"Relax, Rorie."
"I'm trying."
Within five minutes, Rorie was prepared to concede that Hawk's touch was pure magic. He rubbed and kneaded her neck, shoulders, back and arms. With each stroke, the pain intensified and then subsided, leaving her weak and relaxed. He lifted her gown to her upper thighs and began working on her feet and legs. She had never experienced anything quite so gloriously hedonistic. She sighed when he massaged her thigh, one hand between her legs, his fingers biting into her flesh. Quivers of awareness spiraled out and over her nerve endings. Pinpricks of sensual pleasure alerted her to danger.
Her nipples tightened. Her feminine core clenched and unclenched.
This shouldn't be happening, she thought. This is wrong. This is sinful. But if she made him stop, would he taunt her, telling her that she was weak and not capable of seeing a job through to the finish?
You don't want to stop him. Admit the truth to yourself. You are enjoying this, enjoying the way he makes you feel. And you want more—so much more—from him.
Hawk knew he should put an end to the massage. He'd been a fool to think he could touch this woman and not want to make love to her. During the past fifteen minutes, he'd gotten hard as a rock. The more he touched her, the more he wanted to touch her.
What would it be like, he wondered, to teach this sweet innocent about the pleasures of the flesh? He'd never had sex with an inexperienced woman, not even when he'd been an untutored boy with raging hormones. His first time, when he was fifteen, had been with a buddy's older sister, Rita, and she had been a talented teacher.
If he softened his touch, turned the massage from therapeutic to sensual, would Rorie protest? Or would she succumb to the pleasure?
Hawk fought a war within himself. His libido urged him to discover the unknown, to take what was before him—and his conscience be damned. But his mind warned him that if he pursued this any further, he would regret his actions.
If he made love to Rorie Dean, she would expect more from him than he was willing to give. More than he had in him to give.
No matter how much he might enjoy the experience of seducing a virgin, he had no right to take away Rorie's innocence and give her nothing in return—nothing except a few fleeting moments of pleasure. She was the kind of woman who would want and need and expect love and a commitment. He could offer her neither.
Hawk yanked her gown down to cover her legs, then lifted the bodice and pulled it up her back. "That should do it." He slapped her behind. "Get dressed while I clear away our breakfast." He shot up off the bed. "Meet me on the veranda as soon as you're finished."
Rorie lay on the bed for several minutes, stunned by the abrupt cessation of the pleasure Hawk had given her. She had wanted to protest, to cry out and beg him not to leave her, to continue touching her, caressing her.
Moaning into the covers, she curled up into a ball. "Idiot," she mumbled into the sheet. Hawk was giving you a massage, not making love to you. You don't interest him in the least. Remember that. He could have his pick of women. Why would he want you?
* * *
"Yes, Mama, I'm fine." Rorie preened in front of the mirror as she braced the telephone between her ear and her shoulder. "I've lost eight pounds in twelve days. And I've trimmed a half-inch off my hips, a quarter of an inch off my waist and off my thighs."
"You aren't starving yourself, are you? You know that crash dieting is dangerous to your health," Bettye Lou Dean warned her daughter.
"No, Mama. I told you that Hawk has me on a low-fat diet. But the intense physical activity is what has trimmed the pounds and inches off me."
"Are you and Mr. Hawk getting along any better? When you called a few days ago, you disliked him intensely."
"I think I said that I hated him."
"And I reminded you that we must not hate a person, only the things that person does."
Rorie laughed. "I can assure you that I love and treasure Hawk's soul, but I hate almost everything the man does. For a while, I thought he might be human, but now I know he isn't. He's an unfeeling machine. All he wants to do is wear me down so that I'll give up and he won't have to fulfill his agreement to take me to San Miguel."
"I would give anything if you'd change your mind and let Mr. Hawk go alone. There's no need for you to—"
"Please stop trying to talk me out of doing what I know I must do. If I can survive Hawk's brutal regime just two more days, he'll have to take me to San Miguel."
"Your father told me that it's useless to keep trying to change your mind." Bettye Lou sniffled several times. "Please call us, before you go away."
"I promise I will."
Rorie hated to hear her mother cry, but she couldn't allow her parents' concerns to stop her from fulfilling her destiny. For over three years, she had tried, by every legal means possible, to get Frankie out of San Miguel. Now she knew, in her heart of hearts, that she had to be the one to rescue her nephew. Since Elizabeth Landry's prediction that Rorie would have to save both Frankie and Hawk, she had come to have faith in her own strength and power.
"We love you, Rorie," Bettye Lou said.
"I love y'all, too, Mama." Rorie hung up the receiver, then surveyed her body from head to toe. She was still plump, but not quite as plump. And she was physically stronger than she'd ever been in her life.
She had survived twelve days of torment; twelve days of a bullying, surly, demanding Hawk. The glimpse of kindness she'd seen in him their second morning on Le Bijou Bleu had been the only indication that Hawk was human. After abruptly ending her massage that morning, he had reverted back into the same unfeeling monster he'd been the day before. But no matter what he'd said or done, no matter how much he had punished her body and hurt her feelings, she had endured. She had accepted every challenge. She'd even learned to use a gun, as much as she detested the thought of ever firing it at another person.
And now triumph was close at hand. Only two more days and Hawk would have to admit defeat. He would have to adhere to the terms of their agreement and take her with him to San Miguel.
* * *
"Hell, no, I haven't been able to break her." Gripping the telephone in his hand, Hawk paced back and forth in Sam Dundee's den. "When I first brought her here, I didn't think she'd last a week. After our second morning here, I figured she'd give up. But she's taken everything I've dished out."
"You don't think she'll give up within the next two days, do you?" Dane Carmichael asked.
"Dammit, man, I can't believe she's lasted this long. But I've found out one thing about Rorie Dean—she never gives up when she wants something."
"So what are you going to do about the bargain you made with her?"
"Well, one thing's for certain—I'm not taking her into San Miguel with me."
"And if she won't let you go on the mission without her, what then?"
Hawk huffed loudly. "I'm sick and tired of trying to pound some sense into that woman's head, so if she won't listen to me, I have one last tactic to use—one I think just might convince her that she's better off staying here in the States, while I go into San Miguel alone."
"Dare I ask what?"
"Let's just say that I'm going to ask the lady for something I don't think she's willing to give."
Dane chuckled. "The lady has surprised you once. She just might surprise you again."
A foreboding chill radiated up Hawk's spine. He sure as hell hoped Dane was wrong.
* * *
"Well, when do we leave for San Miguel?" Rorie looked across the dinner table and smiled at Hawk.
She had survived fourteen days of training—training that he had made as difficult as possible for her, without endangering her life. Despite his best efforts to break her physically and emotionally, she had met the challenge. She had followed his orders, to the letter, despite a lot of dirty looks and mumbled death-wishes for him.
As much as he hated to admit it, he admired Rorie's grit and resolve. He'd never met a woman so damned and determined
to put her own life at risk because she truly believed in what she was doing.
It shouldn't matter to him if she wound up getting herself killed. He wouldn't be at fault. He'd done everything he could to prevent her from acting irrationally, hadn't he? So, why was he so damn worried about her?
"I know we had a bargain, but—"
"But you didn't think I'd stick it out the whole two weeks, did you?" Her smiled widened. She tilted her chin triumphantly.
"I'll give you credit for taking everything I dished out. You're a lot tougher than you look. But the fact remains that I can do this job better without you."
Abruptly standing, Rorie knocked over her chair. She threw her napkin down on the table. "We made a deal. I expect you to live up to your part of our bargain. I'm going with you to San Miguel and that's that!"
She stormed out of the kitchen. Hawk jumped up and ran after her, catching her in the hallway. Grabbing her, he whirled her around. She faced him defiantly.
"All right, honey, I'll take you with me to San Miguel—"
"Oh, Hawk, I knew you wouldn't break your promise to me." She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.
Holding the back of her head with one hand, he let his other hand sweep downward to her hips. "You'll follow my orders, no questions asked?"
"Yes. I've already said that I would."
"You'll do whatever I tell you to do, give me whatever I want?"
"Yes, of course, I… What do you mean, give you whatever you want?" She dropped her arms from his shoulders and tried to step backward, but he tightened his hold around her neck and drew her body up against his.
"We'll be two people, alone on a dangerous mission, counting on each other every minute." He lowered his head until his lips were only a hairbreadth from hers. "We'll eat together, sleep together, bathe together."
Her face flushed scarlet. She squirmed, trying to free herself from his masterful hold. "Are you saying that when we're in San Miguel, you expect us to—me to…?"
He took her mouth in a devastatingly passionate kiss, planning to frighten her with the intensity of his desire. He would show her what he could do to her with only one kiss.
She fought him, shoving against his chest, thrashing her head from side to side in an effort to break the kiss. But he held fast, pushing his tongue inside her mouth, taking her against her will. She whimpered. He explored her mouth, deepening the kiss. She went limp in his arms. Releasing her neck, he cupped her buttocks in both of his hands and pulled her up against his crotch, allowing her to feel how hard and hungry he was.
Suddenly she slid her arms around his waist, holding on to him with a fierce possessiveness. Tentatively, shyly, she began responding to his kiss. She touched her tongue to his and sighed when he groaned.
Hawk hardened painfully. Hell, this wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to respond. And he wasn't supposed to like it. If he didn't put a stop to this immediately, he would be backing her up against the wall and taking her where she stood.
He broke the kiss. She clung to him. His breathing was labored. Sweat dotted his forehead.
He grasped Rorie's shoulders and shoved her away from him. They stood there in the semidarkness of the hallway and stared at each other for an endless moment.
He had only one shot left, only one last chance to make her back out on their deal. It might be a cheap, dirty, unfair shot, but he'd never let that stop him before.
"Well, honey, this mission could turn out to be more interesting than I thought."
He gently pressed his index finger to the hollow of her throat, then ran it down between her breasts. Rorie sucked in a deep breath. He glided his finger over one breast, circled the nipple, then repeated the process on her other breast. She stood there, transfixed, holding her breath, gazing into his eyes.
"I've never had a fat little virgin before." He scanned her from breasts to hips and grinned wickedly. "But a man needs new experiences from time to time."
She slapped his face. Her blow stunned him. He didn't know how he had expected her to react, but he certainly hadn't expected her to hit him.
"You are a real—" she hesitated "—bastard, Mr. Hawk."
"You've got that right, lady. I am a real bastard, in every sense of the word. I have no idea who my old man was." Hawk laughed loudly. "Hell, I don't even know who my old lady was." He continued laughing.
Tears welled up in Rorie's eyes and threatened to overflow. She turned and ran down the hall.
Hawk watched her as she escaped from his laughter. He couldn't ever remember feeling so ashamed of something he'd done. He'd hurt her in order to be kind, in order to prevent her from making a monumental mistake, hadn't he? So why did he feel like such a son of a bitch? Why did he want to go after her and tell her that he was sorry, that he hadn't meant what he'd said?
Downstairs in her bedroom, Rorie sat on the window seat and cried. She cried loud and long and hard, even screaming a couple of times. She pounded her fists into the cushioned seat beneath her, pretending it was Gabriel Hawk. She hated him! Hated him! Hated him! He was the vilest, cruelest, most despicable man on God's green earth.
It was his own fault that she'd slapped him. She hadn't thought about it, hadn't even realized that she intended to do it, until she'd already struck the blow. She had never hit anyone in her life. But Hawk had brought her to this, making her act like a heathen.
She should have known he wouldn't keep his promise, wouldn't uphold his end of their deal. So what was she going to do now? She had to go to San Miguel, and if Hawk wouldn't take her, she would have to find another way.
But how could she fulfill Elizabeth Landry's prediction, if she didn't go with Hawk?
She tried to ignore the repetitive knocking on the door. Let him knock. Let him stand outside and wait.
He flung open the sitting-room door and blew into her bedroom like an ill wind from the sea. "Pack up. I've contacted Murdock. He's expecting us to arrive in San Miguel tomorrow night."
"Us?" She wiped the tears from her face with her fingertips.
"Yes, dammit. Us."
"You're taking me with you?"
"Yes, I'm taking you with me. Heaven help us both."
She scooted to the edge of the window seat. "Do you expect me to… I mean will I have to…"
Hawk clenched his jaw tightly. The pulse in his neck throbbed. "Lady, I wouldn't touch you if you were the last woman on earth."
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
Hawk had hoped for clouds to cover the stars and blacken the night sky. Instead, the moonlight seemed unusually bright and the stars twinkled mockingly overhead when the captain of the Buccaneer dropped anchor several miles off the coast of San Miguel.
This was an insane mission, one that might easily end in death for him and for Rorie. He'd been a fool to let his emotions get in the way of his logic. He should have insisted on leaving her behind. But he knew what returning to San Miguel to rescue her nephew meant to her. He understood all too well feelings of guilt and remorse, the gut-wrenching wish that you could go back in time and do that one thing over again.
Hawk checked his watch. He'd told Murdock that they would come ashore around ten o'clock, to secure the perimeter for him. If anyone could give them safe conduct from the beach landing to a night's hideaway in Cabo Verde, Murdock could. The guy was the smartest, toughest man that Hawk had ever known. His old comrade was a loner with no past and no future, living always for the present.
"This is the last chance to change your mind," Hawk told Rorie. "Once we're in the water, there's no turning back."
"I understand," she said.
"You're going with me?"
"Yes."
He hadn't doubted her answer, but he had needed to give her that one last chance to change her mind. He already had enough blood of innocents on his hands without adding Rorie's. He hadn't been able to save her brother and sister-in-law, but by God, he was going to do everything in his power to
keep Rorie safe—to protect her, no matter what the cost to himself.
Hawk motioned for Captain Bernard to have the rubber raft lowered to the sea. Grabbing Rorie's arm, he led her to the ladder hanging over the side of the cruiser.
"I'll go first," he said, then climbed down into the raft and steadied it with his weight.
Rorie took a deep breath, willing herself to be strong and in control. She joined Hawk in the raft and took her place in front of him. She thanked the good Lord that she wasn't prone to motion sickness. If she had been, this mission would have been impossible for her.
She was as physically and mentally prepared for this mission as she would ever be. But emotionally, she teetered precariously on the precipice of hell. When she had planned for this rescue, she had expected to risk her life to save Frankie. What she hadn't counted on was risking the principles by which she had always lived. She'd never considered the possibility that her heart and her morals could be in danger. But Gabriel Hawk posed a threat to her; the consequences of succumbing to him were as devastating as any other danger she would face in San Miguel.
Hawk rowed the raft farther and farther from the cruiser. One mile. Two. Three. Rorie didn't look behind her when Hawk issued orders. Obeying his every command, she remained silent as she focused straight ahead on the looming mountain peaks of San Miguel. A volcanic mass rose steeply to a crater at the center of the mountain range, the plug of the crater hidden by dense, boggy moss. Rorie remembered her one trip into the mountains with Peter, when she'd first arrived on San Miguel for her year of missionary work. They had visited the Catholic Sisters who lived at the Blessed Virgin Mission atop La Montana Grande. On their return down the mountain the following day, they had been caught in the daily noontime drenching from the lowering rain clouds.
"Get ready." Hawk issued the command in a deep, dark whisper when they were less than a mile from shore. He drew in the paddles and waited.
Moisture coated Rorie's palms. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. She could just make out the shoreline in the moonlight.
GABRIEL HAWK'S LADY Page 7
