Surrender to the Fury

by Connie Mason

  Aimee flushed, her eyes fearful as she followed the direction of Nick’s gaze. She fervently prayed Gar was long gone by now. “I told you, I was gathering berries. Let me go!”

  He released her so abruptly that she fell to her knees. “Where are the berries?”

  His question startled her. “I—I must have forgotten them.”

  “You ventured into the woods specifically to gather berries and forgot them?” He stared at her doubtfully.

  “My mind must have wondered and I walked off without them. I’ll go back for them now.”

  “Not without me.” He grasped her wrist and pulled her deeper into the woods, stomping around trees and underbrush until they came to the berry patch. The bucket sat on the ground, overflowing with plump blackberries.

  “I told you so,” Aimee crowed triumphantly.

  “So you did,” Nick said slowly. His vivid green eyes seemed to pierce into the very core of her, accusing, menacing—terrifying. “Pardon me if I don’t believe you.”

  Aimee drew herself up to her full five feet three. “May I leave now? I should get started on the pie if we’re to have it for supper.”

  A tense, awkward silence followed as they glowered at each other, each defying the other to make the first move.

  Nick’s control snapped first. He had deliberately kept his distance from Aimee during the past weeks, mindful of the hatred she bore him. But not a minute went by when he was not profoundly aware of her presence, of her icy disdain. He noted the difference three square meals a day had made on her thin body, and he was grateful he had arrived when he did. Her lovely face had grown softer. Her patched gown no longer hung askew on her slim frame. Now it hugged her curves provocatively. There was a fragile radiance about her that no other woman possessed.

  She was incredibly erotic. Her eyelashes were dark gold and thick. Her sultry features exuded a potent sexuality that was almost palpable. The aching need that arose in him each time he looked at Aimee suddenly exploded as he spun her around to face him. His eyes darkened and he gave a long, moaning sigh as he pulled her close. Against the softness of her breasts Aimee could feel the rocklike fortress of his chest. Nick gave in to the devils driving him and kissed her. Like it or not, Aimee was quickly becoming an obsession with him.

  Aimee was doomed. She felt trapped. She wanted to run from the comforting closeness of his big body, and from the unfamiliar lethargic feeling turning her legs into lumps of wood. Why did Nick Drummond affect her like this? she wondered resentfully. Why did the memory of Beau fade from her mind as if he never existed the moment this man took her into his arms?

  His mouth was hard, hot, incredibly demanding, insulting—tempting. Too damn tempting as her arms suddenly developed a will of their own and crept upward to wind around his neck. She was drowning in his heat, his taste, his delicious masculine scent. Aimee’s tentative response drew a groan from Nick’s lips. When he broke off the kiss, a devilish grin settled on his roguish features.

  “I told you before not to touch me!” said Aimee hotly.

  “Are you going to tell me you didn’t like that?”

  “I hated it. I hate you!”

  “Look at me, Aimee.” When she shied away, he gripped her chin between forefinger and thumb and tilted her head up, forcing her to look into his eyes. They stared at each other breathlessly, neither willing to give an inch, before Nick said, “You’re a liar, sweetheart. Don’t you know that the eyes are windows to the soul? And yours, my beautiful Mrs. Trevor, are more expressive than most. You want me, sweetheart, as much as I want you. Why are you fighting me? Your husband has been dead a long time. There’s nothing to keep us from satisfying our hunger for one another.”

  She shot him a scathing glance. Memories that refused to die lay like stepping-stones in her mind, leading her back to one inescapable fact. Nick Drummond had taken her virginity and had not even realized it. And he probably wouldn’t have cared even if he did know it. She could forgive him for being a Yankee, pardon him for callously taking her virginity and giving her Brand, but never for thinking her a whore.

  “You’re despicable, Captain Drummond!” Those hours of incredible passion he had given her did not exist, she told herself firmly. They were visions from a dream that had no place in reality, over and done with years ago. “I want nothing to do with you.”

  “Tell me another lie.” He carefully lowered her to the soft bed of leaves carpeting the ground. His hard mouth smothered her furious protests. She felt the breeze cool her heated flesh and knew he had worked her dress up her legs to her waist. And suddenly all the fight drained from her. She was tired of battling him.

  “Very well, Captain Drummond,” Aimee said, struggling for breath, “go ahead, do your worst, rape me. I can see you won’t be satisfied until you get what you’ve been panting after since you walked back into my life. But don’t expect me to enjoy it.” Deliberately she spread her legs, offering him free access to that which he had been craving for longer than he cared to admit.

  Nick uttered a sharp expletive and sat back on his heels. Though Aimee was tempting displayed before him, he hesitated. Rape? He abhorred rape—detested brutish men who felt the need to force themselves on women. The first time he had taken Aimee hadn’t been rape, and he couldn’t understand why she would think he would rape her now. He wanted to make love to her, to bring her the kind of pleasure she deserved. He was so certain of his ability to make her want him that he very nearly ignored her words. But the look in her eyes drained all the fire from his body. He leaped to his feet, turning his back while he adjusted his clothes.

  His words were cruel as he lashed out at her. “Close your legs; you look like a whore.”

  Aimee blinked in disbelief. “Whore! That’s what you’ve always thought of me, isn’t it? No wonder I hate you.”

  “Go on back to the house,” Nick ordered roughly. He didn’t look at her. “I’ll bring the berries.” When she didn’t move fast enough, he turned and shouted, “You heard me, get out of here before I change my mind!” Aimee took off at a run.

  With ragged breaths, Nick rested his head against a tree, striking his fists repeatedly against the trunk until he drew blood. What was the matter with him? he asked himself bitterly. What had made him lash out at her like that? Why did her hatred pierce his heart like a dagger? Why did he have the feeling that if he couldn’t thrust himself inside her, he would surely die? His own fiancée didn’t affect him that way, and Regina was a passionate woman. Most women he had made love to were quickly forgotten after the first flush of passion was appeased. But after five years, his intimate hours with Aimee stood out in his mind in vivid relief.

  Aimee hated him.

  He closed his eyes, remembering …

  He stood before her in all his naked glory, fully aroused and proud of his body, confident of his ability to please, eager to pleasure her as he had never pleasured another woman. He was hard and throbbing, his staff rising stiff and powerful from the dark forest between his legs. She looked at him then, and he nearly exploded on the spot. Her eyes were wide and incredulous, as if he were the first man she had ever seen in a state of full arousal. He knew it was all an act, but it pleased him. He dropped to his knees on the bed, worshiping her with his eyes. Then slowly he began to arouse her in all the ways, all the places, he knew women liked. With his mouth, his lips, the moist tip of his tongue …

  “Captain Drummond, where are you?”

  Lieutenant Dill crashed through the forest, his voice rousing Nick abruptly from his sensual journey into the past.

  “Over here, Lieutenant,” Nick called, struggling to control his turbulent emotions.

  Dill soon came into sight. He seemed relieved to see Nick. “Mrs. Trevor returned to the house alone, and I grew worried. Are you all right?”

  “No need for worry, Lieutenant,” Nick said gruffly. “I decided to check the area before returning to the house. One can’t be too careful in these times.”

  “Right, sir,”
Dill said skeptically. “Are you ready to leave now?”

  “Ready, Lieutenant. Just as soon as I get the berries Mrs. Trevor gathered.”

  Aimee was panting by the time she reached the house. She couldn’t believe how close she had come to submitting to Nick Drummond after the callous way in which he had treated her. To care for a man like him would destroy her utterly. On the heels of that thought came the terrible knowledge of all she stood to lose if she followed Garson Pinder’s advice. He virtually asked her to sleep with the enemy in order to get the information needed by the Confederacy.

  Aimee cast a furtive glance over her shoulder and spied Nick emerging from the woods. He looked thoroughly vexed, yet she instinctively knew that once she yielded to him, she’d be in a position to gain all the information Gar sought. But to yield to Nick now would cost her her pride, her honor—her very soul. In the end, her dilemma came down to one question: Did she want to spy? Did she truly want to search Nick’s personal belongings in order to obtain the information for Gar?

  The answer was more involved than she would have imagined. It was true she hated Yankees, was sickened by what they had done to the South. She despised Nick Drummond with an all-consuming passion. Her fierce patriotism demanded that she do her bit for the faltering Confederacy, but her thoughts stopped just short of placing herself in Nick’s bed. If she used her wits, she felt confident of obtaining the information without resorting to such drastic measures. Feeling more optimistic, Aimee went to the kitchen to help Savannah with supper. She arrived just as Nick entered through the back door with the bucket of berries.

  Savannah slid Aimee a questioning glance, curious as to why Captain Drummond was bringing the berries instead of Aimee. Aimee refused to acknowledge Savannah’s unspoken query, turning her attention instead to Brand, who sat on the kitchen floor playing with a crudely carved wooden horse.

  “Where did you get that, Brand?” Aimee asked. She couldn’t remember seeing that particular toy before. In fact, Brand had few toys.

  “Captain Drummond gave it to me,” Brand said proudly. “It looks just like Scout, doesn’t it, Mama?”

  Aimee hated the idea of Nick providing her son with a toy when she herself could give him nothing so fine.

  “I hope it’s all right, Mrs. Trevor,” Nick said coolly. “Perhaps I should have asked you first, but it’s such a small gift. I carved it in my spare time when I noticed the lad had so few toys.”

  For a moment Brand looked troubled. “It is all right, isn’t it, Mama?”

  Aimee didn’t have the heart to deny her child so small a pleasure, even if it did come from Nick Drummond. “It’s all right, darling.” Her honey brown eyes settled on Nick. “But in the future I suggest Captain Drummond ask my permission before providing my son with trinkets.”

  “Self-righteous little bitch,” Nick muttered to himself as he stomped from the kitchen. Aimee was quickly becoming a thorn in his side. He thought about her far too often for his own peace of mind. Of late he had begun to question his own sanity.

  Why he should want such a contrary little vixen was beyond his powers of reasoning. She had never explained to his satisfaction exactly why she held a grudge against him all these years—and how she had disappeared so thoroughly when he returned to find her later. He was deeply troubled by her attitude, and the feeling persisted that she was deliberately trying to protect someone. He never really was convinced that she was a professional gambler, though Lord knows she was proficient enough at the game. There were so many things he wanted to know about her, just thinking about the situation gave him a vile headache.

  Nick was walking toward the stable to see if Scout had been shoed yet when another messenger arrived. Once again Aimee watched from the window as the messenger pressed a leather pouch into Nick’s hands before heading for the mess tent. She recalled Gar’s words and his obvious desperation. It was common knowledge that the Confederacy was backed against a wall, and now it was within her power to help turn the tide of defeat. Squaring her narrow shoulders, Aimee reluctantly accepted the task Gar forced on her. She waited until Nick returned to the house and entered his bedroom before quietly following him up the stairs.

  Walking to the window, Nick held the sheaf of papers up to the light and silently perused the dispatch from headquarters. General Sherman was concentrating all his power against Johnston’s army in Georgia. Atlanta, Confederate General Johnston’s base, was at the junction of four important railways. Its capture would be the death knell of the Confederacy. The dispatch set the date for Sherman’s spearhead into Atlanta, a battle in which Nick and his men were expected to join.

  Having read the dispatch through twice, Nick carefully refolded it, replacing it inside the pouch, intending to show it to Lieutenant Dill before destroying it. It contained dates, cities, and times that needed to be memorized by both officers in the event one fell in battle. He placed the pouch inside the small campaign chest that contained his spare articles of clothing. Then he quickly left the room. He had heard his patrol returning and was anxious to receive their report of enemy movement in the area.

  Aimee waited until Nick left the house before entering his room. The first place she searched was the desk drawers. They contained nothing to rouse her suspicion. She turned her attention to the bureau, but that, too, held nothing of importance. Then she spied the small chest sitting beneath the window and quickly moved to inspect its contents. But to her chagrin, she was interrupted by Savannah, who entered the room carrying a stack of clean sheets in her arms. Aimee whipped around, her face flushed a guilty red.

  Savannah was dismayed to find Aimee in Captain Drummond’s room rifling his belongings. “What you doin’ in here, chile? De Captain ain’t gonna be pleased if he catches you goin’ through his belongin’s.”

  “I—I wasn’t—I mean, it’s none of your business, Savannah.” Turning abruptly, she fled from the room.

  Chapter 4

  … big. He was so big, she feared he would split her in two. She must have conveyed her fright, for he whispered that he wouldn’t hurt her, promised her delights beyond what she felt with other lovers, told her how he adored the way she responded to him. She felt consumed by white-hot lightning when he took her nipple into his mouth. She arched into him. He began to suckle.

  A warm knot formed in the pit of her stomach and she cried out. He turned to the other breast as his hand slid down between her thighs. She tried to clench her legs, but he wouldn’t let her. She let out another shuddering groan. His naked flesh against hers was hot—so hot. He scalded her with his passion, fueling her own. His fingers rubbed the nub hidden between the tender folds of pink flesh until she was slick with moisture. His finger slowly eased up inside her, and she moved her hips in response.

  Aimee jerked upright in bed. She was drenched in sweat, and her thrashing had caused her nightgown to slide up around her waist. Caught in the throes of the same erotic dream that had plagued her both night and day since Nick Drummond had ridden into her life, she pounded the pillow in frustration. Why? she asked herself in a fit of fury. Why did she have to relive those hours in his bed as if they had happened yesterday? Why did every lurid detail resurface after all these years to haunt her? Her body still tingled as if his hands and mouth had actually taken possession of her.

  She had merely paid a debt five years ago, nothing more, Aimee tried to tell herself. Nick knew what he wanted from her even before that fateful draw of the cards. He had made his need perfectly clear. And she had accepted his challenge, knowing full well what he expected if she lost. But she had been so confident she’d win, so absolutely convinced, that she was stunned when Nick had drawn the high card. What followed was like a sequence in a dream. Then the rogue had left, making her feel like a common whore—left her with his child in her belly.

  Now he was here at Tall Oaks, taunting her with his presence, making it clear as glass that he still wanted her, driving her crazy with his mocking smile and his kisses. And she had committed he
rself to spying on him. She had only a short time left before her meeting with Garson Pinder, and she still hadn’t found the opportunity to read the dispatch that arrived for Nick. Savannah watched her like a hawk, afraid that she’d get into serious trouble with the Yank if she was caught in Nick’s room searching his belongings. Aimee had mentioned nothing to Savannah about her meeting with Gar, thinking that the less Savannah knew about Gar’s visit, the better off they’d both be.

  Perhaps her chance would come today, Aimee reflected as she flopped over on her stomach. It was still too early to arise, but she was no longer interested in sleep. Somehow she had to get into Nick’s room without being seen and obtain the information Gar requested.

  Nick had awakened early. Too early to start the day but certainly not too early to slip into that semiconscious world where reality and dreams collided.

  He wanted to be inside her so badly, he ached. His finger slipped inside her. She was hot—so hot. And wet. More than ready for him. She cried out. He told her he adored the way she responded to him, how desperately he wanted to thrust inside her in the same way his fingers were doing. How very much he needed to feel her tighten around him when she reached her pinnacle. He wanted her to forget her other lovers while she was in his arms. Then he was pushing inside her, stretching her, filling her. She stiffened and groaned and he pushed all the way inside her. She was tight, so damn tight he lost control of his senses, so consumed with passion, he knew nothing but the need to stroke them both to completion.

  Nick groaned, reliving that incredible moment as if it were happening now. He had been awestruck by the wondrous heat of her, the tightness of her sheath. He remembered telling her she was as tight as a virgin, and laughing over that absurd observation. Then he flexed his hips, thrust forward, and embedded himself fully.