Where was he? Not that she really cared. It was just natural curiosity, that was all. As far as she was concerned if she never saw Matthew McDowell again, it would be too soon!
A gust of hot, humid wind slapped at Kathryn's cheeks. It had an unpleasant, clammy feel to it. She made a face, went back to the house, and switched on the shortwave radio while she poured herself more coffee.
"...latest update. Moderate winds and seas are expected and a small crafts advisory has been issued. Persons living in low-lying shore areas might want to take precautions but there is no cause for alarm."
The wind chose that moment to rattle the house like a giant castanet.
Kathryn laughed. "Of course not," she said.
Well, it wouldn't hurt to be prepared. She dug out the candles and matches, checked to be sure the flashlight still worked and made a circuit of the house to be certain the shutters were all secured.
Just before dusk, she turned the radio on again. It seemed to her that the wind had grown a lot stronger but with the shutters closed, she couldn't see the sky or the sea.
"...upgraded to severe," the impersonal voice on the radio said. "Persons in low-lying locations are advised to move to higher ground and..."
Kathryn licked her lips. Was there anything to worry about? No. She was already on higher ground, up here on| the cliff. Besides, how bad could a storm be? Hurricane season was over.
She hesitated, and then she picked up the flashlight and went to the front door. She could hear the wind just beyond it and the door was hard to open, as if something were trying to shoulder it closed...
Dear God!
It was like walking into another world.
The sky was the color of charcoal, the clouds so thick and low Kathryn had the uneasy feeling she could almost reach up and touch them. The wind whistled through the trees and whipped at her hair.
She had never seen a storm like this, never imagined it was possible for nature to be so raw and powerful.
What would the sea look like, under this dark and primitive sky? How tall were the wind-driven waves that must be crashing wildly against the beach?
The logical thing to do was go back to the shelter of the house... But the sea would be a magnificent sight, something she'd never forget. Kathryn took a breath, ducked her head and fought her way to the edge of the cliff for one quick, quick look...
Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.
The placid blue Caribbean she knew, the one that had sighed gently against a crescent of white, glistening sand, was gone. The sea was black as ink, tipped with sharp white claws that had already surged over the beach and were tearing at the cliff she stood on. The pound of the waves was like the beat of a heart and now she could hear something else, too, as if a freight train were fast approaching...
It was the wind, tearing across the water like a howling beast determined to drive everything out of its path.
Run, Kathryn. Turn for the house and run!
Sobbing, terrified, she obeyed the voice in her head but it was impossible to outrun the wind. It hit her like a fist, first driving the breath from her lungs, then curled around her like the unseen hand of some ancient behemoth determined to snatch her up and hurl her down into the raging torrent below.
A scream broke from her throat.
"Matthew," she cried, "Matthew, help me!"
Strong arms closed around her and lifted her off her feet.
"Hang on to me, Kathryn," Matthew shouted.
Sobbing, she wound her arms around his neck. He raced for the house while the wind screamed and howled and clawed, fought the door open and half-carried, half-dragged Kathryn inside. She clung to him as he kicked the door shut, slid home the bolt and the lock.
"Oh God," she sobbed, "Matthew..."
Gently, he lowered her to her feet, wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.
"Shh," he murmured, "it's all right now."
They stood that way while the rain pelted the roof and the wind shrieked at the siding, taking comfort in the heat of each other's bodies and the beat of each other's hearts. Then Matthew grabbed Kathryn by the shoulders and shoved her to arm's length.
"You damned little fool," he snarled, "what in bloody hell were you trying to do? You almost got yourself killed." He snapped his hands from her shoulders and raked his fingers through his hair. "Lord, woman, don't you ever stop to think?"
"Now, just a minute—"
"You were almost swept off that bloody cliff!"
"Dammit, Matthew, it wasn't as if I—"
"As if you what? Took two minutes to think?" He thrust his face towards hers, his eyes flashing with anger. "Nay, Kathryn, why would you do something so foolish as give a moment's thought to anything?"
Kathryn lifted her chin and glared at him in defiance.
"Listen here, Captain McDowell, I'm grateful for your assistance, but—"
"My assistance?" Matthew threw his hands on his hips, tossed back his head, and laughed. "You mean, you're grateful I was there to save your damned fool neck!"
"You did not save my neck. And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't punctuate every other word with an obscenity."
"Your thinking processes are the obscenity," he snarled, this time punctuating each word by jabbing his forefinger into her chest. Kathryn staggered back and he stalked after her until her shoulders hit the wall. "What in hell were you doing? Playing some kind of bloody game? That's a hurricane out there, madam, or hadn't you noticed?"
His words sent a chill racing up her spine but it was too late now to give an inch.
"That storm?" Kathryn tossed her head. "Hah! Don't make me laugh. It's a bad storm, but a hurricane? It's nothing of the sort."
"Are you now an expert on weather?"
"I don't have to be an expert to know that hurricane season is over!"
Matthew's lips drew back from his teeth. "Be certain to so inform any crew that's sailed these waters in midwinter."
"Very well." Kathryn's voice was cold. "I'll bow to your expertise in these matters, Captain. But I don't have to take your insults."
"You still haven't answered my question, dammit. What were you doing out there?"
"I haven't answered it because it's stupid! What do you think I was doing? Looking out at the sea."
" 'Looking out at the sea,' " Matthew said in cruel parody. "What's the matter, madam? Didn't you have anything better to do to occupy your time?"
Kathryn glared at him. "I've had enough," she snapped, and pushed past him towards the stairs.
"Kathryn!" His voice roared after her. "Where in hell do you think you're going?"
"It's none of your business."
"Damn you, don't turn your back on me!"
She stopped on the second step and spun towards him in a rage.
"What's the problem, Captain? Did I drag you out of some nice, cozy corner where you've been curled up like the egotistical bully you are, getting your kicks by wondering if I'd miss you? Well, I didn't. Not one damned bit."
Matthew thought of the damnable attic, of how he despised its dark corners and walls that imprisoned him as if it were a dungeon, of how he'd been pacing it like a trapped beast until something had drawn him to the window and to that sight he'd never forget, Kathryn fighting for her life against that wicked predator of a sea.
Bloody hell! How could one woman be so infuriating? It was all he could do to keep from turning her over his knee and whaling the daylights out of her.
"I am relieved to hear that you did not miss me," he said coldly, "for I did not miss you, either... which is surely a good thing since you spent all of five minutes searching for me in this misery of a house!"
He hadn't meant to say that. What did he care, how long she'd bothered to look for him? Unfortunately, it was too late to call back the ill-chosen words, especially since Kathryn's temper was already rising to the challenge.
"Five minutes?" she said. Her eyes turned flinty. "What do you mean, five minutes?" She cam
e down a step and slammed her fist on the banister. "I spent hours looking for you, you stupid fool!"
Matthew's face whitened. "Be careful with what you call me, madam."
"Don't tell me what I can and can't call you, dammit! Not that I really gave a damn if I found you or not! Not that I cared a fig for where you'd gone or what you were doing. It's just that I was furious that you'd run out on me before I could tell you that I—that I..."
"That you what?" Matthew said in a tightly controlled voice.
She stared at him, at that stern, handsome face, the angry green eyes and the unforgiving mouth.
"I wanted to tell you that—that I hate you, Matthew, that I..."
The rushed words ended on a broken sob. Kathryn swung away, but not in time. Matthew had already glimpsed the telltale shimmer of tears in her eyes.
All his anger and rage drained away. What was the sense in pretending? His blind fury had nothing to do with Kathryn and everything to do with the knowledge that he had almost lost her.
He choked out her name and she turned towards him, her eyes dark and enormous in her beautiful face. He said something, though he would never know what, but it must have been the right thing because the next instant, she was in his arms.
"Where were you?" she said, between kisses. "Why did you leave me?"
"I was right here all the time, sweetheart, playing at being noble."
"Noble?" She drew back in his arms. "I don't understand."
"I wanted so badly to make love to you yesterday, Kathryn, but I knew it was wrong. That was why I left you."
There were tears on her lashes, but she was smiling.
"How could what we both wanted be wrong?" she asked softly.
Matthew shook his head. "I should never have let you become so important to me. Don't you see, this can only end badly?"
"It can end here," Kathryn whispered, "where we want to be, in each other's arms."
She caught his hair in her hands, dragged his mouth to hers and silenced any protest he might have made with a kiss. For a long moment, he didn't respond. Then he groaned, swung her into his arms and carried her up the stairs and to her bedroom.
He kicked the door shut behind him. The howling of the wind, and the grey shadows of the room, closed around them.
Slowly, so slowly, Matthew lowered Kathryn to her feet. A moan broke from her throat as her body traveled the length of his. Was that his heart racing, or was it hers? The hardness and heat of him burned through the layers of fabric that separated them, scalding her with desire.
She felt the hard press of his erection against heir belly. The sheathed power of his flesh made her heartbeat quicken, but not with fear. She moved against him, slowly and deliberately, pressing her softness against his male rigidity, shuddering with delight when he groaned again before crushing her mouth under his. His hands cupped her bottom, seeking the shape of her through her wet clothing, and then he drew back, his eyes hot on hers.
"I want to see you," he whispered.
His eyes held hers while he undid the buttons down the front of her shirt and eased it back from her shoulders. He waited, prolonging the moment like a man with a special gift on Christmas morning. Then he looked down to feast his eyes on what he had unwrapped.
Her skin was the same pale gold as the rest of her, though it seemed dark against the whiteness of her chemise. The chemise itself was like none he had ever seen, feminine and lacy but covering only her breasts. He feasted his eyes on the proud, lush rise of them. Then, slowly, he lifted his hands and cupped their weight.
Kathryn made a soft, breathless sound of pleasure that shot straight into his loins.
"Ah, sweetheart," he murmured, "how beautiful you are."
He bent his head, gently kissed the curve of each breast, closed his mouth around the lace-enclosed flesh until she was moaning with pleasure, until it was no longer enough to imagine the sweetness of her naked flesh against his tongue. But the front closure of the chemise almost defeated him.
She gave a soft, very feminine laugh.
"Wait," she whispered.
Her hands joined his, the lace parted, and her breasts tumbled into his hands. He caressed them, paid them homage with his lips and teeth, and all the while Kathryn was sighing his name in a husky, sweet voice that made the blood pound in his loins.
Go slowly, he told himself, slowly, man. You have waited so long for her... don't spoil it now.
His hands dropped to the abbreviated pantaloons she favored. Like the chemise, they gave him a bit of trouble until he figured out how to undo the row of tiny metal teeth that served as a closure.
But the delay was good. It was what he needed, if he were to retain any sort of control over himself. He wanted to spin these moments out until they were as fine and slender as silk thread, to watch Kathryn's lovely face as he slowly divested her of her clothing, for he knew even as this began that it must end.
This night, and the storm raging between them, were what he would carry with him through all eternity.
At last, she stood before him naked.
And oh, she was so beautiful.
If only he knew the words to tell her exactly how beautiful she was, but he was not a man of poetry, he was a man who had lived his life on the seas. Would she understand if he said that her skin was as silken as the moon reflected on a still ocean? That her hair fell over her shoulders like the waving grasses in the southern seas? That her eyes were stars in a midnight sky and her face and body surely those of the Sirens that had lured the ancient mariners?
In the end, all he could do was whisper her name.
"Kathryn," he said thickly, "my Kathryn..."
He reached out, watching her face as he stroked his fingers lightly, lightly over her nipples, then over her belly to her thighs. When he saw what his touch did to her, it was almost his undoing. He could feel his control slipping, feel the urgency to possess her sweeping through his muscles.
Quickly, he pulled his linen shirt over his head, kicked off his boots and stepped out of his trousers. He saw her eyes widen at the sight of him, hard and swollen and aroused.
He took her hand, brought it to his throbbing flesh, shuddered at her touch.
"Kiss me," she whispered, and he did, lifting her off the ground, his lips parting hers until he could taste her heat. She made those little sounds in the back of her throat, the ones that were driving him crazy, and laced her fingers into his hair.
God, he was drowning in pleasure.
He had wanted her for so long. Not just since he had stumbled into her dreams but since the moment the world had begun, since the planet and the heavens were nothing but whirling bits of matter.
He'd told himself it was not so, that his hunger for her had been fired by his years of celibacy. He'd told himself that what beat in his veins was simply the need of the flesh, that his cock, like any man's, was a divining rod blindly seeking entry wherever it might find it.
He had told himself all that and more but all of it had been lies. He knew it now, as he pressed kisses to Kathryn's face and throat, as he inhaled the scent of her, rain and flowers and all life's treasures. He knew that what he felt for her he had never felt for any woman and would never feel again.
He clasped her face between his hands and kissed her, his tongue slipping between her lips and moving against hers. His need was fierce but he fought to be tender. He was a mass of contradictions altogether. He wanted to ravish Kathryn and to gentle her; to have her vulnerable beneath him and to hold her close in his arms; to ride her until she was sobbing and wild, then soothe her with kisses.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and stood her between his legs. He bent his head to her breast and drew the sweet, beaded tip into his mouth.
"Matthew," she whispered. Her voice was high and breathy and filled with desire. He had never heard a sound so sweet.
He drew his hand down along her hip, over her gently rounded belly. His fingers danced along her thigh, Crushed the curls at the junct
ure of her thighs.
"Matthew," she said again, on a harsh, indrawn breath.
He cupped her hips in his hands and kissed his way down to her belly. The scent of her arousal rose to his nostrils and he groaned, for no perfume had ever smelled as exquisite. He palmed her buttocks; he drew her closer and his mouth began to trail lower on her flesh.
She gave a little whimper of distress and jerked back.
"Matthew, don't."
He looked up. Was she going to ask him to stop?
No. The flush in her cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, were more eloquent than words. Her desire for him was as deep as his was for her.
She tried to smile. "I'm not... I just can't..."
Sweet heaven. She was embarrassed!
The realization made his throat tighten. He was no stranger to displays of modesty in the boudoir. There were some women who thought a bit of maidenly coyness heightened a man's pleasure and perhaps it did for some, but he had never been much affected by pretense.
But this was no pretense.
Kathryn was blushing from head to toe, as if no man had ever looked his fill before. As if no man had ever... had ever...
Nay, it was impossible. She had told him that the women of her time were not shy about taking pleasure. She would surely have been with other men...
The thought of her with anyone else was like a knife, driving into his gut.
But it didn't matter. Tonight, he would erase the memories of any other man. He would burn himself not just into her flesh but into her heart and soul. After tonight, she would never look at another man, never want another man...
His blood turned cold.
Dear God, what a son of a bitch he was!
He had no right to take Kathryn for his own. He was not a man, he was a... a thing. He was a creature without life or substance, existing on the icy fringes of a dark and ugly world that she could never comprehend.
It took all his strength to do what had to be done, but he did it, pushed her from him and rose to his feet.
"Get your clothes on," he said in a gruff whisper.
"What?"
"I said—"
"I heard what you said, Matthew. But... but why?"
Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel) Page 26
