“Listen, damn you!” she snapped. “This is important!” This time it was her fingers that surrounded his face and forced him still before her smoldering gaze. “I don’t know who I am, nor even what I am, but one day I will. Every little clue helps, even things such as this. And I know that I am telling you the truth about this.”
His gaze narrowed; onyx flames sparked in that chill unblinking orb.
“You still don’t believe me, do you?” Her slim fingers trembled against the warm planes of his cheeks. “You don’t even care. But why should you? You are a man, after all, in control of all you see. You’ve wealth and security and a boundless confidence in your own abilities.” She fought back a sob; her eyes blurred with tears. “Consider yourself a very lucky man, Mr. Pagan,” she added hoarsely. “For I have none of those things. Not even the comfort of a name.”
Abruptly her hands fell away from his face. She turned away, only to feel her wrists captured beneath his fingers a second later.
“You’re wrong, Cinnamon,” Pagan whispered. “About more than one of those things. And if you think I’m the one in control here, you’re damned wide of the mark, for being in control is the last thing I am right now. Shall I tell you why? You do that to me, every time I look at your soft lips, every time I see the pulse skitter at your neck. Every time I see the perfect nipples outlined against your chemise. No, I’m the last one in control here.”
His blunt honesty took her breath away.
A tide of crimson washed over her face.
Did he really mean that—
Pagan turned away, cradling his rifle, the old icy mask of indifference slipping back over his hard features. “And for now our lessons are over. So do we go on to the beach or don’t we?”
His arrogance was astounding. “Oh, you wretched, infuriating—”
“Fine,” he snapped, turning back the way they had come. “In that case you can find the beach for yourself. And afterward you can go sleep in the jungle.”
“We go, damn you!” Teal eyes flashing, his honey-haired companion swept past him, furious at the way an errant ray of sunlight slanted across his face, painting it hot, burnished bronze. Furious at the unforgettable way his muscles bunched and rippled beneath his white shirt.
Furious at the way she seemed unable to think of anything else.
He gave her a last taunting look then stalked ahead of her, making no effort to slow his stride to her pace. “And whenever you can’t keep up, Angrezi, all you have to do is tell me.”
Her lips settled into a flat line. “It will be a snowy day in hell when I can’t keep up with you, Mr. Pagan.”
The words were barely off her lips when a thick green rope came plummeting down from the trees overhead and fell thrashing at her feet. Only it was not a rope but a python. Twelve feet long and nearly a foot across, the huge snake could squeeze a wild boar to death in twenty seconds.
And a man in ten.
Her face bled white. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged.
“Get back!” It was a flat command which brooked no room for questioning, and she obeyed soundlessly. The rifle slid from Pagan’s arm. Cold-eyed, he pushed down the safety release, took careful aim, and sent two bullets slamming through the snake’s head.
Her heart was still pounding against her ribs when he raised the toe of his polished boot and kicked over the lifeless but still thrashing mass of muscle. “On the way back I’ll collect it for Mita. Python meat is considered quite a delicacy here. It must be properly cooked, of course, then carefully skinned. I’ll let you try some.”
She glared at him furiously, her heart still racing. “What a lovely idea, Mr. Pagan. I am sure I shall enjoy eating snake meat immensely,” she said with acid sweetness. “And now, if you are quite through with this little demonstration of your hunting prowess?” She stared pointedly at the path. “The sun will soon be setting, remember?”
His gaze danced over her face, dark and hot. “Oh, I remember, Cinnamon. Every damned thing. Even some things you’re going to wish that I didn’t.”
And with that obscure threat, still smiling, he strode forward into the green shadows. He did not spare her another glance.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The bloody arrogant worm!
Furious, she glared at Pagan’s broad back, her teal eyes shooting white-hot sparks. First he goaded her, tricking her body into wanton, unnatural feelings. Then he had the utter gall to mock her for her response, which was the direct result of his own sordid expertise!
The man was a cur.
A swine. A ruthless, degenerate—
Suddenly her breath caught. Before her the oppressive corridor of greenery opened up into light and space and hard, bracing wind. Like liquid sapphire, the sea stretched unbroken as far as her eyes could see, bleeding into a blood-red pool far to the west, where the sun sank into the horizon
Cool wind licked her face. Rhythmic waves slapped at a white-sand shore.
Her pulse quickened as she watched Pagan stride over the beach.
So he had an answer for everything, did he? Then let him have an answer for this!
Her eyes snapping, she bent and snatched up a handful of warm sand. When she had as much as she could carry, she advanced silently on her prey.
The sand struck his neck and shoulders with a satisfying hiss, a great deal of it disappearing down inside his collar.
Good! The discomfort would serve him right for—
For what? For kissing you until you were dizzy? For making your pulse lurch crazily?
For demanding your honesty?
He turned slowly, his eyes glittering. “You’re going to regret that, Angrezi…” His lips twitched as he stalked ever closer.
Before she could change her mind, she shoveled up another handful of sand. This one hit him full on the chest. “The first one was for arrogance,” she rasped. “The next one was for—”
Go on, tell him, a mocking voice answered. Tell him it was for showing you the shameful face of your own passion.
Her cheeks flushed crimson.
“Yes, Angrezi?” He was nearly close enough to seize her, but strangely he did not. The force of his gaze was nearly as savage as a touch. “Come, don’t stop now. This begins to grow interesting.”
Partly to avoid his burning scrutiny, she looked down. But what she saw then was more tormenting still. Every hair that darkened his neckline mocked her, and every inch of sun-bronzed skin. She saw a tiny bead of sweat glisten at his neck, saw the fine white sand powdering his hard chest.
Without conscious thought, she felt her hand rise to caress that tormenting flesh and brush away the fine grains tangled in his springy hair.
Dear heaven, what was wrong with her?
Struggling for composure, she dragged her tongue across lips gone suddenly dry. Instantly she saw a muscle tense above his collarbone. With slow fury he reached down to the beach.
The next moment she was running across the sand.
His first barrage struck her waist. She heard his dark laughter and it made her run even harder.
But with her next wild heartbeat he seized her trailing skirts and snapped her to a halt. Slowly he tugged the yards of damask around, forcing her to face him.
The first thing she saw was his uncovered eye, blazing beneath a half-lowered lid.
The second thing she saw was the handful of sand clutched within his fingers.
She jerked sideways, trying to wrench free, her eyes riveted on his hands. The wild movement sent her toppling forward, her arm outflung as she fell.
But she was cushioned by warm male muscle, not hard-packed sand, for she had felled him along with herself. The realization sent a fresh wave of blood burning to her cheeks.
“L-let me go,” she sputtered. “I gave you only what you deserved!”
The sandy fingers rose until they poised only inches above her head. “Not until I know what the second was for, Cinnamon.”
Cursing her unruly tongue, she began to squirm wild
ly. But each movement sent her sliding against granite thighs, against sun-warmed skin, against his—
Wide with shock, her eyes jerked back to his face.
“The second one, Angrezi. Tell me.” As if to prove his seriousness, Pagan let a tiny stream of sand trickle onto her head.
She swallowed, feeling his heat from chest to ankle. He was so big. Even though she hated him, it felt good to be anchored in such strength, in such a sea of warm, rippling muscle.
Her eyes widened.
She did hate him. She did!
Only now her own skin burned where she was crushed to his hardness. Her knees trembled, soft as melting butter and her nipples furled tightly where they chafed against his chest.
“For your vanity!” she cried wildly. “For thinking that I cared!” She shoved at his chest, desperate to escape him, desperate to hide the reaction of her traitorous body.
Another bit of sand trickled onto her head. This time she welcomed it, hoping it would distract her from the shameful tingling at her breasts, the brazen heat that uncoiled below her navel.
But it didn’t. Sweet heavens, nothing could do that.
“Liar.” His voice was dark silk. He shifted beneath her, missing nothing. His eyes glittered as he slipped his thigh between her legs and then moved against her.
Each slow, drugging stroke was heaven.
And purest hell.
Her pulse leaped. Desire raced through her. But she could never let him see that. “You want the plain truth? I hate you!”
His lips eased into a wolfish smile as he stared pointedly at the flush staining her cheeks. “Hate me? Ah, Cinnamon, I love how you hate me then.” His thigh stroked higher and she answered with a convulsive tremor.
Abruptly the laughter slipped away. His face darkened with need—and a raw vulnerability of his own. It was naked now, plain for her to read. “Kiss me, Angrezi. Just once, kiss me like you meant it.”
A moment later his hands opened. The sand fell unheeded against her skirt.
Then he was kissing her.
And she—dear heaven, she was kissing him back. Just the way he’d pleaded.
At the first softening of her mouth she felt him stiffen, felt a shudder run through him. His lips plunged over her in a hot wet slide of friction, searching for her heat, probing her sleek mysteries. At the same time his tongue edged along the locked line of her lips.
She shifted restlessly atop him, seeking—she knew not what. A moan tumbled from her lips. A moment later she felt him smile.
Suddenly she realized that her fingers were kneading his shoulders and her thighs were arching hungrily, cupped to his hardness.
Flame streaked her face.
With a wild sob, she rolled onto the sand and stumbled to her feet. “No—” Her fingers locked and then twisted back and forth. “What sort of creature have I become?”
And then she was running blindly along the beach, away from the dark, knowing force of Pagan’s gaze, away from the telltale tingle at her breast and thigh.
Hating the shameful knowledge of her own desire.
“Stop, Angrezi!” She heard him mutter a curse. “You can’t—”
She paid no attention. How could she have responded so completely?
Her eyes blurred with tears, she stumbled down to a large boulder near the water’s edge and ducked behind it. Her fingers pried at the buttons of her dress. Stripped down to her feather-light chemise, she attacked her voluminous petticoats and then kicked free of them.
She couldn’t remove the chemise, of course. But the drawers?
Deftly she rolled up the lace-trimmed legs until they fell just above her slim knees.
Then she darted toward the water, fine spray shooting across her face, bracing and fresh.
Already she could feel the kiss of the cool, satin waves, the soft, lapping currents. If only it would help wash away her body’s shameful betrayal.
A wave drove forward, breaking over her feet. Paradise, she thought, inching deeper, feeling the jungle’s choking heat melt away.
As the wave crested, she felt cool rivulets of sand sucked between her toes. Her eyes closed in sheer ecstasy.
To be cool after such endless heat…
She took another step and felt the cool waters rise to her hips. A sigh slid from deep in her throat.
She must have died and this was heaven. She moved out deeper.
“Stop, Angrezi! No farther!” It was a hoarse shout, a sound that had absolutely no place in her heavenly world.
She decided to ignore it. The fool was probably just vexed that she hadn’t stripped down to nothing, as he’d hoped.
“Cinnamon, wait!”
With a wicked smile she strode deeper, then sank down to her chin.
An instant later she jerked upright with a sharp yelp, pain shredding her back. The salt in the water.
How could she have forgotten?
With every second the agony grew, pouring into her wounds like acid. She swayed dizzily, engulfed in waves of pain.
Dimly she heard Pagan’s raw curse, followed by the muffled drum of his booted feet over the sand. “I told you to stop, damn it! Are you incurably stubborn, woman?” Strong, fingers wrenched at her chemise.
She flinched and barely kept from crying out. “S-stop!”
“This will have to go,” Pagan said grimly. “It’s soaked with salt.”
She shuddered, unable to bear the searing pain at her back. She tried to bite back a moan. “M-make it stop, Pagan.”
Grimly, the Englishman tugged off her fine chemise and then attacked the damp bandages beneath. At least the salt would clean the wounds, he told himself. But he knew the pain must be terrible beyond imagining. “Steady. I’ll have these things off in a second.” Pagan cursed himself for not recognizing the danger sooner. “Raise your arms,” he ordered, sweeping her wild golden tresses over her shoulder.
She did as he ordered, clutching her chest and struggling to ignore the searing agony at her back. Despite all her efforts, another choked whimper broke free of her locked lips.
“Go on and cry, Angrezi,” Pagan said grimly. “You don’t have to prove anything to me. Those cuts must hurt like bloody hell.”
At his raw words of sympathy, so gruff, so totally unexpected, tears sprang to her eyes. She caught her lip, trying to fight down a sob.
“Stubborn still? Hold on, then. It will be over soon.” Fighting to ignore the exquisite curve of her breasts and the tangle of tawny hair visible through her dampened pantalets, Pagan pulled off his shirt and swept away the beads of saltwater trickling over her back. He would have liked to do more, but he feared the cloth would contaminate the lacerated skin.
Why hadn’t he thought to bring bandages? he asked himself irritably. Then he remembered the clean shirt in his leather satchel. Cursing, he ran back up the slope, jerked the shirt free, and carried it back down the beach.
With exquisite care he feathered gentle strokes over her naked, bloodied skin, whisking away the last beading moisture. Her shoulders were rigid beneath his fingers.
He had done all he could, though by the stiffness of her neck and shoulders he could tell it was far from enough. “Any better, Cinnamon?”
Her breath escaped in a raw sigh. “A g-great deal, thank you. But I th-think I would like to go back now.”
The defeat in that ragged voice made Pagan curse silently. He draped his shirt carefully around her bare shoulders. It had been such a small pleasure she’d wanted, but instead he’d brought her only more pain.
Something told Pagan this wasn’t the last time he would bring her pain.
In taut silence he pulled the shirt together over her chest, then began to slide the top button home.
He felt as much as heard the muffled, wracking sob that shook her body. “Don’t, Cinnamon. Don’t hold it back. It will kill you that way.” Pagan’s hands gripped her shoulders. He spoke from long and bitter experience, an experience that had nearly crippled him.
It was
not something he wanted to see her share.
She swayed and then somehow she was in his arms, her face buried in his chest, her arms locked about his waist.
His jaw clenched as he slipped his fingers deep into her hair and slanted her close against him, muttering low, inchoate words of solace and support. But her tears kept coming, hot and silent, until he had the feeling she was crying for something else, not just the pain in her back.
And with every rasp of her budded nipples on his chest, every soft surge of her thighs, fiery talons of sensation ripped through him. He gritted his teeth, fighting down a savage hunger.
So now you return the favor, temptress. Now you teach me the taste of my own passion, the throb of my own torment.
Jo hoga, so hoga.
Kismet.
And yet Pagan dimly realized that in spite of his agonizing unfulfillment, he wouldn’t have changed places for anything at that moment, not with her proud breasts chafing his hungry skin, not with her slender thighs locked against his.
Though his body was on fire with need, he would have had it no other way. And if he were to die, then this was surely the way he wanted to do it.
Her nails dug into his back. She trembled, and the movement brought her sweet, warm lips to his neck.
Pagan groaned inwardly, his agony increased tenfold.
Think of something else, fool! Think of anything but how perfect she feels and how you’d like to hold her this way forever.
He caught back a jerky breath as her soft belly pillowed the rock-hard muscle at his groin.
Agony, every velvet inch of her. And though he shivered with his own need, Pagan wouldn’t have let her go for any amount of money.
At his jerky movement she loosened her convulsive grip on his back. Her head slanted upward. “Pagan? What’s wrong? Have I—did I—hurt you?”
Ah, Cinnamon, if only you knew! And how I wish you’d hurt me more, skin to naked skin, while I turn you inside out with need, until you’re love-slick and hungry for my joining. Until we’re both consumed, burned to incandescent embers, our bodies reduced to no more than fine, drifting ash.
Maybe then I could forget…
Smothering a curse, the Englishman fought down scorching waves of desire, careful to keep all evidence of the struggle from his lean features.
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