Horsman, Jennifer

by Crimson Rapture

  Understanding her fear and alarm, he gently forced her arms back and held her still. "No, sweetheart," he said softly, "don't fight me. Not now. Let it happen." The words coaxed her to almost relax and he then continued his slow, steady thrusts. She felt that ache grow again, swelling to an unimaginable height. Waves of desire washed through her and she felt a surge of want; she wanted his lips, his weight, the full force of his ardor, and she cried for him, her soft cries begging for what he was afraid to give her. But when her slender hips began moving to meet him, his passion unexpectedly pressed toward explosion. He thrust harder, hungrily, answering her impassioned cries and suddenly her ache burst into violent ripples, flooding her mind, body, and soul with ecstasy. Seeing, feeling the intensity of what seized her was all it took for his passion to explode and with a force he had never known before.

  She was vaguely aware of him sliding off her, of his hands reaching under her arms, pulling her back to him. He held her tight and she lay perfectly still, surrounded in the warm afterglow of their lovemaking. She gradually became aware of the swift steady beat of his heart, the rhythm of his breathing and the tender and soothing stroking of his hand through her damp hair.

  She felt joined to him in a way she had never thought possible, and the warmth of his closeness consumed her; it was both physical and emotional, intense and complete. But with it came a sadness, swelling and swelling from deep inside her. He had forced her to love him and it was over. The beginning was her end, for she knew even then that her love would bring no peace.

  Lost to his own emotions, Justin felt her slender figure shake softly with silent tears—a virgin's tears— and his arms tightened around her. He could only wonder at the passion hidden in her innocence, a passion meeting his own. His lips brushed against her forehead and he could not stop touching her, even after she finally lay still in his arms, asleep.

  Once would never be enough with her and sometime in the midst of the dark night, a dream intruded on her sleep. He was touching her again, kissing her again, slowly igniting a warm fire in her. She woke on the very real shores of her dream.

  "I want you again" was all he said, all he had to say to start the fires of her love. He had claimed her. She was owned and possessed and that—not her love—was, and she thought would always be, against her will.

  CHAPTER 4

  It was yet another hot tropical day. A hot sun filtered through patches of billowing cotton clouds and, like a large quilt, the overcast sky trapped the heat over the island. A light breeze felt like bursts of warm breath and Christina, sitting in pleasant shade on the edge of the forest with Cajun, kept interrupting his teaching to wipe the small beads of perspiration from her brow, then cast an anxious look out to sea.

  Seeming to know everything, Cajun was teaching her the fine art of basket-weaving. After he had demonstrated the pattern a few times, she watched long nimble fingers expertly weave long strips of near-dried leaves. He might have been an old woman who had spent her life weaving baskets to sell in a village marketplace. She quickly caught on.

  They worked in companionable silence for some time and soon Christina found her own fingers flying through the work as though operating of their own volition. She stopped only to swat the bothersome mosquitoes. After two weeks on the island, they had discovered the roughly ten-square-mile sprout of green that was their home was in fact deserted and the only beings that thrived on the island were insects. All kinds of insects lived here and in troublesome numbers, some of which were too horrible to have appeared in her worst nightmare. Some were even as large as small rodents.

  Despite this, Christina's first impression of the island remained. It was like the Garden of Eden—an exotic paradise—and the sea and land supplied a never-ending abundance of food. Life had fallen into a strangely comfortable pattern here too. Elsie, Hanna, and Christina spent most of the day gathering and preparing food and tending to those not yet well—Marianna and Diego Santiago. The men left each morning in the lifeboat for a day's work to retrieve supplies from the sunken ship and returned in the afternoon to fish and hunt the two or three species of birds that they had found edible.

  It seemed there was a natural rhythm to their life. It was as though the situation unleashed some long-ago-forgotten instincts and way of being. Cajun once commented that human beings were meant to live as they did and she thought this must be true, for she sometimes felt that she had been separated from Hollingsborne, England, and civilization for many years, instead of the mere handful of months.

  Which was not to say the small group of survivors lived in perfect harmony; they didn't. The situation also seemed to unleash a certain savagery among the men. Arguments and even fights were not uncommon. Needless to say, Justin's men were not the type of gentlemen a young lady such as herself would likely meet in a drawing room in England. Justin himself was no exception, though Cajun said Justin's strength and harshness in relation to his men was necessary to keep order and "to protect what can not be shared." While she chose not to think of this, she had some idea of what he meant. It was the reason she was never but never left alone. If Cajun or Jacob were not at her side, then Justin was there.

  Hanna and Elsie returned carrying the evening's supply of fruits and melons in a blanket and Christina was just about to laugh at the rather ribald song they sang when she caught sight of the lifeboat coming in. She jumped to her feet and chewed her lip nervously as she watched the slow progress.

  Frightened, she clasped her hands together, not knowing what else to do. It was so unfair! Jacob would never force Hanna, nor Eric, Elsie. She had tried pleading with Justin but he had just laughed and promised she would learn to enjoy it, that she would eventually find pleasure in it like him! Pleasure!

  "Oh, Cajun, what can I do?"

  Cajun both knew and understood her fear. "Submit." He smiled. "You cannot fight him."

  Submit... "No," she vowed in a whisper. "I won't... I can't." She looked into the darkness that was the forest and suddenly preferred meeting those awful spiders to Justin. "Tell him I'm hiding in the forest and that I'll not come out until he promises to leave me be!"

  Before Cajun could advise against such a measure, Christina turned and disappeared down the narrow jungle path. After their two weeks on the island, the path running alongside the stream was considerably wider and Christina reached the waterfall pool quickly. But this was the last place she wanted to be. She ran through a small clearing to take up an even narrower path on the opposite side. The men used the path for hunting. It paralleled the ocean for a bit, then gradually led through the denser jungle of the interior.

  She could not run. She had to walk to clear the vines and growth from her way. The jungle sounds were no louder than the pounding of her heart. Excitement pushed a faster pace. Flushed and breathless, she began looking for a place to hide.

  A fat-leafed tree, with an accessibly wide trunk that slanted slightly for an easy climb, stood off to the side. She suddenly smiled at the thought of how many unexpected survival skills she was accumulating: gathering wild fruits, catching seafood, preparing and cooking it over an open fire, making coconut oil and juices, baskets and the like, and now climbing trees.

  She wondered again what her father would think.

  With the easy agility of a monkey, she scrambled up the trunk and climbed past the first branch to the second. It was more hidden from the ground. She assumed a nearly comfortable position on the branch and leaned against the trunk to wait.

  Thus comfortably—and safely, she thought— seated and listening to the exotic bird calls of the jungle, she continued her train of thought. It was odd, and certainly unexpected, how quickly she had become accustomed to the island's way of life. Civilization invited unfavorable comparisons to this new life on the island too.

  Would any drink ever taste as sweet as coconut milk? Would she ever be able to wear corsets, layers of underclothes, those long, awkward dresses, and boots again? All of which struck her as absurdly unnecessary now. Would
she ever be able to even hide from the warmth of the sun beneath a bonnet again? Would any bed—any bed in all of England—feel as wonderful as lying on sweet-smelling moss beneath a star-filled night, wrapped in the warmth of his arms?

  She better not think of that now...

  Once the thought surfaced, however, she could not stop it. She smiled to herself, wondering what she had thought of love before Justin. What all proper young English ladies knew: little to nothing. She had thought she'd be married, that her husband would be gentle and considerate concerning those things she knew nothing about. She had known he would kiss her but she never harbored so much as an idea of what came after a kiss; her ignorance had been that great. And even though she had read all the great romantic poets, she never knew love was so... so passionate...

  Justin and his men saw the shore boat on shore and the prizes from this their last day of retrieving safely up on the beach to dry. They had met with considerable luck. Jacob, Samuel, and himself had finally managed to secure the ropes around Christina's trunk, a stunt that had required dozens of forty-foot free dives to complete. Then, on the last dive, he caught a small glimmer of gold at the bottom of the wreckage...

  After shouting a last order to his men, Justin made his way to Cajun, followed always by his dog. He passed the two wood tents that housed Marianna and Diego and stopped to look inside. The woman had remained in the same state of shock since the storm; she remained perfectly still, staring blankly into space, unable to respond to anything or anyone. Sometimes she sat up and rocked and it seemed if they let her, she would remain in that position indefinitely.

  With remarkable persistence, Christina cared for Marianna day in and day out. She refused to believe Cajun, who thought Marianna's spirit had abandoned her body. She kept her clean and fed, she talked to her, and, twice daily, solicited his help in making her walk. Christina was, he had learned, the eternal optimist.

  Justin glanced in on Diego and, as each day, he stared in pained horror at the transformation of his much-loved friend. His mind quickly helped his heart and substituted memory for the reality. Where Diego's emaciated form lay frail and weak from fighting that hellish pain, where his face was pale and bruised from Cajun's merciful blows, Justin saw Diego as he once had been, strong and quick and able, that devilishly handsome face, those dark shining eyes filled with laughter and pleasure whether fighting or wenching, it didn't matter.

  Justin refused to believe fate was so capricious as to take Diego like this. Diego and his laughter would return. And he would wait for this. No matter what the cost.

  Christina was not the only eternal optimist...

  Justin found Cajun sitting cross-legged in the cool shade and, after a quick glance around, he saw that Christina was nowhere in sight.

  "Where's Christina?"

  With an amused grin, Cajun related Christina's message.

  Now Justin was torn between irritation and amusement. Irritation that he would have to find her, amusement that she would try to defy him. It wouldn't have happened just two weeks ago. She was changing and it was his single pleasure to witness the shy young girl becoming the woman he loved.

  Cajun, watching the emotions on his friend's face, stopped his work to explain. "She is hiding in a tree about half a mile down the hunting path off the pond."

  Justin laughed as he and Beau disappeared into the jungle. Halfway there, Beau caught a fresh scent of something and ran off the path in chase. Justin watched him go, knowing that, like everyone, his dog was getting tired of just fish. Sometime soon he'd have to find time to set up a trap for one of the island's wild boars.

  Christina shifted, becoming increasingly uncomfortable perched on the branch like a bird. She looked at alternative branches but none looked any better. He would never find her, but, just to be certain, she supposed she should wait until nightfall to climb down. At least this would teach him that she would not be his willing victim.

  Her gaze shifted back and forth between a colorful bird loudly chirping away and the branch and leaves above her, searching for spiders. The bird abruptly took flight and, as though sensing the cause, her gaze dropped to the ground and she gasped. Without any warning, moving with that quiet grace and ease, he was just there staring up at her and with that infuriating amusement.

  Why she felt like a foolish child with a guilty finger caught in the molasses jar she couldn't say. Then, knowing he saw her as prey, she was suddenly washed in the nervous excitement of a trapped animal. She would try stalling. "How did you find me?"

  "You might do well to remember that I will always find you. Now get down."

  She couldn't tell if this was a request, order, or threat but it hardly seemed to matter. "Not until you promise to leave me be."

  "I will never leave you be. And you're not in a position to bargain with me. Nor will I repeat myself again—get down from there."

  Her eyes filled with sudden mischief and she shook her head, sending her long hair tumbling over her shoulder. He chuckled suddenly and she shrieked as he simply jumped up, grabbed on to a branch, and effortlessly pulled himself up. She scrambled back from his reach and started to fall but his arms wrapped tightly around her. She half screamed, half gasped as he swung down and dropped to the ground.

  Justin was about to take her by the arm and drag her away, exactly as he imagined cavemen once led unwilling victims away, but to his utter surprise she was fighting him. Fighting like a cat. He held her off the ground by hands that wrapped completely around her small waist and he carefully kept her at arm's length.

  "Let me go! Let—" she cried in a voice still soft despite the intensity of her desperation and, with clenched fists, she struggled to pry loose his unyielding hands, kicking furiously. "Loose me! Loose me or I'll—"

  "Loose you or you'll what?" he queried and rather too sweetly.

  "Oh you... you—" She could not think of cruel enough words. She renewed her fight and sent fists into his chest, kicking her legs furiously. She was so frantic she never even realized he was holding her off the ground.

  Justin just laughed and, seeing she was willing to exhaust herself, he pulled her against him and stopped her struggles. She squirmed helplessly but he tightened his hold. "You shouldn't waste your small strength like this, sweetheart. You're going to need it for what's coming."

  She went limp in his arms all at once and flushed, somewhat breathless. She looked up to confront that infuriating amusement in those sharp blue eyes. Small strength indeed! She wasn't about to give up easily. She'd try pleading again and if that didn't work—

  "You would force me against my will?" she asked softly.

  Quite suddenly he fought a different kind of battle. With her nearly unclad figure against him, that long hair spilling wildly over his arms, and those large pleading eyes... How could he—after making love to her all night, every night—how could he want her so badly, so often, and with the intensity of their first joining? He lowered his gaze to the rise and fall of her bosom pressing against the thin material, then to her flushed face, her lips, and suddenly...

  She bit her mouth to stop from smiling. He was weakening, she knew, and, maliciously, she pressed herself even closer. She reached a shy hand to his shoulder. "Justin, you just don't know." She pretended distraction. "It scares me so and, and I know I'll just die! Oh please don't make me."

  "Christina. I—"

  "Please?" She pressed as she reached up on her toes to slide her arms around his neck.

  Justin suddenly swore, knew he had lost, and didn't care. He lifted her into his arms and carried her around the trunk of the tree to what appeared to be a soft cushion of moss. He lowered her, thinking only of how quickly he could get her clothes off until—

  Until, unbelievably, he found himself staring into a look of triumph, a look that spelled out just how she had just manipulated him. "Why, you little—"

  It was too late. Christina jumped to her feet and ran for her life, laughter betraying her emotions. Stunned by what she had j
ust done to him, Justin wasted little time in giving chase. Only now he would show no mercy.

  Christina screamed as his merciless strong arms put a quick brake on her flight, and before a cry could be called, he tossed her over his shoulder and began carrying her to a certain devastating fate.

  "No... please!" She pounded impotent fists in to the broad expanse of his back. "I'll drown, I know I'll drown!"

  "I'm not going to let you drown, if only to make you pay for playing me the fool."

  "I will, though! I will! 'Tis unnatural for a woman!" she tired to explain again. "I've never heard of a woman who could swim. I will drown and then, then you'll be sorry!"

  Justin only laughed at this and, within a minute, they were at the side of the pond. He still held her on his shoulder and with his free hand he removed his breeches, seeing no reason why he should get them wet. He wished he could do the same with her clothes but there would be no swimming lesson with her that bare to his gaze.

  He stepped quickly into deep water where he knew she couldn't touch bottom and brought her in front of him. He securely held her small frame to him but she clung tightly to his neck, with not just a fear in her eyes now but near panic too, as she anxiously looked over the water that surrounded them. She loved bathing but only if she could touch bottom and she quite honestly believed women—by some mysterious act of nature—could not in fact learn to swim.

  "Please don't let me go," she whispered.

  "Never." He saw the very real fear now and he brushed his lips over her forehead. She had to trust him, to relax somewhat. "You know I would never let you see harm, much less hurt you."

  She nodded reluctant acknowledgment. "But—"

  "Shhh." He stopped her protest before it could be uttered. "We are living on an island surrounded by water and there are dozens of ponds. I can't be with you all the time to make certain you don't fall in." He kissed her again. "And I'm not going to lose you. Now trust me, sweetheart. It won't even be hard."