by Kay Hooper
“Lord, Robin,” he said, turning her face up and kissing her gently, deeply.
She managed a shaky laugh. “We could have drowned,” she told him. “Or fallen and broken our necks.”
Michael smiled a little, his eyes still dark and intent. “But we didn’t.”
“No.” Astonishingly Robin realized that neither her desire nor Michael’s had been completely satisfied. Weary as both had undoubtedly been, their lovemaking had energized them. She cleared her throat, adding, “There’s a bed in the next room, you know.”
Michael reached to turn off the shower, still smiling. “Yes, I noticed that.”
Conscious of her weak legs and trembling body, but also aware of glowing embers inside her, Robin followed him from the shower stall, both reaching for towels.
Much later, lying close beside Michael in the comfortable bed, the sheet drawn over their cooling bodies, Robin thought, It’s the middle of the night. But she was still wide awake, reluctant to sleep, afraid of losing … something.
And he was awake beside her, one arm around her, his fingers toying with her hair. She wondered if he was afraid of losing something too.
“Michael?”
“Hmmm?”
The room was lit only by moonlight streaming through the big windows, stark and sly. “You said—when we were talking about love that didn’t last, you said it had happened to you.”
He didn’t tense or draw away, but she could feel as well as hear a rough sigh escape him. “Yes, I did.”
“Can you … will you tell me about it?”
“There isn’t much to tell.”
Robin was silent.
He sighed again and drew her closer, almost as if in apology for his brusque tone. And his voice changed, becoming quiet and calm as he spoke again. “It was a long time ago, Robin. Years ago. It doesn’t matter now.”
“Yes, it does,” she whispered.
He was silent for a long moment, then told her the story without expression—and without apology.
“I was assigned to infiltrate a smuggling ring. It was a tight, well-organized operation, and we didn’t have a hope of getting in until the sister of one of the men involved tipped us; she had just found out what her brother was into and believed—rightly in their case—that he didn’t know how serious the situation was. In fact, he was considered a weak link in the chain, and the other men were about to take steps to get rid of him.
“The sister insisted on getting involved in my operation, hoping to get her brother out of the mess alive. And she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She had made her own involvement a condition in telling us what we had to know, and I had an inexperienced partner to cope with.”
Robin listened silently, seeing the parallels and wondering if she really wanted to hear this.
“The men involved were tough and paranoid; we were in danger every second of our exposure, things were moving very fast, and there was no time to think. She and I had nothing in common except the situation, but that seemed to be everything. It was bigger than both of us, and it carried us along.”
Robin knew, but asked anyway. “What happened?”
“The worst possible thing—and the most inevitable—we became lovers, Robin. And it was real. For a while. Until all the shouting was over and the dust settled. Her brother made it, and turned state’s evidence against the others. The assignment was completed successfully, and we came out with our skins intact. It was over.”
“You and she …”
Michael was silent for a moment, then answered with no change in his unemotional tone. “That was over too. She said it was still real for her, but it wasn’t for me. I hurt her, Robin. I had believed I loved her, but the situation was responsible for those feelings. Once it was over, the feelings were gone. She wasn’t in my head or my heart. I didn’t even want her anymore. And I hurt her.”
Robin felt her throat tighten, felt the stinging heat of tears behind her eyes. She wondered with a throb of pain if she was listening to the epitaph of her own love. And she realized now what Michael had tried to protect her from in the beginning. Not the fleeting reality of her feelings—but the fleeting reality of his.
She spoke steadily past the tightness of her throat. “What happened to her?”
“She left.” He sounded restless now. “Went back home. Somewhere in the Midwest, I think.”
Robin found it impossible to say anything else. Did you tell her you loved her, Michael? You haven’t told me. And I don’t even know if that’s good or bad. He had offered her no false promises, had even warned her that she would be hurt. He had said she wouldn’t love him “tomorrow” when what he had really meant was that he probably wouldn’t feel anything for her, not even desire.
He moved suddenly, lifting himself on one elbow and gazing down at her with somber eyes, the moonlight painting his face starkly in a mask of control. “I want to tell you that this time it’ll be different. I want to, Robin. But I can’t. I don’t know. I can’t lie to you about it. I don’t know what I’m feeling—except that I want you with me. And I don’t want to hurt you.”
Her hand lifted with a need beyond reason, touching his face, tracing the hard line of his jaw and feeling a muscle leap under her fingers. That guarded part of him, she thought, unwilling to define his own feelings, wary of having them disappear like smoke through his fingers.
It almost broke her heart.
“Don’t,” he whispered suddenly in an anguished sound, his head lowering until he could kiss her. His hands framed her face, thumbs gently brushing her tears away. “Don’t let me hurt you, honey. I don’t think I could stand it.”
Robin was beginning to understand him now, even in her own pain. He wasn’t a man who could wound another and walk away uncaring; Michael cared too much. He bore the scars of every hurt inflicted on him, by him. And that was why he was a loner, avoiding relationships, wary of friends. Because one of life’s ironies was that this caring man lived in a world where people were often hurt, sometimes killed, and always capable of betrayal.
“Robin, don’t,” he whispered, tasting her pain as his tongue caught a silvery tear near her temple.
She couldn’t stand it, couldn’t bear thinking about it anymore; she wanted to block it all out until it didn’t hurt, at least for now. Pushing suddenly against his shoulders, she rolled with him until he was on his back and she was above him. Feverishly her lips moved down his neck and over his chest, trying to fill her mind and senses with him, hoarding memories against a possible long, cold future without him.
Michael caught his breath and went still, his fingers tangling in her hair as his body began responding to the velvet touch of her lips, the hot darts of her tongue. His heart began thudding with greater force and speed in his chest, and sensual tension seeped into him as his belly knotted, his loins hardened.
He knew he had already hurt her, and this was a bittersweet pleasure at first, a pleasure that was almost pain. But passion knew only desires, not fears, and soon he was totally caught up in the building response of his body to her hunger.
Robin’s tears dried, and the ache loosened around her heart, spreading outward in heating ripples as desire replaced pain. She became completely involved in what she was doing, fascinated and enthralled in this first opportunity to explore his body. They had been so intimate, yet she hadn’t fully realized how her senses could expand so immeasurably in the driven desire to give pleasure.
She could feel her whole awareness open up, until she was conscious of every breath he drew, until the clean, faintly salty taste of his skin drew her compulsively. His body was hard and hot, muscles taut, his breathing ragged. Her mouth found a flat nipple in the nest of black hair and drew it inward, her tongue teasing until he groaned softly and shuddered.
And there was, faintly, a sense of astonished power at the realization of how she affected him. A stroke of her hand made him tense even more and shiver, and her mouth seemed to burn him wherever it touched. Robin was fascina
ted, and her own desire was spiraling in a wild ascent.
Her hands and lips trailed down his body, exploring avidly, learning him completely. She was barely aware of her own pounding heart and shallow breathing, too conscious of his response to her touch to be concerned with her own. She felt driven to please him, uninhibited and glorying in the freedom of it.
If Robin had been thinking at all, she would have understood another need driving her, but it would occur to her only later: It was his will standing between them, his forceful strength and sure self-knowledge—and she was trying to break down that wall.
With every caress, every touch of her lips, she was driving him relentlessly toward the brink, passionately stealing every last atom of his conscious will, taking his strength in the only way she knew, the only way it was possible to steal from a strong man and make him powerless to control the need she had ignited. She was almost sobbing as the wild, compulsive desire gripped her, mindless in her need to break down the barrier between them.
And something broke, whether it was that barrier or simply Michael’s control. With a harsh, ragged groan, he pulled her up above him, guiding her with fierce insistence until she settled down slowly and they were fully joined. She looked down at him with clouded green eyes, her breath escaping quickly from between parted lips.
A siren, her witch’s eyes sultry, her smile a Madonna’s.
Michael let her set the tempo, gritting his teeth at the shattering pleasure as she moved slowly, her body sheathing his in tight heat, the friction almost unbearable. He could feel shivers of pleasure running up and down his spine, feel the taut ache of muscles held rigid in a kind of blissful paralysis. He could hardly breathe, his heart pounding out of control, his mind hazy, emotions tangled in wild confusion.
The pleasure built in waves of intensity, higher and higher, a slow, throbbing, aching violence, a storm trapped inside them and raging with the need to escape. Until Michael couldn’t bear it any longer, and her slow, lingering seduction stole more than his will. His hard hands guided her lips as he surged beneath her, taking over as they both plunged headlong toward release.
And when they found it at last, neither could make a sound. The eruption of that shattering storm held them in a stark, blinding silence that was eternal, that was a heartbeat, that was more than a tiny death.
Robin collapsed on his chest, dazed, limp. She couldn’t have moved to save her life, and Michael’s reaction was the same. His arms held her, but with no strength, his heart still thudding beneath her cheek as his chest rose and fell jerkily.
Robin felt peace envelop her finally, felt herself drifting toward sleep as her consciousness slipped away. But in her last moments of awareness, she realized at last why both she and Michael had been so energized, why they had made love so passionately and long past the point that sheer physical exhaustion should have claimed them both.
Both of them could have died. So easily. A foot put wrong, a minute slip, a tiny mistake. They could have died, and hadn’t. They had survived against all odds. They had even triumphed. And though their lovemaking had been the result of simple desire and need, deeper, more primitive emotions had driven them far beyond that.
They were alive. A primal awareness of survival insisted on a celebration of that fact, and there was no more intimate, primitive testament to the living spirit than the act of two people joining their bodies, minds, and souls together.
It was an affirmation of life itself.
Sunlight woke Robin, and she lifted her head to blink toward the window in faint annoyance. Then a niggling uneasiness told her the sun shouldn’t have been shining so brightly through the window, and she pondered that. West. That was it; the window faced the ocean, which was to the west.
It was afternoon. Late afternoon.
Satisfied with the conclusion, she lowered her head to rest once again on Michael’s chest and closed her eyes. A moment later, however, her head lifted again, eyes wide in startled recollection. Late afternoon. And her father had said he’d be there in the morning! She looked back over her shoulder, relieved to see the door firmly closed.
Then, looking back at her pillow, she swallowed a giggle. I hope nobody decided to find out if we were alive in here, she thought giddily.
Obviously neither she nor Michael had moved an inch since sleep had claimed them sometime before dawn. She was lying comfortably next to him, and since the sheet had slipped to the floor during her explorations of his body, they were both gloriously uncovered.
Awake now, Robin looked down at Michael’s sleeping face and felt her heart turn over. Completely relaxed and unguarded, he looked years younger and almost painfully vulnerable. If she ever saw his face like that when he was awake and aware, she knew suddenly it would be because he loved her.
Pushing the thought aside, Robin moved carefully to slip from his loose embrace. He made a soft sound in his throat but didn’t move, and she was able to get off the bed without waking him. Standing beside the bed, she stretched, then winced as muscles twinged in protest. Her stiffness could have been due to the exertions of the day before—or those of the night. She smiled as she mentally decided on the blame.
She found a change of clothes in her overnight bag, then went softly into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, still trying not to wake him. When she emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, she was dressed in shorts and a blouse, and Michael was still asleep.
She opened the bedroom door and eased from the room, closing it quietly behind her. The house was silent, and it wasn’t until she was nearly at the bottom of the stairs that she saw her father. He was standing out on the deck gazing at the ocean, but turned as she saw him and came back into the house.
“Uh—hi, Dad,” she managed.
“Hello,” he returned politely. “There’s coffee in the kitchen.”
Robin headed in that direction, wondering if she looked as though she needed it. “Where is everyone?” she asked.
Her father sat down at the breakfast bar and lifted his own coffee cup. “Gone. Dane had to get back to Miami, and Raven headed toward Fort Myers to rejoin her friends.”
“How did they—”
“I called a Coast Guard cutter to ferry Dane; Raven took the one I arrived in. It’s back at the pier now; I’ll have to be going in a couple of hours.”
“Oh.” Robin sipped her coffee and tried to get a grip on herself, a bit unsettled beneath her father’s steady, amused gaze. “Sorry we—I—slept so late. Must have been more tired than I thought.”
Daniel Stuart nodded gravely. “Must have been. Raven left the key to the house, by the way; she said to tell you it’s rented through next weekend, and to make yourself at home.”
Robin leaned back against the counter and avoided his eyes. “Oh. Well, I’m not sure … that is, it was very nice of her,” she finished lamely.
“Yes, it was,” he agreed, seemingly more amused with every passing second.
She fidgeted a moment, then asked, “Have they caught Sutton yet?”
“No, but it’s just a matter of time.”
“Do you know how Lisa and the other girls are doing?” she asked him.
“I talked to the hospital this morning. They’re all doing fine, though still unconscious. How about you?” he asked quietly.
She was a little startled, until she remembered that he had to know she’d been kidnapped herself. “I’m fine. No nightmares. I guess helping the other girls exorcised my demons.”
He nodded, looking at her steadily. “That was a tough thing you did, Robin. I hope you know I’m very proud of you.”
She felt her throat close up, and heard the words emerge without thought. “I’m sorry I failed at the academy, Dad.”
Daniel was shaking his head. “You didn’t fail me, if that’s what you’ve been worried about.”
Robin hesitated, then told him, finally, about her lifelong battle against fear. And about how Michael had forced her to understand that—and herself.
The words emerged painfully but honestly, and when she finished, Daniel came around the bar and embraced her.
“You should have told me,” he said gently.
“I couldn’t. Not then. I didn’t even understand it myself, until Michael made me.”
Her father looked down at her for a moment, then said in a quiet voice, “You love him.”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
EIGHT
SITTING ON THE couch, Robin was half turned to face her father as both sipped coffee. She had been honest with her father, as she had been with him for most of her life; only her tangled fears had ever been kept from him. “I don’t know about the future,” she was saying quietly. “Or even if there is one for Michael and me. He’s been very honest about that.”
Daniel was watching her steadily, reading the play of emotions across her expressive face. “Yes, Michael’s an honest man. And a good man. But, Robin, he isn’t a safe man. Not a safe man to love, I mean. His life will always be dangerous.”
“I know that.” She managed a smile, and her tone was filled with wry understanding. “Don’t forget, my father’s the same kind of cop.”
That particular “cop” nodded slightly. “But is that the life you want for yourself? The kind of man you want? It’s important for you to be sure, honey, before you commit yourself. The longer you stay with him, the harder it’ll be on you both if it doesn’t work out.”
She sighed. “Everything’s happened so fast. But I haven’t had any doubts, Dad, not since I realized I loved him. And I can’t put a time limit on this, tell myself I’ll bail out if it starts to hurt too much. I don’t have a choice; I never did. I’ll stay with him as long as he wants me.”
Daniel smiled faintly, the almost bittersweet look of a man who knows his daughter is a woman grown and beyond his control. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that. In fact, I was sure you would. I saw the way you looked at him. But I had to ask. Fatherly duty, you understand.”
