by Rebecca York
Zeke muttered an imprecation. The plane hit a patch of rough air and he let himself slide down the wall a couple of inches, bracing his legs to remain steady. The stance tilted his hips slightly forward. Really, he’d be better off lying down. But not on that bed with Elizabeth, because if he lay down beside her now, he was going to do things he regretted.
ELIZABETH STARED AT Zeke as he folded his arms across his chest and braced himself for mortal combat. The lights in the cabin were dim, and he was standing in the shadows where she couldn’t get a good look at his face. She’d backed him against the wall. Literally. If she were smart, she’d quit while she still had some dignity. He’d made it clear he didn’t consider the marriage real—or the wedding night. Yet she was betting he was acting from a sense of honor, not distaste. He wanted to be fair to her, he said. Well, all was fair in love and war. And she wasn’t going to back off. Kathryn had made her realize there was nothing wrong with getting something out of this, something she wanted very much. She loved Zeke. She’d been trying to deny it was true. But she couldn’t turn off her feelings. Not after standing up with him in front of their friends and saying wedding vows. She would make the vows real—at least for tonight. If he divorced her as soon as they returned to the U.S., then at least she’d have sweet memories to keep her warm at night.
Before she could lose her nerve, she stood. Heart pounding, she circled the end of the bed, putting herself on Zeke’s side. He didn’t move, didn’t give her any encouragement. Yet she saw him swallow hard. At least she knew he was nervous.
She’d never played the seductress. She wasn’t sure she knew how. But she was going to give it her best shot.
The pit of her stomach quivered as she took a step closer. Still, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t offer a clue about what he was thinking. Suddenly she was seized with the awful thought that he might not want this—that his excuses were given to spare her feelings. Well, better to find that out now, so she could spend the rest of the flight regaining her composure.
Her throat dry, she forced herself to keep walking forward, one step at a time, until her running shoes were between his boots.
Now what?
The question had barely formed in her mind, when the plane pitched again, and she fought to keep her footing. His arms uncrossed so suddenly that she was barely aware of the movement. One second she was standing on her own, trying not to topple over; the next, she was tightly enfolded in his embrace. He held her to him, uttering a low sound that might have been a curse—or a plea. Then his head moved, and his mouth came down on hers.
His lips were warm, hard, challenging, and the thought flashed in Elizabeth’s mind that perhaps Zeke was trying to scare her off by giving her a tiny taste of his unleashed ardor. In truth, she was frightened—not by the demand he infused into the kiss, but by the intensity of her own response to him. But she had no intention of backing off. To prove that to both of them, she moved in closer to him and angled her head to one side, so that he could kiss her more deeply.
Zeke made a low, hungry sound in his throat as he accepted the invitation. That was the last thing Elizabeth heard above the pounding of the blood in her ears. He tasted her again and again, deeply, roughly, then more gently, and she felt rather than heard her own soft cries of pleasure. When he finally lifted his head, her body was plastered against his and his palms were under her shirt, splayed against her back. They were both struggling for breath.
With Zeke’s legs braced in front of him, they were hip to hip, and Elizabeth felt the unmistakable hardness of his erection pressed to her center. It made her heart skip a beat, to know she had turned him on. Yet she sensed he was struggling for detachment. “You can still change your mind,” he whispered.
“Not a chance.”
“Lizbeth, Lizbeth, what am I going to do with you?”
She gave him the only answer that she could. “Make love with me.”
He swore again, even as the hands against her back moved to find the catch of her bra. He had no trouble unhooking it. Then, with one smooth motion, he pulled her loose-fitting sweatshirt over her head, taking her bra with it, and tossed them on the floor. She gasped as cool air hit her flesh, gasped as she realized she was standing in front of him naked to the waist. If he was trying again to make her think about the reckless course she’d set, he was doing a mighty fine job. She had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable, more shyly uncertain than at that moment. Suppose he hated what he saw?
She wanted to hide her face against his shoulder. Yet she summoned the courage to raise her eyes to his. What she discovered stole her breath away. His gaze was dark, superheated, and—vulnerable. And she knew, with sudden joy, that everything was going to be all right, at least for this night.
“You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful.” His husky voice made her shiver. Then his hand reached to slowly, slowly stroke one breast. “Perfect.”
Elizabeth caught her breath as Zeke’s fingertips caressed her curves, then grazed across the hard distention of her nipple.
“I want—” The rest of his sentence was swallowed as he yanked his own shirt over his head and tossed it on top of hers before his hands reached for her and gathered her to him. They both gave a little cry as the softness of her breasts made contact with the hard planes of his chest For a long moment, he held her still against him, and she savored the warmth of the contact Then he began to shift her body from side to side, sliding her breasts against the springy hair of his chest, bringing glad little cries to her lips. She felt her knees buckle, yet she didn’t fall because he was supporting her weight.
Her breath came in little gasps as he eased her back, his hands moving inward to play with her breasts, cup them, reshape them to his grasp, tease her nipples into unbelievable magnets of sensitivity. The pleasure of it was almost more than she could stand.
One hand glided to her hips, urging her more firmly against the hard shaft behind the fly of his pants, rocking her against him. It was only a moment before her own instincts took over and she began to move on her own, pressing, stroking against him, her need becoming more frantic as his hands did wildly erotic things to her breasts.
The heat built relentlessly beyond endurance as he said her name over and over, telling her how much he wanted her to come undone for him. And she did, swept away by a hot, pulsing surge of gratification that brought an incoherent shout to her throat. In the aftermath, she sagged weakly against him, gasping, her skin slick with perspiration.
He stroked her back, stringing tiny kisses along the side of her face as she dropped her head to his shoulder. When she shivered, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders.
“That felt so good.”
“We don’t have to go any farther than this,” he said in a gritty voice. His body was rigid, his legs still braced against the floor.
She summoned the strength to raise her face and saw the tension burning in his eyes. He had given her pleasure beyond her imagining. She wasn’t going to stop there. Slipping her hand between them, she cupped her fingers around his rigid flesh, stroking his hardness through the fabric of his jeans. “I need to feel this inside me.”
The breath gasped out of him. “No, you don’t.”
“Zeke, don’t deny me the pleasure of satisfying you. Let me see you come undone in my arms. Or are you afraid to let me watch you lose control?”
“I’m not afraid of anything—except hurting you.”
“You won’t.”
“Ah, Elizabeth.” His mouth came down on hers for a long, greedy kiss. Yet when it was over, he fell back on his old tactics. First he stripped off her jeans and panties so that she stood naked before him. Then he quickly unbuckled his pants and kicked them away, straightening so that he towered over her, formidable and erect. She felt a moment of sudden panic. Could he really fit inside her?
Then she reminded herself that men and women had been managing it since the beginning of time. Grasping his hand, she silently backed up toward the be
d. She didn’t have far to travel, but by the time she reached her destination she felt him trembling.
“Remember, I promised I’d be gentle with you,” she whispered, before turning away so he couldn’t see the skin stretched tight across her face. Luckily, the covers needed to be turned down. By the time she finished, she felt him leaning over her kissing her neck.
“I remember,” he murmured. “If I get the same considerations.”
She nodded, her face against his shoulder, her eyes squeezed shut as she clung to him.
He helped her into the bed, then turned and gathered her to him. She closed her eyes and held on tight. Despite her bold behavior, she was nervous, and she was sure he knew it. Sure by the way he started with nonthreatening kisses and little touches that skirted strategic areas. Yet soon, simple kisses and cautious touches weren’t enough. He seemed to know that, too, seemed to sense when she was ready for him to caress her breasts again and when it was time to glide his fingers over the slick heat of her most sensitive flesh.
She had thought that she had taken her pleasure, and now she was giving it back to him. She soon found there was more than she’d realized for her. Once again, he lifted her higher and higher, until she was twisting against him, begging for him to finish what she’d started.
He reached for the packet she’d left on the bedside table, and tore it open. A few moments later, he moved over her.
“I may hurt you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she gasped. “Please. Now.”
He pressed against her, into her, his breath coming in gasps as he tried to go slowly. She would have none of that. Lifting her hips, she surged against him, surprised at the sharp stab of pain.
“Sweetheart, I—” It seemed he wasn’t capable of saying more. Or of stopping. He sank into her, past the broken barrier, past the pain, until he was deeply, fully joined with her, and she accepted him with her body, her mind, her soul.
Her hands soothed over his back, her lips stroked his shoulder. “Show me,” she urged. “Show me what it’s like.”
He kissed her temple, then slowly, carefully began to move inside her. “You feel so good,” he gasped out.
“So do you.”
He shifted, so he could slip his hand between them to stroke her. Heat leaped at the spot where he touched, heat that grew and spread.
“Ah, Lizbeth.”
All her concentration focused on the heat and the friction, and the giving and taking of pleasure. She felt him lose control, felt him drive for completion, felt him taking her with him. For the second time that evening, she cried out her release, even as she heard his hoarse shout of triumph.
He shifted off her and gathered her close.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
His lips brushed her eyebrows. “Thank you for insisting,” he answered.
For long moments she floated on a cloud of satisfaction, eyes closed as he stroked her shoulder and her arm. He had known how to make it wonderful for her. He had cared enough to do that. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him. And she wanted to know what he was feeling, yet she wasn’t quite secure enough to get into either of those areas.
As he held her, the fatigue of the past day caught up with her, and she drifted off to sleep. She woke sometime later when the plane hit another air pocket. Her eyes blinked open, and for several seconds she didn’t know where she was. Then she remembered—and with the sense of place came the memory of making love with Zeke. Her first time. With her husband, she thought with a little catch in her throat, at least for now. She reached to touch him, and her hand brushed against his thigh. He was sitting up in bed, the covers pulled around his hips and his back resting against several pillows.
When he saw her looking at him, he gently touched her cheek. “We still have a few hours before we reach Athens,” he whispered. “You should go back to sleep.”
“You’re not.”
“I had some thinking to do.”
The lights were dimmed, but she could make out the harsh line of his profile. When she’d gone to sleep, he’d seemed relaxed. Now he was tense again.
“How are you?” she asked, dragging the covers with her as she sat up and plumped the pillow on her side of the bed.
“That’s my line,” he answered.
“Well, I feel wonderful.” She stretched, then found his hand under the sheet and covered it with hers. “Or I did until I discovered that you’re wound tight as a spring.”
“I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“Probably it was the plane.” She inspected the lines of strain around his eyes. “Were you thinking about Ariadne?” she asked gently.
He sighed. “Actually, about my father.”
All at once, she wasn’t quite so relaxed herself. “Why?”
“He was on Mythos about twenty years ago, excavating the ruins of a temple dedicated to Apollo in the mountains near Delvia.”
“And?”
“He was a lying, cheating bastard who put money above everything else in life.”
She tipped her head to one side. “I thought he was an archaeologist.”
Zeke gave a harsh laugh. “Well, that, too. Actually, I think he could have been pretty good at restoring ancient cities and palaces, if that had been the main focus of his energy. Right up there with Heinrich Schliemann and Sir Arthur Evans,” he added.
Elizabeth knew that Schliemann had discovered the historical site of Troy and the home of its conqueror, Agamemnon. Evans had used his own fortune to excavate the ancient palace at Knossos, the sanctuary of the Minotaur, and then turned the reconstructed site over to the Greek government. Both men had helped prove that ancient legends had their basis in fact. If Zeke was comparing his father’s abilities to theirs, then the man must have been extraordinary.
“Do you want to talk about him?”
He was silent for a short stretch, then sighed. “Not really. But his history is relevant. And, uh, I owe you some explanations.”
“You mean because I practically forced you to make love with me?” she asked sharply.
He slipped his arm around her, drawing her closer. “It wasn’t a question of force. I was trying my damnedest to be honorable. I think it must have been obvious how much I wanted you.”
“I—”
He stopped her with a finger pressed to her lips.
“Don’t get off the subject. Let me tell you about my father, before I lose my nerve.”
“Okay,” she whispered. She might want reassurances about his feelings, but she wasn’t selfish enough to put her own needs before his. “You know Sebastian mentioned my father. Now I’m wondering if, somehow, he’s involved with what’s going on.”
“But he’s dead—isn’t he?”
“Yeah. He died in prison,” Zeke answered in a strangely flat voice, his eyes never leaving hers.
She couldn’t stop her face from registering shock. But under the covers, she found Zeke’s hand again.
His features were so rigid they might have been carved from marble. His eyes stared toward the bulkhead separating their cabin from the front of the plane. “He was from an aristocratic Baltimore family that lost its money in the depression. But he was a top student, so he got a scholarship to the University of Maryland and ended up with a Ph.D. in archaeology. He thought that was his ticket to fame and fortune. It turned out his younger brother did better.”
He paused and sucked in a deep breath. As he let it out slowly, Elizabeth sensed that he was giving himself a little more time before the bad part.
Eyes narrowed, he continued. “My father was always jealous of Uncle Henry. Henry was no scholar. He barely finished high school, but he was smart. He went into business for himself. After trying a couple of things, he found a backer and made a fortune selling pipe fittings. My father couldn’t stand being outdone. So he figured out a way to get rich himself. He had an excellent reputation in his field. He used it to get assigned to locations where he was likely to find valuable artifacts.” Zeke�
��s face contorted, before he began to speak again. “He started holding back some of the pieces he’d discovered, and sold them to connoisseurs who didn’t care whether their private collections were obtained illegally. That knife of Sebastian’s could have been one of his finds.” He made a low noise in his throat. “Sebastian or whoever gave the knife to him knew I’d be obsessed by it—that I wouldn’t be able to leave it behind. They used that to trap me. Trap us!” he said in a low voice.
Elizabeth twisted her fingers more tightly with Zeke’s, although she wasn’t sure he noticed. “Don’t blame yourself for that,” she whispered.
“Who else should I blame?”
“Whoever killed Sebastian.”
He was silent for long moments. When he continued speaking, he sounded as if he were recounting a story he’d read in the newspaper. “My mother knew what he was doing, but she was afraid to say anything. Or maybe she liked the life-style his larceny bought. Usually he worked with a local resident who hid his stash—until Dr. Chambers could smuggle it out of the country. The local guy would get part of the profit, but nowhere near half, because the foreign professor never divulged the real value of the artifacts.”
“How did you find all this out?” she asked.
“He got caught. Up till then, I only knew that he never wanted me around.” Zeke paused for breath.
Elizabeth turned so she was curled against him. His arms came up to gather her close. The bare facts he’d recited were bad enough. Reading between the lines was worse. “I’m so sorry.”
“Not shocked?”
“Well, yes,” she admitted. “How did he get caught?”
Zeke gave a harsh laugh, his gaze still focused away from her. “Bad luck. A worker at the temple fell over the side of an excavation and died, and there was a police investigation. They stumbled onto the smuggling operation. I got the news when an enterprising reporter from the New York Times called me at boarding school to ask what I thought about my father’s arrest in Mythos. I was fifteen, but I knew enough to hang up without talking to the press.”
