mats of painted rushes covered with carpets, but this bed was of Berber design—about two feet high, made from ropes and spread with quilts and cushions of colored silk.

“You cannot be serious,” Caro said, her caustic tone unbelieving.

“Entirely serious. We have a long night ahead of us. And making love will take your mind off your fretting.”

“I assure you, I don’t need distracting.”

“But perhaps I do.”

“Your needs hardly concern me at the moment!”

Max offered her a slow smile designed to taunt. “But I am your lord and master, or have you forgotten? You were brought to my room to serve me. I think you should start by undressing me.”

Caro sent him a scathing glance. “You are perfectly capable of undressing yourself.”

“But it wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable.”

When fire flashed in her eyes, Max recalled what Saful had said about preferring spirited women as lovers, and he found himself in perfect agreement.

Caro was certainly no meek-mannered, docile female. And the way she was appraising him—her eyes fairly shooting sparks—made desire curl, hot and intense, in his loins.

Refusing to respond to his provocation, however, Caro moved over to the window and opened the shutter to stare out at the dark courtyard beyond.

Her disdain was a blatant challenge that sent fierce need spiking through Max’s body.

He wanted her. Wanted to lose himself in her wild sweetness, in the taste, the smell, the feel of her. He wanted to feel her shudder around his hardness, feel her shattering release when he exploded inside her.

Even more than carnal need, though, he wanted the physical closeness that passion could bring. Making love to Caro, being deep inside her, joined to her in the most intimate way possible, would reassure him that she was warm and alive and safe. Perhaps it might even help him forget the disquieting realization that this could be their last time together.

With deliberation, Max moved around the room, snuffing out all the oil lamps but one, leaving a muted, golden glow. He sat on the bed to draw off his boots, then stood to strip off his clothing. From Caro’s sudden tenseness, he knew she was aware of what he was doing. Finally naked, he crossed to stand behind her.

She stood very still when he reached up to push the shutter closed, locking out the cool night air and giving them privacy once more. And when he pressed his lips against her hair, she went rigid.

Slipping his arms around her slim waist from behind, Max raised his hands to cup her breasts beneath her robes. As he found the tight buds of her nipples, his fingers brushed the precious metal of her jewelry—a half-dozen necklaces of Moorish design.

“It has been far too long, angel,” he murmured, hearing his voice rough with need.

When she shuddered, he knew she felt the same fiery heat that was claiming him.

“Have you missed this as much as I have?”

“No…not at all,” she replied, yet without great conviction.

“Then why is your breath so shallow? Why are your nipples so hard and eager?”

She didn’t reply.

“I think you want this as much as I do.”

“Max…”

“I know your body, Caro. I know how to make you wild.”

Slowly he raised the hem of her robes to her hips, baring the soft curves of her buttocks, and pressed his swollen phallus against her, letting her feel his fierce arousal. Her sharp intake of breath was proof of her longing.

He kept his voice low, sensual, while resting the heavy ridge of his cock in the cleft of her bottom. “Let me make you wild, sweeting. Let me use my tongue, my hands, my heat. I’ll kiss you all over your beautiful, silken skin…. I’ll make you burn, flame at my touch.”

A current of desire sizzled between them.

Max slid one hand around her middle then, to stroke the dusky curls crowning her thighs, making Caro arch instinctively against the suggestive pressure. She was trying to resist him, Max knew, but the soft moan she gave told him more than words that she was losing the battle with herself.

Keeping one hand between her thighs, he turned her so that her back was to the wall. Caro stared up at him, moistening her lips nervously with the tip of her tongue. It was an erotic gesture, for he could well remember those same luscious lips attending him, welcoming his cock into her open mouth, suckling and arousing him as he’d taught her.

Hunger, raw and primitive, streaked through him. But along with hunger, he felt the pounding need to pleasure her, to possess her, to please her. He wanted her writhing. He wanted her passionate, begging for what he burned to give.

Suddenly Max was so hot, he thought he might explode just touching her. Yet he forced himself to go slowly. When he was through arousing her, she would be pleading for him to fill her.

With his free hand, he captured one of the necklaces she wore—a string of embossed silver spheres—and drew it over her head, to her obvious surprise. Pushing her robes higher to bare her trembling white belly, he let the delicate strand of beads glide over her skin to dangle provocatively between her thighs. He heard Caro’s strangled gasp.

When he went down on one knee before her, he caught her scent and felt his loins throb, yet he was more aroused by the erotic sight of her: the glinting silver balls nestling in the curls of her femininity, caressing the dewy pink lips of her sex.

His fingers lightly stroking between her pale thighs, he urged her legs to part for him. Ripe and perfect, her body opened to his heated gaze.

Then, slowly, he slid the beaded necklace over her silky female cleft, making her quiver.

“Stand perfectly still,” he commanded, again drawing the strand over her heated flesh.

She jerked against the slithering kiss of the beads.

“I told you to remain still,” Max admonished.

“I don’t know…if I can.”

“You must. I intend to pleasure you first. Then I mean to get deep inside you and listen to you moan.”

His sensual warning sent a shaft of desire spreading through Caro’s senses, echoing the throbbing between her legs.

She wanted to protest, yet to her dismay, she couldn’t bring herself to push him away. Every nerve in her body was focused on the enchanting drift of silver balls that were taunting and arousing her. She could feel her own sexual need pulling with deep, warm contractions in the core of her feminine center.

When Max paused to twine one end of the necklace around his fingers, she couldn’t imagine what he intended. She watched, puzzled, as he manipulated a large embossed bead between the moist lips of her sex.

She tried not to gasp at the searing jolt.

“What are you doing?” she breathlessly demanded.

“Appeasing your craving for carnal bliss.” He pushed another silver sphere upward, past her slick, velvety folds.

“I have no craving,” she lied.

“You will, I promise you.”

Caro couldn’t deny the truth of his prediction. Already the pulsing between her legs was intense, her senses inflamed. When Max methodically inserted more beads deep inside her, she shuddered with shocked delight.

“How does this feel?” he queried, his tone provocative.

She was too aroused to answer. She felt the cool metal warming within her body, felt her inner muscles clench helplessly around the silver balls suspended inside her. Then gently, ruthlessly, slowly, Max made her absorb several more inches of necklace, till he finally reached the end.

Caro tried to remain still, for the slightest motion stirred the lodged spheres, but she couldn’t possibly manage it.

“What did I tell you?” Max warned when her hips squirmed. “You have to obey me, or I won’t appease your craving.”

Gritting her teeth, Caro leaned back against the wall, bracing herself with her palms.

It was fortunate she had a solid surface to support her, since Max started removing the nubby beads with deliberate slowness, withdrawing them one at a time.

The tantalizing vibrations strummed through her as each sphere slid free; every intimate caress was maddening.

“You’re very hot, aren’t you?” Max taunted. “But I can make you hotter.”

She was already burning. An uncontrollable excitement possessed her body at the riveting pleasure, making her melt, making her weak limbs shake.