Midnight Fire

by Linda Ladd

  Carlisle's voice was soft and hesitant. She was so sweet now, so sorry and eager to wait on him, to make, up for everything. But Esteban was gone, blown to bits and buried in rubble. Pure grief gripped him, and he clamped his teeth.

  "Chase? Can I, please?"

  "Go ahead, dammit! You know I can't do it myself!"

  She said nothing, and he stiffened when she suddenly touched his leg. She was kneeling between his knees, he realized with a start, so close he could detect the faint scent of her skin. She took his right hand and carefully began to unwrap the bandage. Every muscle in his body went tense. He wanted to reach out and touch her hair. He wanted to see her, dammit—damn her!

  "They're so swollen, Chase. If only I had a needle I think I could stitch them."

  Chase didn't answer. He wet his lips, realizing he still wanted her, even after all she'd done. When she touched him, gently, soothingly as she was now, he wanted to pull her close and make love to her. He groaned as Carlisle poured whiskey on his palm, the sting sharp enough to bring tears.

  "Good God, Carlisle, hurry up!"

  "I'm sorry," she murmured, rewrapping his palm, then starting work on his other hand. A few minutes later, she was finished, but she remained where she was, leaning up against his-legs. Chase knew she was looking at him, and he wanted to push her away but didn't trust himself to touch her. He went rigid when

  Carlisle laid her palm gently alongside his jaw. He shut his eyes.

  "Chase, I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling with regret and sorrow. "I know how you felt about Esteban—"

  His friend's name was enough to kill Chase's desire for her. He pushed her back with his arm and stood, stumbling a few steps away.

  "Stay away from me, damn you," he gritted out hoarsely. "I don't want to hear your voice. I don't want you to touch me."

  Blindly groping for the bed in his haste to get away from her, he stumbled over a boulder and went down hard on his hands and knees. Agony shot up both arms, and he cradled his hands to his chest.

  "Oh, Chase, please, let me show you!" Carlisle cried, close beside him.

  "I don't want you to touch me," he repeated viciously. "Comprendes, Carlisle? It makes me sick."

  Several days later, Carlisle sat outside the entrance to the cave, looking down at the stream rushing through the bottom of the canyon. Since their argument, she and Chase had lived together in virtual silence. It was torture for her to be in the company of the man

  she loved, wanting desperately to talk to him, to touch him and make him forgive her. But his hands were beginning to heal, and he had learned the interior of the cave and was able to get around better without her help.

  The sunlight felt good after so long in the cool, dim reaches of the cave, and she scanned the far slopes for signs of riders. There was no one, and she wondered how long they'd have to remain there and whether the guerrilleros were looking for them. A slight scraping of rocks alerted her to Chase's approach, and she scrambled up as he appeared in the beamed entrance. He stood there for a moment, his head cocked as if he were listening.

  "I'm right here, Chase," she said softly, feeling certain he'd come in search of her. "Is anything wrong?"

  "No, I just wanted some air."

  He walked a few steps outside, very slowly, moving into the shade of a pine tree. He was shirtless, and she could tell he'd just bathed in the spring, because his hair was still wet. Her gaze went to his broad back as he turned to face out over the valley. She swallowed, wishing she could run to him, embrace him from behind and lay her cheek against the smooth brown muscles of his back. Tears threatened again, but she bit them back. Tears did no good.

  He was bearded now, the facial growth several shades darker than his blond hair, and he still wore the terrible, hard expression on his face, one she feared would never leave him. After a while, he turned and disappeared into the cave again, and loneliness crushed down on her. Never in her life had she felt so alone and afraid.

  In that moment, it seemed that she'd always been adrift with no one to love her. She thought of her brothers, Gray and Stone, and wondered where they were and what they were doing. They'd tried so hard to take care of her, ever since she was a little girl, and she'd tried just as hard to evade their supervision. Now she longed for them. She'd even welcome one of Gray's stern lectures.

  Suddenly, she desperately wanted to go home to her house on Lincoln Avenue in Chicago, where she'd be safe again. Maybe there she could forget that Chase hated her. Yet even as she made the wish, she knew she wouldn't leave Chase—never, not as long as he let her stay with him. He needed her now, no matter what he said. But would he still need her when they managed to return to the Hacienda de los Toros? What would he do with her then?

  12

  Chase lay on the blanket-padded catre, his eyes closed. Although his muscles were relaxed, every fiber of his body was quivering. With the heightened sense of awareness that blindness had given him, he listened to what Carlisle was doing. Now, in his world of darkness, every sound, every smell, every touch had to be examined and savored.

  His eyes were better. The pain had lessened, and he'd begun to hope his sight would eventually come back. He opened his eyes and strained to see Carlisle where she was preparing to bathe in the spring. She followed the same routine every night when she thought he was asleep. His jaw clamped tight.

  In his mind he saw her again, the way she'd looked the night she'd danced, her hair swinging down her back, all coppery bright and silky, her exquisitely beautiful face glowing with color.

  He stiffened. She was undressing now. He could hear the flutter of her clothes. His imagination took over, and he visualized her pushing her skirt down over her hips and off her bare legs, pulling loose the drawstring on her blouse and letting it fall to her waist.

  Wetting dry lips, he thought of how sweet her skin had tasted beneath his mouth, how silky the flesh he'd caressed so intimately had felt. He fought himself, grinding his teeth until he thought they'd crack, as soft little splashes told him she'd stepped into the water.

  He heard her sigh, the same soft murmur he'd forced from her with his kisses. Oh, God, he hated her for what she could do to him. She was treacherous, a traitor, and now his body trembled with the desire she set afire inside him.

  Had it been the same way with Javier? Javier had taken great pleasure in telling him she'd been his lover. He wondered if it were true. The thought made him sick to his stomach. He turned his head away from the spring, ignoring the need eating at his gut.

  The rippling of the water each time she moved made his chest heave. He imagined her raising one arm, the water trickling in rivulets down her soft shoulders and naked breasts. Furious, he realized his hands were trembling with the need to touch her. It wasn't Carlisle he wanted, he told himself firmly. He just needed a woman. He needed someone in his arms, someone warm and willing. But not Carlisle—anyone but her.

  Unable to stand it another moment, he shot to his feet, his body straining toward her.

  "What's the matter? Did you hear something? Carlisle's voice was low, afraid.

  Chase took a step closer, and he knew she was naked. With glistening droplets of water covering her skin. He fought a battle that he could never win; then, muttering a curse of defeat, he moved toward her, past the fire, into the water where she bathed.

  "Chase? What is it?"

  Carlisle's whispered entreaty led him to her, and he groped in the water, oblivious to the fact that he was soaking his clothes and bandages. When he felt slick, wet flesh, he grabbed her up by the arms, lifting her until her nakedness was pressed tightly against him.

  "Damn you," he groaned hoarsely, before his mouth sought blindly for her lips, his fingers clutched in her wet hair.

  He found her mouth, parted, willing, as hungry as his own. Her arms came up to encircle his neck as she clamped herself against his body.

  "Chase, I'm sorry. I love you so much—" She gasped, her lips moving against his whiskered cheek.


  "Shut up," he muttered, and his mouth made sure she did. He was totally out of control. He knew it, but he couldn't help it. He slid his hands over her back and hips, welcoming the feel of her, inflamed by the way she met his embrace eagerly, her own passion equaling his thundering desire.

  It was she who pulled him down so that they lay half in the water, half on the smooth sandy floor. Chase rolled atop her, his hands holding her head, his mouth attacking her lips.

  Dios, he wanted her, he was desperate for her, and that was all he could think about, with Carlisle in his arms, Carlisle pressing kisses on his shoulder and along his jaw. He didn't care what she'd done or said. He didn't care about the betrayal. She wanted him. She moaned and pressed herself up, her fingers clutching his arms, hungrily pulling his lips down against hers. Their tongues met, and, heart thundering, his sense of touch excruciatingly acute, he let his desire control him. Beneath him, she writhed and cried out with pleasure.

  "I love you, I'll always love you," she kept whispering, but he didn't believe her. And then he couldn't think at all.

  Carlisle clasped him to her, moaning as his mouth left her lips, his head lowering to her breasts. He took them hungrily, and the exquisite rush of joy made Carlisle gasp, her fists tight in his hair as he continued to say her name, muffled against her skin, bringing her body alive with his hands and mouth.

  From then on, Chase's own arousal dictated his actions. He stripped off his clothes and carried her to the bed, pinning her there, his elbows supporting his weight, his fingertips entwined in her hair. She welcomed him, ignorant as to exactly what he sought from her so urgently. His breathing came fast and hard against her ear, and when she felt him position himself over her, she was afraid, but she didn't struggle. She cried out as he entered her, but Carlisle held back any other sound as the sharp pain faded. She clutched him to her, because this was what she wanted, this man moving inside her and making her his own.

  She shut her eyes, instinctively matching his movements, finding them strange and different. But she liked the way he held on to her so tightly and moaned against her hair as if she were giving him the greatest pleasure he'd ever known. When he tensed his body and groaned her name, she knew he was experiencing something wonderful, something she'd given him.

  When he finally lay still, his arms still wrapped around her, she wept and held him to her, never wanting to let him go.

  Chase lay wide awake, Carlisle's warm softness pressed intimately against his side. She slept peacefully, her breathing deep and even, and he shifted her in his arms until his nose and mouth were buried in her hair. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stem his feelings. He wanted her again, as he always wanted her. His whole body was aware of the way her small hand felt lying innocently atop his chest.

  Why shouldn't he use her for his pleasure? He thought bitterly. He'd lain with other women for that reason. Carlisle deserved no more. His mouth tightened as he thought of Esteban. He missed him. Sometimes he couldn't believe his friend was really gone. And he swore to God, if it was the last thing he ever did, he'd get Javier Perez. He'd not rest until he saw the man dead. His fingers flexed convulsively, making his palms hurt.

  He sat up, wondering if it was morning yet. Carlisle stirred behind him, but he went stiff, all thoughts of her vanishing. His heart stopped, and he sat very still, his eyes intent on a very faint patch of gray.

  "Dios," he breathed.

  "What?" Carlisle asked, her voice thick with sleep.

  Chase stood up, then walked slowly toward the light. His heart pounded faster as he realized it was sunlight pouring through the entrance. He could see! His sight was returning! An overwhelming sense of relief hit him, and he leaned weakly against the wall.

  "Chase? What's wrong?"

  He turned around. Carlisle still sat upon the bed, a vague, blurry gray form, but when she swung her legs over the side and pulled a blanket around her nakedness, he could see her every movement, as if he were looking through a smoky glass.

  "I can see the light," he said, emotion roughening his voice. "My sight's coming back."

  He heard her gasp; then she ran to him, putting her arms around his waist and laying her cheek against his chest.

  "Oh, thank God!"

  Chase felt her tears wetting his skin, but he couldn't see her clearly. Everything was very wavery and out of focus, and he shut his eyes, afraid he'd lose what sight he'd regained.

  As Carlisle reached up and touched his face, very tenderly, he found himself weakening toward her. He wanted to grab her up and swing her around, to laugh and share his joy, his relief. But then he remembered the way she'd danced with Perez, the way she'd laughed up at him. Then he saw Esteban blown to bits in the mine shaft. He took hold of her shoulders and put her away from him, all desire blotted out.

  "What happened between us last night meant nothing to me," he said coldly.

  Carlisle shivered as he walked outside into the morning sun, then pulled the blanket closer. She felt so desolate now that Chase's arms were no longer around her. She'd given herself so willingly, wanting him to understand how much he meant to her. She couldn't, wouldn't, believe the tenderness they'd shared meant nothing to him.

  Trembling, she moved to the edge of the cave and saw him where he stood gazing out over the valley.

  "He'll leave me now," she murmured brokenly to herself. "As soon as he can see."

  The rest of the day she worried herself sick about what would become of them. They'd be leaving the cave soon to make the trip back to the hacienda. When they got there he'd probably send her home to Gray, as if they'd meant nothing to each other. She couldn't conceive of going to Chicago and living under her brother's roof, not after all she'd seen and done. How could they expect her to sit down and stitch on embroidery with her friends in her Dorcas Society? How could she attend balls and dance with men who meant nothing to her? Chicago wasn't her home anymore. Mexico was her home. Chase was her home.

  She looked across the fire at Chase, who lay on the bed. She wanted to be in his arms, she thought dismally, here in his country, at the Hacienda de los Toros. She wanted to cook and sew for him. She wanted to make him happy. She stifled a hopeless sob.

  Chase turned his head and looked at her. She couldn't tell if he could see her, but his eyes glowed very blue in the firelight. She got up and walked across the earthen floor until she stood directly in front of him.

  "Can you see me, Chase?"

  "Not very well."

  She untied the drawstring of her blouse and let it fall to her waist. He flinched perceptibly, but she didn't stop. She unbuttoned her skirt.

  "Make love to me again, Chase."

  He shut his eyes, and a muscle twitched spasmodically in the lean contours of his cheek.

  "Stop it, Carlisle. I told you, last night was a mistake."

  "I love you. I can't help it."

  For the first time, he showed anger, lunging to his feet and grabbing her by the shoulders.

  "Don't you understand, dammit? Every time I see you I think of Esteban! I think of these!" He held up his hands, palms toward her.

  Carlisle's eyes filled with tears. "I don't care. Just don't send me away."

  "Stop crying, Carly. Just stop it!"

  Chase shook her, and when she sobbed, her head falling back, he emitted a groan of frustration. Then he was kissing her, taking her down to the bed with him. She kissed him passionately, her fingers buried in his thick blond hair, his hands closed on her waist, lifting her up until his mouth could find her breasts.

  She cried out weakly, writhing with pleasure. His mouth was hot and seeking every inch of her flesh, and she eagerly met each touch and caress as if it were the last. Their lips came together with a terrible kind of anxious desperation, and then he rolled over, his hands holding her head, his hard brown body straddling her.

  He held her there, his eyes on her face as if he was trying to see her, his breathing hard and uneven. Then he was kissing her with draining relentles
sness, as if he meant to punish her, though he was only pleasing her more.

  He caught her hands and held them imprisoned beside her head, but he did not hurt her, and she was overcome by desire and need, until nothing else mattered, because then it happened, the glorious explosion of pure raw pleasure, the release she'd sought, the ecstasy she'd known they'd share from the first moment they met. This was meant to be. The two of them were meant to be one, no matter what else happened. They were a part of each other now. She could never leave him.

  Over the next few days, Chase's eyesight improved steadily. Although he couldn't tolerate bright sunlight without pain, the blurriness was less pronounced. He kept inside during the day, watching near the cave entrance for any sign of rebel activity or of the government troops which should have been dispatched to Saltillo when he'd notified Benito Juarez about the revolutionary stronghold at San Miguel. At night, he sat by himself outside the cavern.

  He was there now, in position as usual as dusk descended like a gauzy gray blanket over the chasm below. Carlisle was inside, asleep on the catre. He'd made love to her, fiercely, desperately every night since he'd waded into the spring and possessed her for the first time. But during the days, he hated himself for his own weakness, and he'd sit alone, away from her, and listen to her muffled weeping. She was as unhappy as he was.

  Dios, what was he going to do about her? Gray would probably kill him. In good faith, Gray had put his sister in Chase's care—and look what had happened to her. Most of it was her own fault for getting involved with the Perezes, but her welfare had been Chase's responsibility. He'd failed to protect her, and now they were lovers and enemies, both at the same time.

  Grimacing, he stood and walked to the boulder that overlooked the arroyo. Far below, on the trail winding to the mine, he saw movement, then froze as three heavily armed horsemen rode into sight. Guerrilleros, he thought, on a direct route to his position. He scanned the bottom of the canyon for other riders, saw a group searching along the sandy banks of the stream. Cursing, he ran for the cave. He dragged tree branches against the entrance, trying to disguise the opening. Hurriedly, he buckled on his gun belt, then slung several ammunition belts over his shoulders as he yelled to Carlisle.