Sweet Love, Survive (34 page)

    In the sunny days of the autumn of 1920, while Apollo, Kitty, and the Cub passed their time in happy companionship, reports from the outside world informed them of Wrangel’s final defeat on the Crimean peninsula. While Bolshevik suzerainty encompassed all of South Russia with the exception of Georgia, Azerbaijan having fallen in April, continued uprisings and furious resistance persisted up and down the countryside.

Apollo had been chafing at the bit for several weeks now. Numerous raiding parties had been coming and going, and with the rebellion continuing so near in Azerbaijan, the opportunities to tweak Soviet noses and confiscate Soviet gold were constant.

One night in November, Apollo and Kitty were lying in bed. He was propped up on one arm, his free hand tracing languorous patterns over Kitty’s naked flesh. Both were sated from lovemaking, lazy and replete.

“For a matron,
ma petite
,” Apollo said very softly, “you have a most tantalizing body.” His fingers lightly trailed the curves from neck to hip, his practiced touch feather-light and as delicate as a hummingbird’s. “Have I told you lately how much I adore you?”

Kitty’s deep green eyes, drowsy with a rich and luxurious satisfaction, languidly drifted over the broad-shouldered,
athletic-man sprawled beside her, and the firelight picked up a bewitching glimmer from under her heavy lashes. “You know how I despise vanity in women, but tell me again. I think it’s been a minute or so since you last mentioned it.”

“
Je t’adore
,” he whispered against her ear, the curve of her jaw, against her neck, then his warm breath tickled one rosy nipple, and by the time Apollo had traveled his leisurely path down Kitty’s voluptuous body, leaving a trail of fiery kisses, the object of his adoration was emitting soft moans of pleasure, her fingers laced in his pale satiny curls, now lying between her thighs. “No, no,” she had murmured, feeling her senses were quite unable to withstand another assault no matter how deliciously tender. Then her quiet denials turned to breathy sighs as Apollo’s tongue explored and his long fingers gently probed, opening the way for his lightly caressing tongue, and very soon her sighs changed to pleading entreaty. Kitty’s body had been flattered, captivated, seduced to a fine frenzy of sensation so wanton that nothing would suffice but the satisfaction she craved. “Apollo, please …” Kitty implored softly, moistening her upper lip with her tongue. “I want to feel you.” Her hands tugged gently on his shoulders.

Apollo slowly lifted his head and said very quietly, his breath stirring warm against her, “But you
are
feeling me.” And he went back to his pleasant business. Kitty arched and gasped at the shock wave when his lips touched again, grew wild under the insinuating tongue that licked, nibbled, explored.

“Apollo,
chéri
, please, please … I’m going to die,” she moaned in a low, throaty whisper. “I want you inside me.”

He raised his head again. “Ahh … you want that inside you.”

“Yes, yes … hurry—” Kitty groaned, the torrid, pulsing focus of her world beneath Apollo’s mouth.

“How much do you want it?” he teased, his chin resting on the light triangle of silken hair, his lean fingers running over the smoothness of her stomach.

“Apollo—” Kitty wailed.

“One small favor …”

“Anything!”

Apollo’s eyes were twin pools of serene, unblemished gold, chaste in their innocence. “Anything?” he teased, recklessness glinting in his formerly guileless expression. “It almost makes one greedy.”

“Apollo!”

“Patience, sweet one,” he said calmly, “I’m hurrying.” She was tearing at his shoulders, writhing softly in an agony of desire while he drew his long body up from the foot of the bed. He hesitated on the brink of entering her. “My favor’s granted?”

“Yes, yes—please. …” Apollo had, in his expert way, lit a flaming fire of longing that burned out of control, burned so fiercely and deeply that the only sensation Kitty was aware of was the rush of blood through her veins and skin, a heated violence so wild that nothing could breach the perimeter of her mind but her frenzied, driving need for him.

Apollo penetrated her, slowly, leisurely, making certain Kitty felt every silken centimeter of the invading hardness, and when he reached the full depth of his thrust, he lingered deep inside. Kitty arched against the exquisite, tantalizing rapture washing out in waves from the vital masculine presence inside her. She undulated, her hips moving slowly beneath his, her head thrown back, eyes closed, oblivious to all except the flaming hot climax beating into her nerve endings.

Apollo withdrew then in a languorous lifting of his lean hips and Kitty’s fingers left blood on his back.

“No!” she cried wildly, her shadowy green eyes unfocused, a new strength in her hands now clutching Apollo’s arms. So immersed was she in the carnal tide pouring out from the center of her being that nothing else mattered.

“Hush,
dushka
,” Apollo whispered, shrugging off her hands, his thumbs gentling the soft verges of her breasts. His strong mouth curved into a lazy smile. “You’re always so impatient, like a … European. Let me touch you again, here … and here … and here.” Kitty trembled. “See how you like that?” Apollo’s husky voice went on, his own sexual hunger evident in the delicate hoarseness. His dark hands slid
up the length of Kitty’s long, slender legs, forcing them wide, lingering, his palms warm against her inner thighs. The tips of his fingers touched her heated moistness and her shiver was breathless in its urgency. Knowing she couldn’t wait much longer, his mouth lowered over hers and minutes later, her legs wrapped around him, they took each other to a singular earthly paradise.

Curled in Apollo’s arms, her dizzying sensations now only a silken feeling of warmth, Kitty vaguely recalled the quietly mentioned “favor.” She glanced up at the peaceful face. Apollo’s eyes were closed, and a faint smile was painted across his deeply tanned face. “What did I promise you in the heat of passion?” she murmured. Her full-lipped rose mouth quirked wryly. “That wasn’t exactly fair.”

His eyes still closed, Apollo drowsily replied, “All’s fair, et cetera, et cetera.” Grinning quietly on the pillow, he contemplated the gratification it always gave him to see Kitty so lost to reason.

Kitty’s voice, aggrieved, slid into mild reproof. “You took advantage.”

Apollo’s pale eyes half opened then, and he glanced down. “It’s always such a pleasure to,” he said agreeably. “I can’t resist.”

“That’s not nice.”

“
Nice
?” His eyes opened quite wide and Kitty watched disapprovingly as Apollo choked with laughter. “Darling, I’ve been called many things in my day, but have never aspired to ‘nice.’”

“Well, it’s rotten, then.”

“Really,” he drawled, his eyes crinkled, mocking her. “Was that why you were screaming … right before the end?” His brows rose.

Kitty had the grace to blush and knew she had lost that particular argument. That’s what came from giving in to lust instead of thinking of England. “So tell me,” she said in mildly theatrical affront. “
What
did I promise?”

“Not to complain when I go on a raid,” he replied equably.

Kitty snatched herself clear of his arm and shot upright.
Sitting straight-backed, facing him with a glare, direct and stormy, the words tumbled out in a rushing torrent, “I
never
would have agreed—”

“Under normal circumstances,” he finished blandly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I know.”

“You tricked me,” Kitty blurted out indignantly. Her eyes were visibly sparking and Apollo reached out to pull her close once again.

She resisted. He didn’t insist, although he could have very easily.

“Sweetheart,” he said gently, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders, “It was only a game. I won’t hold you to such a promise. But … I do want to go. Consider,” he continued in a softly placating tone, “I’ve been dutiful since last spring. That’s eight months, darling, and while the men haven’t understood, they’ve endured.” Apollo rubbed one hand across the nape of his neck in a rueful gesture. “It has, on occasion, chafed at my pride. Understand,
dushka
, only because of my great love for you and the Cub have I remained docile so long.” His voice was moderate, reasonable, his golden eyes sincere.

Kitty sighed softly. “Has it been so difficult?”

Apollo nodded. “I haven’t minded so much. It was important to you.”

“But you want to go out again.”

He nodded again. “Only occasionally. Nothing risky. All of Azerbaijan and Dagestan is up in arms. The Georgian Military Road is in the hands of the Ingushians and Ossetians, who are seizing automobiles and making a collection of them. The Chechens are attacking the Terek Cossacks, who have held their land for Russia for a hundred years. Grosny’s besieged. The entire Soviet Arkani field force was destroyed at Arkaz a few days ago. The whole Caucasus is in the process of self-determination. It’s tempting to take part—destroy a munitions dump, or rob a Soviet payroll to help the insurgents, or just harass a Red Army garrison that’s been raising havoc in the lower villages. However,” he said very quietly, “if you’re still adamantly against it …” His voice trailed off.

Kitty’s breath felt constricted, but she had to ask, “You do miss all that, don’t you?”

“It’s been my life,” he reminded her softly.

“And I’ve denied you that life.”

Apollo shrugged, then smiled. “The compensation has been more than adequate. I’m not complaining, but—”

“It’s been long enough?”

“Am I a selfish brute? I’m sorry,
dushka
. When I watch Karaim and Sahin come back, time after time … Oh, hell, I don’t know.” He ran a hand impatiently through his long bright hair and dropped back down on the pillow. “Just forget it, sweet. It was a bad idea.” His arms were flung above his head.

“Where are they going this time?” Kitty inquired in a small voice, her eyes raking his powerful, rangy form.

Apollo’s whole body tensed and his tawny eyes met hers cautiously. “Down to Derbent. The monthly payroll is due in three days.”

“How dangerous?”

One eyebrow raised languidly. “A piece of cake.”

Kitty took a deep breath, exhaled softly, and said, “Don’t be gone long.”

The joy in Apollo’s eyes would have lit the Champs Élysées for a week. Hauling Kitty into his arms, he crushed her in an elated bear hug. “I’ll be back in four days without a scratch, not a hair out of place.” Apollo was like a young boy given his first taste of freedom. “Oh, kitten, do you know how much I love you?”

“Tell me,” Kitty whispered, fear gripping her heart. And he did.

    The troop left early the following morning, their mood festive with Apollo in command once again. Each rider had shaken his hand in welcome. It was considered a good omen to have the Young Falcon let loose.

Kitty watched Apollo canter out of the courtyard and turn with raised hand at the gates to bid her adieu. Leda caracoled
and pranced down the mountain trail, as excited as her master to be riding out again, and when they reached the valley floor, in sheer high spirits, Apollo loosed the curb he’d held on her and she stretched out flat with extended rein and curbless mouth along the valley road.

Apollo and Karaim were looking through binoculars from a point halfway up a sandstone cliff above Petrovsk.

There had already been two successful raids in less than a month, and the Red commander in Petrovsk had vowed that no mountain guerillas were going to steal
this
gold. He had enormously augmented the train’s protection: machine guns were mounted at every window, door, and orifice; the entire train bristled with soldiers and rifles. The commander was quite correct, of course; the train was secure.

“That would be suicide,” Apollo observed pleasantly to Karaim, his binoculars sweeping the armored train from front to back. “Good Lord, he has practically emptied the garrison.”

“A shame,” Karaim agreed.

Apollo smiled serenely. “And we don’t have a thing to do until the gold is safely deposited in the garrison at Derbent.” He let the glasses drop to hang from the leather strap around his neck. “I expect the men left at Petrovsk plan on being paid this week, eh, Karaim?”

“Assuredly, As-saqr As-saghir.”

“Why settle for one payroll, then, when two would do as well?”

“Why indeed?” Karaim concurred.

“Is Madame Gautier’s still on Mokhovaya?”

Karaim’s voice held a scornful note. “The commissar’s wives and girlfriends like silks and satins the same as everyone else, propaganda notwithstanding.”

“Care to go shopping? Kitty hasn’t had a new ball gown since—” He was going to say “Aladino” until he remembered
the armoire full of Poirets at Stavropol. “Well … for a long time.”

Karaim’s even voice gave no indication he understood the brief hesitation. “I can always use a frivolous silk or two.”

“Or three or four, with your reputation,” Apollo cheerfully amended.

Karaim shrugged, his dark face bland. “Allah has been kind to me.”

    The Petrovsk garrison payroll was freed from Soviet hegemony late that night with a minimum of fuss and no casualties to the raiding party. The skeleton guard left behind had made their task inestimably easier. Apollo and Karaim shopped rapidly at Madame Gautier’s while the remainder of the troop fidgeted impatiently outside the fashionable dressmaker’s shop. In short order, Madame’s stock was lessened by several gowns, paid for with Soviet gold.

When the telegraph lines were repaired the next morning and news was relayed to Derbent of the raid on Petrovsk, the protective guard started back immediately. The furious Red commander vowed to pursue the culprits until each and every one was caught. Obviously, he was new to the region. There were areas in the mountains where a man could stay hidden for a lifetime.

So while the armored train and its complement of heavily armed men rushed north, Apollo and his riders set out for Derbent. Shortly after midnight, Apollo and three of his men were lounging in the office containing the safe for the Derbent garrison. Slaughtered Red soldiers—discreetly hidden, of course—formed a trail of sorts to the walnut-paneled room. Apollo rocked in a large, padded desk chair, his eyes half-closed in relaxed scrutiny of Sahin’s cousin Yazid as he intently worked on the safe’s combination. The clever young man—who had spent two months as a bank teller in Baku—opened the safe in under five minutes. His expertise hadn’t been acquired in the short space of two months of employment, but the skills already learned from an elderly uncle had certainly been polished to a fine gloss. The bank at Baku had
been poorer by a considerable sum when Yazid retired at a young age and returned to Dargo.