Hours to Cherish

by Heather Graham

  The tears Cat had been fighting for what seemed like an eternity cascaded from her eyes as he left the cabin, the door slamming behind him with a furious, thundering thud.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CAT REMAINED UPON THE large bed of the master cabin for a long time, not so much because she had been commanded to do so, but because she really couldn’t rouse herself to do otherwise. She had never felt so physically exhausted and bone-sore, nor had she ever succumbed before to such overwhelming confusion and self-pity.

  After all she had been through, how could Clay be so cold? So lividly angry that he couldn’t even bring himself to speak to her?

  Trying to gather her shattered spirit together, Cat gave vent to a long list of hissed names that—in its entirety—did not adequately describe what she was feeling for her husband. But at least the effort did help ease her battered soul.

  He had come just in the nick of time to save her, the perfect hero, but there the line had been drawn. Heroes were not supposed to raise hell with those they rescued, nor abusively toss them upon beds with orders that they not move a muscle.

  But it wasn’t only her husband’s erratic fury that had left her feeling so shattered; it was the terrible knowledge that he had been right. Jules had been more than willing to use her. He had ordered men to follow her and Clay, to destroy their efforts, and apparently they had been given free rein to deal with her in the event of trouble.

  But how had Clay known what Jules had planned?

  Cat started shivering again. She set aside the ice pack and winced as her fingers brushed her temple. She finally managed to raise herself from the bed then, feeling absolutely filthy and as if she could never wash clean. But surely a shower would help. It might partially eradicate the memory of being touched by the scavengers aboard the Chrissy. It could help clear her mind of the catastrophe that might have occurred had Clay not made his timely appearance.

  There was a private bath in Clay’s quarters; she had learned that just last night when the world had looked so miraculously beautiful and bright. Things had certainly changed.

  Cat began to wish she had listened to Clay and moved her things into his cabin. It was inevitable that she would eventually follow his decree, and if she had simply become resigned to his ways earlier, she would have her own clothing to change into now. But she hadn’t moved her things into the cabin, and in her present state she wasn’t up to another battle with Clay—which would surely ensue if she did attempt to leave his cabin at the moment, even if it were only to procure some of her own clothing. It was all she could do to drag herself around to find an oversize navy velvet robe.

  Cat slipped into the tiny head adjoining the cabin and clenched her teeth against the spurt of water from the shower stall, which simply refused to become warm. Still, the cold was invigorating. It washed away the salt that had dried on her skin. The movement was also good; if she had stayed stationary any longer, she might have been really sore in the morning.

  Cat blanched and swayed slightly as she forced herself to face what had almost happened. She clutched the tile wall, teeth chattering. She had always believed herself so capable, but then she had walked around with her head in the clouds. She was the mistress of Tiger Cay, respected among the islanders, protected by Sam. Never in her wildest dreams had she feared a possible assault, the horror of rape.

  Cat turned off the water and shakily attempted to wring out her hair, doing a very bad job of it as she gingerly tried to avoid touching the sore spot created by the bruise. Her head wasn’t pounding, as she had expected it might; it merely plagued her with a slow throb, and even that was dimming thanks to the aspirin and ice.

  She stepped from the shower and grabbed one of Clay’s massive chocolate towels, wrapping it securely around herself and just standing there as she once again fought a spasm of shakes.

  No wonder he’s so furious, she told herself. I wouldn’t listen, I just had to take matters into my own hands. But I’m not a fool, I’ve handled my own life very well for the past several years. We all make mistakes. But the mistake she had made today had been a very serious one.

  “Well, I can’t change it,” she said aloud. But to herself she countered, I can accept what I’ve done, I can understand his anger, and instead of shutting off and retaliating with further anger, I can try to make him understand why I felt that I had to do what I did.

  A light tapping at the cabin door interrupted Cat from her thoughts. She shrugged quickly into Clay’s robe, belted its huge folds around her, and rushed for the door. Maybe it was Clay, and they would have a chance to really talk.

  But it was Sam. Of course it was Sam, Cat thought, disappointment giving rise to bitterness. Clay wouldn’t have knocked. In his opinion, it was his room, she was his wife. Why knock?

  “I brought you some tea and toast, missy,” Sam said, handing her a tray with a small ceramic pot and a covered dish.

  Cat smiled. She felt a little like a chastised child receiving comfort from an older sibling. “Thanks, Sam,” she said, accepting the tray.

  “You okay?” Sam asked, his eyes probing hers with concern.

  Cat nodded, a catch forming in her throat. Even if the man who claimed to love her wasn’t overly concerned with her well-being, at least Sam was. “Yeah, Sam,” she said huskily. “I’m fine.”

  He stretched out a hand to lift a tendril of wet hair and check her temple, obviously deciding for himself that the damage was light.

  “You eat that toast,” he told her. “I know you, when you get the least bit agitated, missy, you don’t eat.”

  “I’ll eat, Sam, I’ll eat!” Cat promised.

  Sam lowered his eyes and shuffled his feet. “I’ll bring your things in for you in just a few minutes. You want to rest up a bit. Tomorrow night is a celebration.”

  “A celebration?” Cat mumbled blankly. What could they be celebrating? The day had turned out horribly.

  “The Santa Anita,” Sam said softly. “We found her, remember?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Cat murmured. Had that been only this morning? The realization of the dream? The dream did not seem as golden as it once had, now that she knew what men would stoop to for treasure.

  “You want anything else?” Sam asked, almost apologetically. Cat lowered her lashes to keep him from reading the reproach she was feeling. He was concerned for her, yes, but he was also subtly telling her that he was not about to aid a rebellion against Clay. She had been confined to quarters and she had best stay there.

  “No, Sam,” Cat said. “I don’t need a thing.”

  Sam cleared his throat and hesitated. “Cat, I know that Miller can be a hard man. A real hard man. But he was awful scared, missy, awful damned scared when he saw that you were gone. And you can understand why, Cat, you were messing with ruthless people. Now, I know that you can handle yourself, lady, Miller knows that too. But there’s times we can get in over our heads. You were hell bent on getting in over your head. He’s angry now—I don’t deny that. But that man is angry ’cause he cares so damn much. You think about that before you read him the riot act.”

  Sam stopped talking abruptly and flushed, then mumbled something and turned from the door. But as his footsteps carried him away, Cat could make out his mutterings. “Damned woman like that needs a damned man like that and that is just the way it is …”

  Cat bit her lip thoughtfully and slowly smiled.

  As she closed the door in Sam’s wake, she realized that she was starving and immediately decided to consume the contents on the tray if not the tray itself. The tea tasted delicious, and the toast even better. A feeling of calmness finally slipped over her and for the first time since she had returned from the skirmish aboard the Chrissy, Cat felt as if she would be able to come to terms with the events of the day.

  When Sam returned with what little wardrobe she had packed for the salvage trip when her daily work outfit consisted of a bathing suit, she was cheerfully ready to thank him again.

  And wh
en Clay himself finally arrived in the room, his temper apparently calmed, but his eyes still very dark and warning, Cat was also ready to greet him.

  She had chosen her casual outfit carefully, although it was simple. She wore a white cotton halter dress and a pair of matching thin-strapped sandals. White, Cat knew, was a color she wore well. It contrasted with the dark sable of her hair, it complemented the deep gold of her skin. And her dress was similar to one she had worn for Clay many years before.

  She had brushed her hair studiously to a high shine. It fell down her back and waved over her shoulders in a lustrous mass, and the soft tendrils that framed her face hid any sign of injury. Clay had never minded braids or coils or upsweeps, but Cat was also aware that he preferred her hair down … simple, natural.

  When he entered the room, she sat serenely at the foot of the bed. She met the wary look in his eyes with her own eyes wide and regal, but soft, her fingers folded placidly in her lap.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door as he watched her. “How are you feeling?” he finally asked.

  “Fine,” Cat said quietly. She offered him a small smile. “Sam brought me some tea. It did the trick.”

  Clay nodded curtly, then suddenly he was striding toward her, clutching her arms in a fierce hold as he bent one knee upon the bed and glared tensely down at her. “Damn, Cat,” he muttered vehemently, opening his mouth as if he were about to say more, then clenching his teeth back together.

  Suddenly and somewhat roughly, Cat felt herself pulled into his arms and they fell to the bed together. She lifted wide eyes to Clay, unnerved by the smoldering that remained in his. But there was something else in the jet depths that magnetized her; a pain so deep it froze in her throat any words she might say.

  His eyes followed a callused finger as he touched her forehead, drawing a soft line downward over her cheekbones along the line of her chin. He touched her lips next, encircling them; then his view shifted and he touched the satin of her bare arm. “I think I really might have killed him if he’d harmed you any further,” he muttered hoarsely, more to himself than to her. “Christ, Cat, I was sick thinking about what might have happened to you. …” He stared into her eyes for an instant, then his lips crushed down upon hers, demanding, passionately bruising. With that same intense heat his kisses roamed to cover her face, then his lips returned to touch hers, commanding admission, his tongue delving deeply in a sweep that fully raided and claimed the recesses of her mouth.

  Cat trembled with the intensity of his administrations, feeling the shiver of desire race up her spine despite the situation. A fire was ignited within a deep core, and when he shifted his face from hers, burying it in the wealth of hair that fanned beside her neck, and brought his hand coursing over her breasts to her hips, she moaned and curved her body instinctively closer to his. There’s so much I need to say to him, she thought vaguely.

  Clay, too, it seemed, needed to talk. He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. “I can’t do it, Cat,” he murmured. “I’m a very jealous and possessive man … just the thought of them hurting you … touching you. …”

  Cat returned his stare, her emerald eyes dilated as she nodded, at a loss at how to reply. She wanted his touch to continue, as she always did, and yet she was frightened, forced into an abrupt awareness of the man she loved. He was a shockingly vital man, everything about him intensified. His tempers were thunderous, his will as strong as steel, his passions insatiable. He would always demand because that was his nature. He was stronger than the sea they both so loved, but was she strong enough to handle such a man?

  As he thoughtfully massaged her hair, Cat finally found her voice, a little nervously. “You should shower,” she murmured. “Aren’t Peter and Ariel coming aboard soon?”

  For a moment it seemed as if he hadn’t heard her. His hand slid along the curves of her body once again, almost idly finding the hem of her dress and slipping beneath the hem. The slow, absent feathering of his fingers against her skin was almost unbearably arousing. His fingers grazed teasingly over the tender flesh of her inner thigh until she was sure she would cry out. Cat swallowed back a gasp, murmuring, “Clay! Your friends … Peter and Ariel. …”

  He nodded vaguely and stood, unselfconsciously zipping down his cutoffs as he walked toward the shower. Cat followed his movements with her eyes, flushing slightly as he casually shed his pants and kicked them aside, leaving her with a full view not only of the glistening bronze shoulders, to which she had grown accustomed, but also of his full state of arousal within the angle of his trim hips.

  Cat suddenly felt her teeth begin to chatter. What is the matter with me? she wondered. His physique was nothing new to her. In their married life they had always been perfectly comfortable with one another. But she was nervous. He was the man she had married, but yet he wasn’t. So much still lay between them.

  He turned as if he were about to say something, then suddenly paused, his eyes studying hers.

  Cat grew even more nervous as she saw his eyes darken even more deeply, his features tense. She was unaware that he, too, was seeing the state of her arousal, skirt hiked high, baring long slender legs that curved invitingly, her hair disheveled and fluttering across the white of the spread like raven’s wings, her lips moist, still slightly parted, her emerald eyes magnificently dazed.

  He had been so worried about her, torn between the anger he couldn’t control and deadly fear. He had meant to leave her alone until they could both talk, really talk. But it was obvious she was feeling just fine. And almost having lost what was his, he was suddenly unable to resist the temptation to claim it.

  As he watched her, her lashes framed thick crescents over her cheeks. Her eyes flew back open, and she rolled from the bed, her cheeks flushed a beautiful pink as she started for the cabin door, faltering as she murmured, “I… um … I’m going to go out and get a drink—”

  Her words cut off as she was spun around, into his arms. Cat could find nothing to say as she stared into her husband’s eyes, mesmerized. She didn’t think it would really matter if she had anything to say or not. His fingers moved deftly against her nape and the halter dress fell to the floor. Cat was crushed instantly into his arms and returned to the bed with a strangely tender savagery.

  “Clay—” Cat murmured, fingers splayed against his chest as the intensity of his dark eyes flamed like fires of hell. But she had no chance to say more; her hands were nothing against his power as he lay over her, catching her hands and entwining them with his as he pressed a kiss against the pulse that beat at the base of her throat. “You make me crazy, Cat,” he groaned, “and you will not walk out of this room … not yet.”

  His hands deserted hers to rake through the sides of her hair as he held her still and kissed her lips devouringly, his tongue plundering soft crevices ruthlessly. Cat was stunned by his ferocity, yet still she couldn’t deny that his fevered need sent her senses reeling. Deep within her abdomen something almost agonizingly sweet and potent had begun to burn. She felt the quivering of his body beneath the demanding power and knew that he was driven to his state of rough demand by haunted emotion. The fires were set; she could not protest him, only answer his need with the wild passion it decreed.

  She controlled a cry as his hold upon her hair tightened, but then she gasped aloud as his right hand deserted her hair, moving instantly to her thighs, teasing through the film of lace. He lifted himself from her, then stared at her slender body, running his hand up and over her abdomen to her breasts and back. “You just don’t know, Cat,” he whispered hoarsely. “I wanted you for so long, so long. And then you were mine again. The thought of another man touching you, feeling the silk of your skin … that riff-raff thinking he could have you …”

  His lips fell to the flesh of her collarbone with a sizzling moist heat, fiercely tender. Then they moved lower, touching, caressing, massaging her breasts, and he took the peaked nipple lightly between his teeth. Cat cried out, kneading her fingers
into his back, vaguely acknowledging a groan of pleasure from him as her nails wove a soft, punishing pattern.

  He drew away once more, catching her wide eyes. “You’re mine, Cat,” he murmured. “Mine only.”

  Cat nodded, understanding fully the devil that haunted him. Today had been traumatic for them both. She smiled tremulously, the words she finally found herself able to say coming out in a ragged pant. “I love you, Clay.”

  “I love you, Catherine. …”

  Cat lifted her arms, stretching them out to her husband. Momentarily he allowed her to entwine him, her fingers luxuriating in the muscles of his back. But then he was slipping from her to remove the last of her garments, sliding her panties slowly and sensually from her legs, following the erotic roll of his fingers with wickedly exotic flickers of his tongue. “Clay!” Cat gasped and pleaded, curling and writhing and arching in a frenzy to reach him, to make him end his magical torment. In a remote corner of her mind she knew she no longer needed to make an apology—nor did he. She understood the intensity of his feelings … sometime, they would talk. But he knew as she did that they somehow managed to communicate in the whispers of their physical love as they never had before.