Authors: Christina Skye
The husky rasp in Pagan’s voice shook Barrett to life and finally made her run. Dark and rough, it spoke of vast desire on the raw edge of overflowing. It spoke of torment and bliss, of a world of sensation beyond her wildest imagining.
And the sound was lethally seductive, making her dream of things she had never dreamed of before.
She turned and ran blindly, splashing through the pool toward the rocky trail that lead to the cliffs above.
She was afraid of Pagan, afraid of the tiger. But most of all, she was afraid of herself, of the weakness that gripped her at his slightest touch.
And the look in Pagan’s eyes promised her that she had escaped one predator only to face another, who was far fiercer still.
Her heart pounding, she stumbled forward, feeling lotus leaves and reeds catch at her legs. She gave no thought to where she would go or what she would do if the tiger returned. Her only concern now was to put as much distance as possible between the onyx-eyed Englishman and herself.
Near the middle of the pool where the water surged just above her waist, Barrett lost her footing and went under. A reed wrapped around her ankle, trapping her for a moment. Finally she managed to kick free and burst wildly to the surface, then lurched on toward the far shore.
A heartbeat later she cried out as hard hands gripped her ankle.
“Don’t run from me
.
Haven’t you learned by now that you cannot escape?”
“I
can
escape—here or anywhere else.” Wildly she kicked, trying to break his grip, but Pagan’s fingers locked against her like steel. In the struggle she lost her balance again and plunged headlong into the water. When he pulled her out, she was sputtering and furious. “Damn you, Pagan. L-let me go!”
“Promise me you’ll stop running and I will.”
“Never,” she spat, twisting vainly.
“You shouldn’t have run before. It was a damned stupid thing to do.” He tugged her infinitesimally closer. “And I was a bloody fool to let you,” he added harshly.
“You
lied
to me! You let me believe—” Without warning she kicked out with all her might, striking his elbow.
But Pagan’s angry fingers didn’t budge. “It wasn’t a lie,
Angrezi.
I merely let you believe what you wished to believe.”
“It
was
a lie, no matter how you try to wrap it in clean linen. And you bloody well know it!”
Pagan’s eyes were hard as glass as his fingers inched up her knee, dragging her inexorably closer. “I meant to tell you. Somehow … somehow the time was never right.”
Barrett twisted furiously, clawing at the water, churning up water plants in an angry green tangle. Somewhere up the hillside a peacock barked shrilly and the alarm was picked up by a noisy band of langurs hiding in the treetops.
She muttered a furious oath. “Right? No, I’m quite certain the time was not. Not when you were finding so much amusement in deceiving me.”
With a ragged sob, she clawed wildly at Pagan’s hands, wrenching from side to side.
With no appreciable effect. He was closer now, much closer, his hands locked savagely at knee and thigh. The look in his eyes made Barrett tremble.
Fear, she told herself breathlessly.
But she knew it for the lie it was.
“I have felt many things since I came upon you on that beach, Cinnamon, but amusement at deceiving you has never been one of them.” Even as he spoke, Pagan hauled her closer, his hands rising higher.
“Bastard!” She chose the word that would anger him most, the word that had driven him to rage once before, knowing if she goaded him far enough, he might lose that steely control and give her a chance to escape.
Again she hurled the savage epithet. “Bastard—bloody, lying bastard, that’s what you are. You’ve done nothing but lie to me from the first moment we met. Do you think I would ever believe anything you tell me now?”
Pagan’s face hardened to a mask, his eyes gleaming slits. “Don’t push me too far,
Angrezi.
If I am a barbarian, you might find the results not at all to your liking.”
“Nothing about you is to my liking! Nothing about this godforsaken country is to my liking! Now let me go, you—you swine! You jackal!”
Dimly Barrett felt his hand circle her hips, while the other gripped her thigh. In a few moments his control over her would be complete.
She wrenched at him wildly, and a button burst from her straining breeches. A second felt ready to follow any second. Knowing she had no time to spare, she jackknifed down into the water and lashed out with her foot. The blow caught Pagan directly in the shoulder, driving the breath from his lungs.
She was free!
Wildly she dove forward and churned for the far shore.
Behind her Pagan swayed, bent double with pain. In her turmoil, she had forgotten about his wound. She realized now that she must have caught him full against his shoulder, for his fingers were splayed out over a line of crimson.
Barrett’s face paled and she felt a raw pang of self-disgust. What sort of wild creature had she become here?
But it was too late for regrets, too late for turning back. Blindly she clawed at the shimmering turquoise, sand and fallen petals churning up in her face.
And then she felt the pool go shallow at her feet.
Almost there!
Her fingers met cold stone. Behind her she heard Pagan’s angry oaths.
“You’ve kicked me once too often,
Angrezi.
By heaven, I’ll—” Harsh coughing shook him. “I’ll—see you pay for that!”
Tossing her hair from her face, Barrett lurched from the water and scrambled toward the natural stone steps leading up over the waterfall. Her heartbeat was so loud that she missed the telltale splash at her back and the
ping
of falling gravel.
This time Pagan took no chances. His hard hands gripped her waist and wedged her beneath his good arm. Without a break in stride he stalked toward a nearby corner of the pool, half-hidden beneath trailing fronds of bougainvillea.
“Let-let me go, you savage!” Barrett twisted and kicked furiously, but met nothing except air. “You—you’ll be sorry for this, Deveril Pagan. Oh, how I’m going to make you sorry!”
“I already am, Cinnamon,” Pagan growled. “But what’s done is done. And now I mean to do what I should have done that day back on the beach.”
Barrett’s face bled white. “You can’t! You—you wouldn’t!”
She had dreamed of him, had dreamed of the sight of his body, had even dreamed of greater intimacies. But in the dreams her desire had been full and lush and wordless, while now, faced with the steely vision of Pagan’s fury, with the awful reality of how he meant to possess her, brutally and in anger, Barrett knew only fear.
She caught back a sob, shoving vainly at his shackling hands. “You—you wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, I can and I will,” Pagan said darkly. “I should have done it long ago. Then maybe—” Cursing, he cut off what he’d been about to say.
They were several feet from the waterfall now, their bodies misted with silver. Wordlessly Pagan carried her beneath a trailing spray of crimson blossoms, which dusted free and scattered through Barrett’s hair.
Fear and something else squeezed at her heart, something hot-cold and alien. Something churning and reckless that drew energy from his own ferocity.
“Don’t—don’t do this, Pagan.” She tried to bite down the note of fear, but failed.
He merely strode on, muttering in Hindi. Beneath the trailing blossoms the waters lapped against a sheer wall of stone where a long fallen slab formed a natural seat, green draped with moss and ferns.
“No, Pagan,” Barrett rasped, as she saw his intent.
But her captor made no answer, carrying her forward in raw silence, his face dark and shuttered as he reached the shaded bower. He deposited her seated and squirming onto the slab of granite and pinned her wrists to the cliff at her back.
His eyes were hard and wary, the eyes of a predator inching toward its kill.
Barrett twisted and fought, but he wedged his thigh between her legs and caught her immobile against the rock.
The water lapped cool and velvet at their legs.
She wouldn’t beg, damn it. Win or lose, she would never beg!
Not again.
Suddenly a memory, shard-sharp. A voice telling her to beg, threatening her with pain and more pain if she did not.
Barrett’s breath came fast and raw. She heard a muffled curse and then the crack of leather on bared flesh.
Her
flesh, which quivered and split beneath the angry force of the blow. Down the whip sailed, again and again, until she heard her own voice shatter in a shrill scream.
Pain exploded before her eyes.
And then, as fast as it had come, the image fled.
Pagan saw her swallow. Saw her fight down her fear. He frowned, feeling a sickness that went all the way to the bone.
But it had gone too far between them to stop now. He had tossed through too many sleepless nights with the fire in his blood and awakened too many mornings in the same searing condition.
It had to end.
Now.
He sensed there was more, much more that she had not told him. Things that even
she
did not know, could not remember. And if he was right…
He drove closer between her legs, male hardness fitted to female softness. The fit was perfect. Dear heaven, it was more than perfect. He swallowed, fighting back a wave of desire that bade him push her down and bury himself inside her without preamble.
And Deveril Pagan, adept of four schools of yoga and every erotic art that India had to offer, found himself perilously near to forgetting all those disciplines and plunging into her without care, taking his pleasure like a rutting beast.
One more sign of how well she had done Ruxley’s work for him, he thought grimly.
His jaw locked as he struggled through dark currents of desire. He thought of the woman who had run helpless and afraid through London streets, a killer on her heels. He remembered her fire and her stubborn refusal to accept his help.
She had been brave, that one. She had also been passionate, meeting him with a sweet, untutored fire that drove him wild.
That night he had felt her answering response, her rising hunger. Where had all that passion and honesty gone? he asked himself.
The voyage from England would have taken about three months on a trim clipper.
Three months captive at the hands of Ruxley’s men? It might just as well have been a lifetime.
What have they done to you, Cinnamon? What secrets are locked beneath that chiseled brow? Are they things it would be better for you
not
to remember?
Pagan went completely still. His body tensed. It would be hard. Almost too hard, even for one of his training…
His features taut, Pagan willed his thoughts away from his aching need. He searched Barrett’s face, seeing the pulse that beat wildly at her neck, the hectic stain of color at her cheeks, the churning emotions reflected in her teal eyes.
“Did they hurt you,
Angrezi
?” His voice was low, almost a dark caress. “Is that what you’re afraid of, being hurt?”
Barrett blinked, confused by this new tone of voice. She frowned, gnawing a dry lip between her teeth. What did he mean? Why was he so—so caring suddenly?
Another trick?
“Hurt me? I-I don’t know what you mean.”
Pagan couldn’t tell if it was a lie. Maybe she herself didn’t know. “I think you do. And I think you
are
afraid—afraid of wanting anything. Or anyone.”
Barrett felt a wave of fear sweep through her. Memories, raw and unfocused, squeezed through her mind.
Hard, clutching fingers. Hot, stale breath. The constant sense of being watched during long, burning days at sea…
She caught back a sob. No, she mustn’t think of those dim images. Leave them for the night. Leave them for the dreams that made her walk. Thinking always brought on the pain, the throbbing headaches. “S-stop. I-I cannot remember!”
His eyes were fierce, only inches from her own. “I think you can, falcon. I think all you have to do is
want
to remember.” Pagan’s hard body pressed closer, every taut muscle, every sleek sinew imprinted on her own.
Barrett wanted to scream, torn by a storm of conflicting emotions. She wanted to push him away, wanted to draw him closer, wanted to slap his face, wanted to taste the water that hung in beads on his lips.
Was she going mad?
Pagan pressed closer; she felt the cliff grind against her back. His thigh began to edge between her squirming legs. In slow circles his thumbs stroked the pulse that leaped at the inside of her wrists.
“I want you now.” His arousal was hot and throbbing and Barrett was trapped between the granite cliff and the warmer granite that jutted at his groin. With each slow circle he let her know his power and his control, the raw strength that he was still holding in check.
His mouth slipped to her ear. With exquisite skill he savored her softness with tongue and teeth, then feathered the secret recess within.
Barrett shivered, closing her eyes to his sensual invasion. “S-stop, Pagan…”
His voice was a low, potent growl. “You don’t really mean that, Cinnamon. Not when your pulse is as wild as the surf and your breath is coming sweet and hot.”
“I do—” She caught back a moan as Pagan’s teeth closed over her earlobe. “I—I
do
mean it,” she said unsteadily, hoping he had not heard the break in her voice.
But Pagan was a man who missed nothing. “Sweet,
Angrezi.
I like to hear you hot and breathless. Moan for me again. It makes me want you every way a man can want a woman. Naked and hungry. Reckless and laughing. Angry and scratching. But only when you are whole and aware, for it’s fire I want to see in your eyes, not fear. Just the way you were when—” It was a dangerous gamble, damnably so, but Pagan decided to risk it. “Just the way you were the first time we met. On a dark, snow-swept London night.”
Barrett’s breath caught.
It could not be true!
“L-lies. I—I remember nothing. Had we met before, I would know it. I would
feel
it.”
“Ah, but you
do
feel it. Your body has known me from the first moment. I wondered those first weeks, of course, but it took me a while to recognize you. You were heavily veiled in London, and your hair was black with tint.”