Memories: A Husband to RememberNew Year's Daddy (Hqn)

by Lisa Jackson

  Nikki’s heart nearly stopped and she drew back on the reins, yanking hard, causing the horse to shake her head and slide. “Whoa, girl, it’s all right,” Nikki said, as much to convince herself as the game little mare. Prancing and sidestepping, the gray snorted as she dismounted. Nikki could barely breathe, and the sound of the surf, pounding against rocks and sand hundreds of feet below, seemed to echo through her brain.

  Fear, winter-cold and numbing, clutched her heart, but she made her way closer to the edge. Her throat felt dry and raw, her fingers twined in the leather straps of the reins as she inched toward the precipice and looked beyond the earth. Oh, Lord! Her heart plummeted as if to the angry depths below. Jagged black rocks pierced the swirling aquamarine water. Foam and spray swirled around the shore.

  The nightmare seemed to close in around her. She felt herself falling over the side, and the edge of her vision seemed to grow dark. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted and she glanced swiftly over her shoulder, certain that she would see someone hidden in the shadows of the forest’s growth, eyes hot as he spied upon her. Goose bumps stood on her flesh. For most of the day she’d felt she’d been followed but had never seen anyone tracing her tracks. Now, standing alone on the very ridge from which she’d been pushed, she felt alone and filled with a dread she couldn’t name.

  She turned back to the ocean. A flock of birds gathered in rookeries on the uppermost points of the rocks suddenly rose in a startled, frantic cloud toward the ominous sky. Rubbing her arms, Nikki tried to remember the birds. In all of her nightmares, the noisy flock hadn’t existed. “Come on, Nikki, think!” she muttered under her breath in utter frustration. Why couldn’t she call up anything, any damned thing? She kicked a stone in frustration and watched the pebble tumble over the cliff.

  The image in her mind switched suddenly. With blood-chilling certainty, she remembered the feel of a harsh hand upon her shoulder, the reeling blow that had pitched her forward, over the edge—

  “Nikki!”

  She shrieked, nearly jumping out of her skin. The horse snorted, starting to rear, but Nikki held on to the reins and whirled around to find Trent, astride a sorrel gelding, emerging from the thick copse of trees. So he’d been following her! No wonder she’d been on edge. Steeling herself for another one of his lectures on going out alone, she watched as the sorrel raced up the hillside.

  Trent moved with the horse, as if he’d ridden for years. His black hair was wild in the wind, his face tanned and harsh, his shirttails flapping. His eyes were covered with aviator glasses but his expression was severe. It didn’t take a genius to realize that he wasn’t pleased.

  He leaped off as the gelding slid to a stop, and Nikki’s already thudding heart accelerated.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, advancing on her.

  “What the hell are you doing here? You nearly killed me, sneaking up on me like that and shouting my name!”

  “I thought you might jump.”

  “Are you crazy?” she demanded, her fury seeping a little as she saw, behind his colored glasses, the fear in his gaze. She inched back from the edge and breathed in a deep, calming breath. Tossing her hair from her eyes, she reminded him, “I told you I wanted to come back here.”

  “And I said—”

  “I know what you commanded,” she said, poking an angry finger at his chest. Her horse, pulled by the bridle, followed her. “But I don’t take orders from you or anyone else.”

  “You tried to sneak off behind my back!” He glowered down at her but she refused to be intimidated.

  “That’s right! Because you wouldn’t bring me up here yourself.” All her anger reignited in a blast of fury. “I’m tired of you telling me what to do for my own good. And I’m sick to death of lying around trying to piece together my life. If we’re married, and I’m not saying I believe that we are, then you’d better get one thing straight, McKenzie, I’m not the kind of woman who wants to be coddled, or treated like a fragile doll, or commanded around like a slave!”

  He stared at her, the wind moving his hair, his eyes hidden by the shaded lenses of his glasses, his mouth set in a thin, unbending line. In faded jeans, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the tails flapping freely, he looked sexy and unpredictable and mysterious. Tanned and proud, he glared down at her, and Nikki didn’t know what to expect.

  “What if you would have hurt yourself?”

  “I didn’t. No thanks to you.”

  “No one knew where you were.”

  “You found me,” she sassed back.

  “I got lucky.”

  “Then there’s nothing to fight about!”

  “Like hell. If you haven’t noticed, lady, there’s a storm rolling in off the ocean.”

  “I’ve been through storms before.”

  “This isn’t Seattle.”

  “That much, I remember.” Angrily she wound the reins in her hands, the leather cutting into her palms. “You can come with me or you can go back to the hotel. I really don’t care,” she said as she placed her left foot in the stirrup and mounted. “I’m going up to the mission. I missed it last time around. Don’t want to make the same mistake twice. Hiya!” She kicked her mare and the horse sprang into a gallop, leaving Trent to eat her dust.

  “Serves him right,” she told the gray. “I’ve never seen such an overprotective, arrogant, self-important macho jerk! I can’t believe I married him!”

  But he wasn’t a man to be put off by a few strong words, or so it seemed as she heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Hazarding a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw Trent, riding hell-bent for leather, the gelding’s longer strides easily closing the distance between the two horses. “How about that,” she muttered, nudging her mount faster. She felt a perverse satisfaction that he’d been compelled to follow her. For some reason he’d taken on the responsibility of her protector, or at least that was what he had hoped she would think.

  The mare was breathing hard by the time Nikki drew in on the reins near the mission. Dropping to the ground, she surveyed the ruins. The walls of the centuries-old church were still standing, though cracked and beginning to collapse from years of fighting a grueling and losing battle with the weather. The roof had succumbed long ago. Pieces of red tile were still visible, but there was a gaping hole exposing cross beams and rotting rafters.

  The bell tower was beginning to crumble, the stone fence surrounding the mission in ruin and the place was deserted, as if only ghosts resided therein. Nikki felt a chill of apprehension as she tied the mare to a low-hanging branch of a breadfruit tree and walked through a sagging arch to an area where tangled weeds were all that remained of once-tended gardens.

  “The monks who lived here left nearly a century ago,” Trent said, tethering his horse before he followed her through the ruins. She slid through the opening left by a door no longer in existence and ventured into the church vestibule. The stone floor was cracked and weeds grew between the worn-flat stones leading to the raised platform which had once supported an altar. Vines grew on the inside of the walls, testament to the uselessness of the remaining roof.

  “Why’d they leave?”

  He lifted a broad shoulder. “Lack of interest, I suppose. The mission was already beginning to need a lot of repairs, and the population of monks had dwindled. Salvaje wasn’t as populated as some of the other islands. Off the trade routes, it also didn’t develop as quickly.”

  “I’d think monks would like that kind of solitude.”

  “A few stayed, but eventually died. The last, Brother Francis, lived here until 1930, I think, but he was murdered in his sleep by a woman who swore he was the father of her child. Rumor has it that he still walks the ruins at night.”

  The ghost’s footsteps seemed to crawl along her flesh. “You’re kidding,” she said. “Tell me you
’re kidding.”

  “I’ve never seen him myself, but a lot of the natives are superstitious and they believe that his soul is still earthbound.”

  “That’s kind of creepy.” Nikki ran her fingers along one rough wall, and encountered the web of a large black spider. She quickly stuffed her hand into the pocket of her skirt. “Why were we coming to visit this place the other day?”

  “Sightseeing.”

  Her brow puckered, and she remembered the dream, running through the steamy jungle, her feet stumbling as she broke from the dense foliage to the grassy headland rising over the sea. She’d heard a voice—a harsh male voice issuing orders to her in Spanish.

  ¡Dama! ¡Por favor! ¡Pare! She’d only run faster, the voice of her assailant spurring her upward toward the mission though her lungs had burned like fire with each breath.

  “Oh, Lord,” she whispered, leaning suddenly against the wall. Yes, she’d seen the path, taken it a few short steps, and then a heavy hand had pushed her over the edge and she was falling, falling...

  “Nikki.” She jumped at the sound of Trent’s voice and the feel of his hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”

  The vision faded and she was staring up at him, shivering though the temperature was sweltering, the humidity high enough to draw beads of sweat on her forehead. “I keep thinking about the dream.”

  “It’s over,” he said.

  “I don’t think so.” She rubbed her arms and walked to a window which no longer held glass but offered a view of the changing horizon. Schooners, their masts devoid of sails, were harbored near the town, and the beach was nearly empty. Overhead, the bellies of heavy clouds had turned a deep purple hue and caused the ocean to swirl in dark, angry waves.

  “We’ll be home soon.”

  “And that will make everything right?”

  “I hope so.”

  He was placating her, she could feel it, and she was torn between trusting him with her very life and running from him because he was dangerous—if not physically, at least emotionally. He kept her off balance; one minute she found him incredibly attractive on a purely sensual level, the next she feared he was part of some murky master scheme to do her harm. But why? Who was behind the plan? Why would anyone want to hurt her? Why did she feel like a pawn in some game of political intrigue?

  The thought struck her like a lightning bolt. Political intrigue. Politics! She felt as if she’d inadvertently tripped over a major clue to her being on the island. But what? Her head was beginning to pound all over again. What was it Connie had said, that the women reporters at the Seattle Observer weren’t allowed on the big, newsworthy stories? That they were kept away from political scandal and corruption and anything that could potentially be award-winning material? The thought was there, just under the surface of her consciousness, niggling at her, something that would give her a clue to her past as well as her present. She concentrated, but try as she could, the thought slipped away, into the black oblivion that was her past. Damn! Damn! Damn! Why couldn’t she remember something this important?

  “I think we should get back.” Trent tugged lightly on her arm, but she yanked her hand back. She stared at the empty, ruined church and shook her head.

  “Why did I pick Salvaje as a place for the honeymoon?” she demanded as suddenly as the question popped into her mind.

  “I don’t know. It appealed to you, I guess.”

  “But why not Jamaica or Bermuda or Hawaii? Why an isolated island like this?” She walked through the crumbling archway and viewed this island from the highest point. Little more than the top of a great, submerged mountain, Salvaje was as wild as its name. To the east lay the sea, a deep angry blue that looked as threatening as the darkening sky. To the west, the jungle, hot and sweltering and untamed. Far below, the city of Santa María, a small speck of civilization. She walked to the far side of the ruins, where the horses were tethered. Trent’s arms surrounded her and he laced his fingers over her abdomen.

  “Salvaje appealed to you.”

  “Didn’t you think it was odd?” she asked, turning in his arms, wishing she could yank off his aviator glasses and stare into his eyes—search for the truth.

  “We wanted to be alone.” A stiff breeze ruffled his hair and he adjusted his sleeves, already pushed over his forearms.

  Her stomach did a strange little flip. “But there are tourists, other people....” He stared at her lips and she had to fight the urge to rim them nervously with her tongue. She saw him swallow and wondered what it would be like to touch his broad chest, to trace the small scar at his hairline, to feel his lips warm and wet against hers.

  As if reading her thoughts, he lifted one side of his mouth in a crooked smile that caused her pulse to leap. “We’d better get going. There’s one helluva storm brewing and we don’t want to be caught out here.”

  “Don’t we?” she said, thrusting out her chin as the wind billowed her skirt. “I thought you said we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, that we were so hot we had to get married, that we came here because it was so damned isolated. So why is it now, when we are alone, not a soul in sight, you want to run back to the hotel?”

  His back teeth ground together. “I’m only thinking of you.”

  “Are you?”

  “Your injuries—”

  “I don’t believe you, Trent. This whole thing doesn’t wash. I think I came here because...because of some story I was working on at the paper, or because I was running away from something or because I had to get away, but I don’t believe that I came here to be alone with you— Oh!”

  His mouth claimed hers. As the wind began to howl and the little mare whinnied and reared, Trent pulled her still closer and his lips molded firmly over hers. Gasping, she tried to struggle free, but he wouldn’t let go.

  His tongue gently prodded her lips apart to slip into the moist secrets beyond her teeth. Nikki knew she should stop him, that she was playing with fire by goading him, but she couldn’t help it, and as his tongue flicked against the roof of her mouth, her knees threatened to buckle. The palms that pushed hard against his shoulders moved as her fingers curled to grab his shirt and feel the warm flesh beneath the cotton fabric.

  Stop him, Nikki! Stop this madness! her mind screamed, but her reeling senses, already spinning out of control, demanded more. She couldn’t get enough of the male smell of him, the feel of his hands splaying against her back, the taste of his mouth on hers.

  Her heart was thundering wildly as, with his weight, he pulled them both to the ground. When he lifted his head from hers, he ripped off his sunglasses and searched the contours of her face. “You make me do things I shouldn’t.”

  “Like...like this?” she asked, her voice catching as his blue, blue eyes gazed into hers.

  “Like everything I’ve done since the first time I saw you.”

  Clouds moved through the sky as he traced the line of her jaw with one long, callused finger. “I told myself to stay away from you, that you were more trouble than I needed, to run like hell until I forgot your name.”

  “But you didn’t,” she prodded.

  “Couldn’t.”

  But still he didn’t love her. She swallowed hard as he wrapped his fingers in her hair and settled his mouth on hers again. She returned the passion of his kiss. Their tongues met and danced, stroking and mating, thrusting and parrying.

  Nikki’s blood ran hot. Her body began to ache with a willful need that tugged at her heart and burned deep within her. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her neck. She was breathing so raggedly her breasts rose and fell, aching to be touched. She barely felt the first drops of rain.

  Trent’s lips moved easily down the column of her throat and his hands found the hem of her T-shirt, moving upward to scale her ribs, her skin feeling branded where he touched.

  Don’t do thi
s, Nikki! Don’t! one part of her mind screamed, while the other cast caution to the wind. So far she hadn’t caught him in a lie. He was, after all, her husband, and even if he wasn’t, he was the most damnably sexy man she’d ever met.

  His tongue traced the circle of bones at her throat, and a liquid heat started to build deep within her. She moaned softly and he responded, slowly lifting her T-shirt over her head. As the cool air touched her bare skin, she felt her nipples stiffen, and the delicious warmth swirling within her, stretching and reaching outward from the deepest, most feminine part of her, caused all rational thought to cease.

  He kissed the tops of her breasts, brushing his lips across the filmy lace of her bra. Had he kissed her this way before? She couldn’t remember, but didn’t stop his hands from lowering one strap to unleash her breast, its proud, dark nipple puckering in the wind.

  “God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning the wet tracks of his kisses on her skin. “So damned gorgeous.” She stared up at him. The darkening sky was a backdrop for his strong, chiseled features, a slightly crooked nose and a jaw that meant business. She reached upward, dragging his head downward so that his lips encircled her breast.

  Like an electric current, a shock ripped through her. His teeth and lips tugged and played, his tongue tickled and teased, and she arched upward, thrusting her hips closer to his. “God, Nikki, we’re playing with fire,” he admitted as he stripped away her bra and kneaded the soft flesh of her breasts, pressing them together and burying his face in the deep cleft between.

  “It’s all right. We’re married,” she said, her equilibrium long gone, desire overtaking common sense.

  Growling, he kissed her again, and one of his hands delved beneath the waistband of her skirt, sliding along her spine, touching deeper and deeper until she was writhing beneath him.

  “Nikki—” he whispered roughly, as he withdrew his hand.

  “Please.” She bucked upward and he groaned, his eyes glazing.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea.”