Which meant there truly was nothing to do. She was lousy at doing nothing, at being still. One thing about her job, it seldom left her time to think about anything other than the crisis at hand, which was one of the things she loved about it. She stood there, growing more agitated with every minute that went by. She looked toward the back of the cave, thinking about exploring.
"Have you been back there?"
"Of course," he said, as if it were an utterly ridiculous question. She supposed it was, considering who she was talking about. He was obviously a man who left nothing to chance.
"Does it go very far?" she tried.
"No. There's no place to run to, Grace. It's just you and me and the rain."
She nodded, thinking he knew what she was doing, knew what was wrong. Of course he knew. And he wasn't going to leave it alone.
She felt her heart accelerate in a way it seldom had, a hard, painful out-of-control thudding. She felt hot and a bit sick to her stomach and panicky. Grace never panicked.
"I don't suppose you have a deck of cards with you," she suggested, failing miserably to distract him because her voice was positively weak and she was breathless.
"Sorry. I guess I'm not prepared for every possibility. I never worried about you being bored."
Her head dipped downward, hiding her expression, her embarrassment. She was being petty, whining. She hated women who just sat around and felt sorry for themselves, particularly when they didn't have any good reason for doing so. When they had perfectly acceptable lives.
Grace's life was normally fine. Busy. Challenging. Meaningful. She felt ashamed that she'd worried about being bored when he'd risked his own life to save hers.
"How long are you going to run away from it, Grace?" he asked.
Her heart started thudding again. Even more strongly than before. He knew. And he wanted to talk about it.
She eyed him warily. "I don't know why you're doing this…"
"Because I'm worried about you."
"Well, I'm fine. Stop worrying."
"Grace, I've always worried."
"I can't imagine why," she lied. "I don't want to know why. Nothing gives you the right to dig into my life."
"I'm in your life now. You and I are stuck with each other."
"And I'm grateful for what you did," she said. "But saving my life doesn't give you the right to… To…"
"What?" he asked. "To try to keep you from being so careless with it?"
"I'm not going to debate my life choices with you. I'm a doctor. I've chosen to work with the IRC. I go where they send me, where I'm needed."
"Just following orders? Is that it?"
She nodded, thinking that was it. He'd stop. But she should have known the man never stopped.
"And that doesn't scare you?" he asked. "All those tight spots over the years? All those people admiring you because you're so fearless?"
She glared at him.
"That's right. I know what they say about you."
How? She wanted to scream it at him, but she couldn't. She'd promised not to ask. Of course, he wasn't following the deal. Not at all.
"What is the point in all this?" she asked finally. "What do you want from me?"
"I want you to talk to me."
"About what?"
"Your family."
She barely covered the shudder that ran through her or the thing that felt like a kick in the gut. She put the question right back to him. "And you're going to reciprocate?"
"Okay."
"Fine. Although, I don't know what there is to tell," she hedged, using the old, standard lies. "I'm an only child—"
"No, you're not."
Grace paled, her gaze darting to his, then darting just as quickly away. She was desperate now. Desperate. "My parents were already in their forties when I was born, and they're both dead now. That's it."
"Very ordinary people? Totally normal, everyday life, huh?"
"Yes," she lied, the word not much more than a hoarse squeak.
He sighed heavily, exasperated. "Give it up, Grace. I told you. I know."
"Know what?"
"Everything."
He couldn't, she told herself. Maybe the bare bones of it.
From old newspapers and magazine articles, if he'd made the connection to who she really was. Maybe even from what she imagined could be in classified documents, if he was who he said he was and had friends in high places.
But he couldn't know the whole of it, the reality. "This is none of your business," she said.
"I'm afraid it is. I've watched you come too close to dying in the last few days. I couldn't handle that, Grace. So I'm making it my business."
"You can't make me talk about it," she said, hating the childishness of the threat. You can't make me. God! She was lost if she'd been reduced to this.
He was on her in a flash. He moved so fast, she hardly even blinked before he had her by the arm, holding her, not tightly enough to hurt, but in an infuriatingly no-nonsense grip. He wasn't letting her go.
"No, I can't make you talk. But I can make you listen. Dammit, I'm through watching you try to throw your life away."
"I'm not," she insisted.
"It's cowardly, Grace, and it doesn't become you at all. Because you're one of the bravest women I know. One of the strongest, the most determined I've ever seen. And I admire everything about you. But this."
"Let me go," she said through clenched teeth.
"No. I didn't see it before, because I didn't want to see it. I hated the thought of it, and I suspect you don't want to see it, either. But there it is. Do you want to die? Is that it? Or are you just not interested in living?"
"I'm fine," she insisted.
"Think about your father," he said. "Think about what he'd want from you."
Grace started to cry. Damn the man, he had her crying now. "My father would be very proud of me!"
"For everything but this, he would. He would be so proud. But he couldn't stand the idea of you placing so little value on your own life."
"I don't," she argued, still crying.
"Oh, sweetheart. You know you do."
His entire face softened, those big, dark eyes locked on hers, a sad, tender smile on his lips. One of his hands cupped the side of her face just as tenderly.
Dammit, she thought. He was going to be kind. Wretchedly kind. She knew it. Just as she knew she couldn't stand that at the moment.
Grace saw her chance and she took it. She wrenched away from him and turned and ran, with him yelling after her. The opening of the cave wasn't far. She stumbled out into the torrent of rain and the howling wind. The island was heavily treed, and there was a ton of brush underfoot. She flew across it, thinking only to get away. She had to get away from him and all his questions, all his accusations, all that he knew.
"Grace! Stop!"
She didn't. Until she stumbled over something, and he roared at her yet again. He was practically on top of her by then, swearing and yelling and pinning her body between his and the tree that she nearly ran into when she fell.
She tried to get away, and he tightened his hold on her, pressed her even more tightly against the rough trunk of the palm tree, and she finally gave up her struggle, just stood there feeling miserably weak and sobbed.
It was a horrible place to be. His body so hard, so insistent behind hers, holding her in place against the unyielding trunk of the tree. In rain that never slackened, just fell in torrents, and terrible gusts of wind. She was soaked already and getting cold. She couldn't stop crying, couldn't move, just couldn't deal with him or any of this anymore.
"Let me go," she sobbed. "Just let me go."
"I can't," he claimed, his lips against her right ear.
"Why not?"
"You're getting off this island alive if it's the last thing I do," he said.
"Fine," she said. "I will. But right now, I just want to get away from you."
And then she started to cry harder. Uncontrollably. Inconsola
ble. Like a weak, gutless woman, the kind she absolutely despised.
She leaned her forehead against the tree, and he leaned his head down against hers, his mouth somehow finding her neck, rain running off of it. His body completely surrounded hers, holding her so tightly she could scarcely breathe.
"Shh," he soothed, soft, soft lips against the sensitive skin of her neck.
Grace was so surprised. There were times she would have sworn there was nothing at all soft about him, not anywhere on his body. She should have known better. He'd kissed her once before.
She felt his heart thundering, where his chest was pressed against her back. He was breathing hard, as was she, and she couldn't be sure but she thought he was shaking as well.
The wind roared right on. So did the rain, seeming to encompass them both, leaving them all alone in this little sliver of the world.
She was wrapped in utter misery, and in his tight, unwavering arms.
"You can't just dig inside of me this way," she cried. "You can't."
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."
"You have no right, dammit. Especially when I don't even know who you are."
"I'm sorry—"
"I don't even know your name, dammit. Why can't you tell me your name?"
"Sean," he said. "It's Sean."
She shivered, thinking, Finally. She had a name at least, and it seemed no secrets at all from him. Grace sagged against him, all her energy gone, but that was all right. He held her fast, and after a moment, he turned her in his arms and molded her body to his.
His kiss, when it came, simply wiped away everything else. The rain, the wind, the anger, the tears. Everything.
It was as devastating as any storm she'd ever witnessed, as powerful and as all-encompassing. It was as if the whole world must have sat up and taken notice.
He'd captured her, enslaved her, with nothing but the heat and the need of his mouth on hers. He kissed devastatingly, thoroughly, his tongue sweeping through her mouth. Taking possession like a warrior, a conquering hero.
What in the world would she do with a hero? What use could he possibly be? After all, she would have sworn no one could save her. Not from herself. Not from the secrets she held so tightly inside.
But for now she wrapped her arms even more tightly around him, never wanting to let him go. Never wanting to lose this feeling. Of being plastered against him, all that strength and heat and need. Of wanting to be a part of him, absorbed into him.
It was as if she were soaring. As if she'd gone from the lowest of lows to the highest of highs. If she could just have him touching her this way, she thought life certainly might be worth living.
He made her want to take all those nasty risks. The huge ones. Caring about someone again. Needing them. Depending on them. Believing all those promises so many people carelessly made.
Grace arched against him, unable to get close enough. She felt hard, hot muscles everywhere, and tasted such heat, such need. She wasn't sure if she ever would have stopped. He could have had her, right here in the rain with her back pressed against the tree, if that's what he wanted. He could have her anywhere at all, as long as he could make her feel like this.
So alive. She'd never known it was possible to feel so startlingly alive.
She was still in a daze when he finally lifted his head, still struggling for every breath, still flush against him, enough to know he wanted her, too. Badly. Desperately, it seemed. She fought the urge to snuggle closer to the hot, hard spot between his muscular thighs, to wrap her legs around his waist and beg him to take her, fast and hard, right here. It would be like nothing she'd ever experienced before.
"Grace!" he muttered, shaking his head and looking at everything but her.
He was trembling, too. She loved the fact that she could make him tremble with need, as he made her. And she didn't want to let go of this feeling and go back to her real life, back there in the cave with him and what he seemed determined to say to her. She didn't want to hear it.
He started to back away from her. She hung on for dear life.
"We have to get inside," he said, his voice low and strained.
She clutched at his shoulders, cursing the blasted rain that was so thick, she could hardly look up at him, could hardly see. "No, we don't."
"Grace—"
"No!"
"Yes, dammit."
He didn't give her time to argue. He swept her up into his arms. She thought he'd haul her into the cave, which was only about fifteen feet away. But he didn't. He stood there, carefully surveying the scene.
His heart was still thundering, she realized, his arms steely and wrapped tightly around her. As if he still thought she might bolt?
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Milero's a careful man. He knew the caves were the best hiding place anyone could find on his island. We cleared half a dozen booby traps from the entrance before we set up camp here, and I think we got them all," he said tightly. "But I can't be sure."
* * *
Chapter 7
« ^ »
Booby trapped?
"Oh, God." All the breath left her body.
She remembered now. He had warned her, in the note. She'd forgotten all about that as she'd run heedlessly out into the rain, away from him.
Suddenly, she understood his anger, his fear. God, he'd called her worse than reckless, and she'd argued the point. Only to prove it to him and herself not a moment later.
Was she truly that careless with her own life?
Her gut said no. She'd simply forgotten about his warning. He'd pushed too hard, and she'd been too angry, too desperate to get away. Which was no excuse. He'd warned her. The danger here was very real.
"I'm sorry," she said, knowing it wasn't nearly enough.
He didn't say anything, merely picked his way carefully through the brush. She didn't see how he could ever find the way. There was no path. The island's terrain was jungle-like. Thick with trees and vegetation, and so much debris the wind had brought down, and it was nearly impossible to see with the rain beating down on their faces.
But he did. He was muttering under his breath the whole way, cursing and talking about damned, reckless, stubborn women.
A moment later, they were inside. Just enough to be out of the rain. He stopped there, set her on her feet, then turned his back to her and leaned against the wall of the cave, as if his legs would barely hold him at the moment. It was the first time she'd ever seen the smallest hint of weakness in him. She wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it for herself.
But there it was.
She'd scared him.
Whatever she was to him – which she might never understand – she'd scared him enough that he was trembling with it.
He turned and faced her, a tight, grim look in his eyes and his mouth.
Grace reconsidered. Maybe he was so mad he was shaking. He certainly looked as if he could throttle her any moment.
She was suddenly afraid to move. "What did they leave? What kind of booby traps?"
"Explosives," he said tightly. "Don't you ever disobey one of my orders again. Not while we're here. Not until I have you safely off this island."
"I won't," she said.
"And don't you ever scare me like that again. I swear, I may strangle you myself if you do."
Which seemed odd coming from a man sworn to save her. But she didn't argue the point. She did wonder over the oddness of having someone worry about her. Jane used to, but she'd given up in both frustration and anger, as well.
Did Jane think Grace was reckless and careless, too? Did she think it went deeper than that?
Grace didn't know. She didn't know what to say to him, either, and she didn't want to think about recklessness or fearlessness or anything like that.
So she stood there just inside the entrance to the cave. Still scared and a bit dazed, she watched the rain heat down, the wind bringing a light spray of moisture far enough inside to get to them. Not that it m
attered. They were both soaked to the skin. Water dripped off of her.
She looked down, painfully conscious of the cold that came from being wet and whipped by the wind. Conscious, too, of the way his shirt was plastered to her skin, so that it might as well have been transparent. The shape of her breasts, the way her nipples had bunched up and pushed against the material had her fighting the urge to cross her arms and do her best to cover herself. But really, there was no point and no way to hide.
She would have loved to have the luxury of his big, warm body against hers now. Of having him to hold on to now that her legs threatened to buckle beneath her and the trembling just wouldn't stop.
She was truly sorry for scaring him that way, couldn't help but be touched by the fact that for whatever reason, he cared about her. She didn't even want to ask why anymore, just to be able to savor the feeling. Because Grace had been alone for as long as she could remember.
She wondered if he could possibly know that, too.
Sean, she remembered. He'd finally told her his name.
"Come on," he said raggedly, clearly frustrated and still mad. "We have to get dry."
She followed him back to his stash of supplies. He pulled out a pair of camouflage pants. "Dry off with that." And then a T-shirt like the one he wore. "And then put this on. That's the best I can do."
"Thank you."
"And hurry." He handed her a blanket, as well, which she took with a trembling hand. And then he turned his back to her and started to strip.
Grace was tempted to watch him, because it seemed she'd turned totally shameless and utterly fascinated with him.
She turned her back and hurried, instead. Which was hard when she was shivering so. She stripped and dabbed at the moisture on her skin as best she could, then put on the shirt and wrapped herself in the blanket. She tried to wring the water out of her hair and rubbed it with the cloth as well, but it was hard to get her long, thick hair dry under the best of circumstances.
When she turned back around, she thought he was naked. Magnificently naked as he stood there in the grayish light that was fading fast. Her insides turned to the consistency of mush. Hot, gooey mush. But on closer inspection, she could make out what was either a pair of short pants or boxers. Nothing else.
HER SECRET GUARDIAN Page 8
