His voice was rough, hard with demand and knowledge. And his eyes, those silvery eyes that seemed to burn her flesh, his eyes were telling her things, offering her things, secrets she had never known, never wanted to know, until now. Until Rhys. Her hands moved up his shirt and flattened against his chest. His heart raced beneath her palms, its beat as erratic and out of control as her own.
Tell him no, she thought desperately. Tell him he has to stop! Tell him that you've lied, that you've used him. Tell him, tell him ...
But when she spoke, she could say only his name, over and over, in a whisper that told him everything he needed to know. A fierce smile of exultation swept across his face.
'I love to hear you say my name, do you know that?' he whispered. 'And I love to touch you, to kiss you .. .'
His mouth came down on hers, and desire flamed within her as his lips urged hers apart. She felt the thrust of his tongue in her mouth; the taste of him excited her, and she grasped his shirt, raising herself on tiptoe, her hips pressing against his in unconscious need. A sound came from the back of his throat and his body moved against hers.
'Tell me you want me as much as I want you,' he whispered.
Her arms snaked around his neck, and she drew his head down to hers. 'Kiss me,' she sighed in answer. 'Kiss me, Rhys. Don't stop. Don't .. ,.'
The breath caught in her throat as he crushed her to him, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that made her knees tremble with weakness. He swung her into his arms, and she clung to him as he carried her through the silent house and into the bedroom. The scudding clouds above had turned the white moonlight shining through the window into a dizzying series of random flashes that illuminated the stark room with almost dream world intensity.
He lowered her to the bed gently, his lips still on hers, and a quicksilver excitement began to spread through her, flaming to life within her mind as well as her body, bathing her in a flood of sweet fire so achingly intense that she felt her bones melting. Rhys whispered her name against her mouth, and she sighed his. And then her clothing was falling away from her until the damp, jasmine-scented night air danced on her skin.
His fingers were licks of flame on her ribs, on her breast, and, when he bent his head and caught her nipple in his mouth, she cried out at the sensation. She clasped the back of his head, digging her hands into the thick silky hair at the nape of his neck, feeling as if he were drawing the very soul from her body with the urgency of his kisses.
Her eyes flew open as he moved away from her. 'Rhys?'
'Yes,' he whispered, 'I'm just. . .'
She watched as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, and then he got to his feet and pulled off his trousers. She'd been right, she thought, he was beautiful. Her gaze swept over his body unashamedly and then she raised her eyes to his face.
'Rhys,' she said, 'I've never ... I haven't .. .' Something flashed across his face-surprise, pleasure-it was too quick to be certain, and then he was beside her again, taking her in his arms, his skin hot against hers. He whispered her name as he tangled his fingers in her hair and brought her mouth to his.
'I'm glad,' he murmured.
She wanted to tell him she was, too, that in some irrational way she had waited for him all her life, even through the years before they'd met, but it was too late to talk, too late to think. His kiss was deepening, demanding her surrender, and she gave it willingly, her lips parting beneath his. His tongue stroked hers, moving within her mouth while his hand moved over her body, Its calloused caress turning her to flame. He was murmuring her name, whispering things she only half heard, but it didn't matter. Words were nothing but unnecessary intrusions in the dream world they had created. She needed no words to learn the taste of Rhys's mouth or the feel of his hard body. She touched him hesitantly at first and then, as he moaned his pleasure, she touched him with increasing boldness, reveling in the feel of his muscled chest, his supple skin.
'You're so lovely,' he whispered. 'If you knew how I've dreamed of this, of kissing you like this ... your breasts, your belly, every part of you .. .'
She gasped as his kisses covered her. 'Rhys,' she said, 'no .. .'
'Yes,' he said fiercely, 'yes.'
His breath was warm against the silken flesh of her thighs, his mouth hot. She arched against his hand, whimpering as he gently stroked her hidden moistness, and when his mouth finally found her, when she felt the touch of his lips and tongue, tears filled her eyes.
She wanted to cry out, to clasp him to her heart and say, Rhys, I love you-I'll always love you ... because that was the truth, but there was another truth, one that still overshadowed everything else, one that she would have a lifetime to regret. There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do except give in to the wonder of what Rhys was teaching her. When finally he took her in his arms again, she could only cling to him and bury her face against his throat.
'Rhys,' she whispered brokenly, 'oh, Rhys .. .'
He put his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. 'Blair, sweet Blair,' he said as he kissed her, 'are you all right?'
'Yes,' she said, 'oh, yes. But you .. .'
He smiled at her. 'I'll be fine,' he said softly. 'You'll see.'
A tremor shot through her as his smile faded, and a dark intensity narrowed his eyes. She murmured his name as his mouth claimed hers with heated urgency, and her arms went around his neck, holding him tightly against her. His hands slid beneath her, lifting her to him, bringing her to his hard maleness. Blair cried out softly as he entered her, arching against him, and he paused, waiting as her body accepted his.
'Blair?' he whispered.
'Don't stop,' she breathed. 'Please .. .'
And, as Rhys began to move within her, as he took her upwards with him towards that precious instant when time stopped, when life itself seemed to cease and then began anew, Blair knew that nothing would ever be the same for her again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BLAIR awoke slowly, alone in the farmhouse bed. The scent of coffee drifted in through the half-open doorway and she smiled, thinking of how like that first morning this was-except that then Rhys had been her enemy, and now ... now, she thought, her lashes falling to her cheeks as she remembered the long, sweet hours of the night, now he was her lover.
She sat up in bed and ran her fingers through her tousled hair. Nothing had prepared her for the wonder she'd found in Rhys's arms. They'd made love all through' the night, the last time a dreamlike encounter when she'd awakened to the heated moistness of his mouth against the nape of her neck, the silken demand of his hands as they cupped her breasts. She'd started to turn in his arms, but Rhys had drawn her hips back against him and then he'd taken her on that breathless climb again, taken her to that moment when the light shattered beneath her closed eyelids, when her heart seemed so filled with love that she thought surely it would burst.
And he loved her, she thought, smiling sleepily. He didn't need to say it. She knew he did. His kisses, his caresses, even the way he'd held her in his arms had told her how he felt. All of which made it that much more difficult to tell him the long-overdue truth about herself, Blair thought as she swung her feet to the floor. She'd played through the scene in her mind at least a dozen times. Sometimes Rhys was furious. Other times, he retreated into a cold silence. But always the scene ended with his taking her in his arms and assuring her that he loved her. That was the one certainty the night had brought.
She dressed quickly and ran her comb through her hair, peering at herself in the clouded mirror. Gently, she touched a finger to her swollen mouth. Rhys's kisses had done that, she thought, and a slow swell of heat spread upwards from her loins.
'Shameless woman,' she hissed at her reflection, and then she laughed aloud with pleasure.
But she paused in the doorway to the kitchen, suddenly shy as she saw Rhys sitting at the table. He was drinking coffee and he'd been reading a magazine-it was still there, in front of him. Blair took a breath and walked into
the room.
'Good morning.'
He looked at her over the rim of his cup. The steam rising from it obscured his face.
'Good morning,' he said.
She waited for him to say something else, but there was only silence. Irrationally, Blair found herself thinking of the articles in women's magazines, things with titles like 'Small Talk the Morning After'. They'd always struck her as tasteless nonsense, but at this moment she wished she'd read them all. How could she feel so awkward in the presence of a man who knew her so intimately?
'The coffee smells good,' she said. 'I-er-I guess I overslept.' Still he said nothing. Finally, she turned away and padded to the stove. 'I see the rain's stopped,' she said brightly. 'I didn't expect today to be so sunny, did you?'
'Never expect anything,' he said. 'Life's simpler that way.'
The coffeepot trembled in her hand and she set it down carefully before she turned to face him. The cup was at his lips again but, as she watched, he lowered it and the cloudy haze dissipated, revealing eyes as flat and cold as his voice. Blair managed a smile.
'What's the matter?' she said. 'Have you got the early morning grumps?'
'Nothing's the matter,' he said in that same distant tone.
Suddenly her palms felt damp, and she ran them down her thighs, still keeping the smile plastered to her face.
'I know what it is,' she said with false good cheer. 'You were reading that magazine. Aunt Annie always says it's a mistake to try and deal with the news on an empty stomach. She says .. .'
His eyes flickered over her and then he got to his feet. 'I'd love to hear Aunt Annie's homilies, but I'm afraid we're pressed for time. I want to make that call to Rome while it's still early.'
A cold hand seemed to close around Blair's heart. 'Of course,' she whispered.
He put his cup in the sink and she watched his retreating back as he went into the bedroom. Could he have learned the truth about her? Her eyes widened and she put the back of her hand to her mouth. No, of course not. It was impossible.
'I'm going to pack,' he said from the doorway. 'Just in case your father gives us the all clear.'
Your father, she thought. He wouldn't have referred to Oscar Desmond that way if he knew. Then what was it?
She looked at him and managed a shaky smile. 'My,' she said brightly, 'you're really in a rush, aren't you?' His eyebrows rose. 'Ah, I see,' he said softly. 'You expected me to come back to bed, is that it?'
A dark blush rose to her cheeks. 'No,' she said quickly, that's not …’
'Good,' he said, interrupting her. 'Because the call to your father is really quite necessary.' His lips twisted in a quick smile. 'I'm sure you must be concerned about things back in Rome, Blair.'
She took a deep breath. She had envisioned telling him the truth differently, but she had put it off long enough. Now, she thought, and she took a step towards him.
'Yes,' she said quickly, 'yes, I certainly am, Rhys. I. . .' She laughed nervously. 'God, I wish I'd told you this sooner. I mean, it would have been simpler then. You see, I... I haven't been completely honest with you. I...'
'Haven't you?' he asked softly.
He was looking at her so strangely. There was a kind of reserve on his face, the sort of look you put on when you make small talk with strangers, except... except that it was like a mask hiding something else, something real-and suddenly she had the feeling that if she could see his face-really see it-the blood would turn to ice in her veins.
'No,' she said carefully, 'I haven't. I ... I wanted to tell you. I tried. I said I wasn't the woman you thought I was, I ...' His eyes were turning darker, colder, and she took another breath. 'But then, after I began to feel that I ... after I realized I wanted you to ... to .. .'
'To make love to you,' he said coldly.
Colour flooded her cheeks. 'No ... no, it wasn't that. I ... I was afraid it would change everything if I told you the truth about myself,' she whispered lamely, forcing her eyes to meet his. 'For you, I mean. Not for me, of course ...'
'I'm afraid you give me too much credit, Blair. I'd have taken you to bed sooner or later, no matter what you told me about yourself.' His eyes bored into hers, the irises like grey ice. 'You're a desirable woman, and under the circumstances-'-a man, a woman, living on the edge ... It's happened before.'
What was he saying? The driving need to tell him about herself faded as she listened to him, as his words changed what had been a night of love into a cheap adventure. And now he was smiling, that quick, feral smile she remembered from the day he'd abducted her, and he was telling her it was too bad things had to end so quickly, that his need to return to Rome was as great as hers.
'I've got to be in Bahrain the day after tomorrow.' 'Bahrain?' she repeated dully.
He nodded as he walked towards the bedroom. 'We have a new operation to set up,' he said over his shoulder. 'I always tend to such things personally-I'll be gone for two or three months.' He picked up the carry-on and looked at her. 'It's nothing for you to worry about, of course.'
'Of course,' she said; watching as he stuffed things into the carry-on.
'If it's not safe to return to Rome yet, I'll make other arrangements for your security.' He turned away from her and bent over the carry-on. 'Any questions?'
Tears flooded Blair's eyes, but she fought against them. He had made her no promises, she reminded herself. He hadn't told her any lies; there had been no whispers of love or talk of a future during the dark night. And yet, she had been so sure ...
'Yes,' she whispered finally. 'Just ... just one. About last night .. .'
He paused, then hoisted the bag to his shoulder and turned to her. His face, she saw, was the face of a stranger. No, she thought suddenly, not a stranger. This cold, thin-lipped mask belong to the man named Hunter.
'Don't worry about it,' he said carefully. 'Discretion is part of my business.'
There was nothing left to say after that. They made the trip to Fiorello in silence. When they reached the phone booth, Blair turned to Hunter and held out her hand.
'Give me the tokens,' she said quietly. 'I'll make the call.'
Hunter nodded. 'Very well. If your father wants to talk to me.
But she didn't give Oscar Desmond the opportunity.
He answered the phone on the first ring; she turned her back on Hunter when she heard his gravelly voice.
'It's me,' she said. 'We're coming back.'
'Fine, fine,' Meryl's father rasped. 'Have you told Hunter anything?'
'No,' she whispered fiercely. 'And neither will you.' She hung up before he could say anything more, and stepped out into the August heat. 'Let's get going,' she told Hunter. 'They're expecting me.'
She feigned sleep during most of the long ride to Rome. Anything was better than looking at Hunter's impassive profile, or trying to make stilted conversation. Except for an occasional comment about the traffic or the weather, he was silent anyway. But, of course, his thoughts were already in Bahrain-he immersed himself in unusual cases, he'd said. That was why he'd taken on the Desmond case, she reminded herself. If only he hadn't. If only she and Meryl ...
He pulled up' before the iron gate of the Desmond villa in the late afternoon. There was an electric hum, the sound of static, and then a disembodied voice asked a question in Italian. Hunter answered, and after a few seconds the gate swung open and a man appeared.
'Jake will take you in,' Hunter said politely, 'if that's all right with you.'
'Of course,' Blair said, and then, without warning, her tightly held composure began to slip. She flung open the door and stepped into the blazing heat. 'Just tell me one thing, Hunter,' she said in a harsh whisper. 'Why have you treated me so carelessly?'
For a moment, his face paled. 'Carelessly?' he repeated. 'Is that what you think?'
She nodded. 'Yes,' she said, and then, to her horror, her eyes filled with tears. 'Yes, that's what I think.' 'Carelessly,' he repeated softly, and suddenly he reached across the car and grasped h
er wrist. 'You're lucky I didn't kill you.'
'Hunter, you're hurting me ...'
He flung her from him and slammed the car into gear. 'That's the first good news I've heard all day,' he snarled, and then he was gone.
'You could at least try smiling once in a while,' Meryl said grumpily, collapsing on the velvet loveseat opposite Blair. 'Maids of honour are supposed to be cheerful.'
Blair sighed deeply. 'I'm not very good company, am I? I'm sorry, Meryl. I'll be all smiles tomorrow, I promise.'
'One of us had better be,' Meryl sniffed, tossing her magazine aside. 'I don't know-maybe I shouldn't have agreed to such a quick wedding. Maybe Perry and I should wait until we get back to Los Angeles. Maybe ...'
'Don't be silly! You guys are crazy about each other.
A Flood of Sweet Fire Page 15
