A Perilous Eden (21 page)

“They must hurt like blazes,” he said.

She didn't answer him. There was little light, so she could barely see him. And there was so much that she wanted to know about him. She reached up and touched his cheek. “What was your first language?” she asked him.

His eyes fell to meet hers. “Russian.”

“Russian!”

He smiled at last, a rueful smile. And he walked deeper into the cave, where he set her against the wall, then sat beside her. “I can't light a fire,” he told her. “It would lead them straight to us.”

“I don't need a fire. Michael—Adam. I need to know something about you,” she said.

He shrugged. His wrists rested upon his knees, his hands dangling until he lifted them, then let them fall again. “My father was a Russian refugee after the war. My mother was Austrian, but she had been in a concentration camp, and even by 1950, when I was born, the Austrian government was still so swamped with refugees that they weren't allowing the children born of other nationalities to become citizens. We managed to reach the United States, and I became an American.”

“Oh.” He hadn't really explained a thing. But he was still smiling in the darkness; she knew him well enough now to read his features by the tone of his voice. Sometimes. When he wanted to be read, she thought.

“My father died, and my mother moved to Israel. I joined her there.” His smile faded. She wanted to touch him, but she couldn't. A coldness was suddenly emanating from him, and though she desperately wanted him to go on, she didn't know if she wanted to hear what he had to say.

“I met a woman. An Israeli woman. I fell in love, and we married, and we had a child, and I became an Israeli.”

His coldness settled over her heart. He had a wife and a child, and everything he had shared with her had been an awful, horrible lie.

“You have a wife and a child,” she whispered. “And yet you've come here to risk your life—”

“They're dead,” he said flatly. “And I am already dead, Miss Amber Larkspur, and so I risk my life. They died because of a car bomb. It was meant for the army intelligence officer Adam Tchartoff, but it killed a beautiful young woman and an innocent baby girl. It was set by the Death Squad at the command of Khazar Abdul, and that is also why I am here. I could never tell you any of this before because I was afraid you might give me away, you were so frantic. But that's it now, everything.”

Everything. And she felt colder than ever. “At the memorial service that day—”

“I came to the memorial service because I served with the unit. It was your father's way of contacting me. That service was arranged so he could reach me.”

“My father wouldn't—”

“Your father didn't do anything wrong. He needed to contact me, and the service was a good thing. It wasn't a lie. You were there. It was good for the widows and the children and the men. He accomplished two things at once, that's all.”

“He told me to stay away from you.”

“Yes.” He stretched out by the wall without saying more. Amber stood uncertainly and moved a short distance away from him. She stretched out and stared at the ceiling, wondering how she could still be in such grave danger, yet lie there aching anew for what she felt she had lost. “Tell me,” she whispered in the darkness, “did I mean anything to you at all?”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he said, just as quietly. “Yes. You meant everything. I was alive again.”

Alive … But he made no move to touch her, and the tenor of his voice had not changed. She had hated him, had fought him for betraying her. But he had never betrayed her. And she wanted to go to him tonight because she might never be able to again. She had slept beside him, afraid of the warmth of his flesh and the power of his limbs, but her fears had been groundless. And now they had only the few hours until dawn. She didn't know if he loved her—if he ever
could
love her—but she was sorry for his pain.

And she needed to touch him.

She rose in the darkness, but this time she did not move away from him. She walked to his side, and she knew he was aware that she had come, but he didn't move. He only waited. She got down on her knees beside him, and the filtering moonlight allowed her to see the strong lines of his features and the light-blue fire of his eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words refused to come. She unbuttoned her shirt, pulled it over her head and let it fall to the floor, and still he didn't say anything, didn't move, his eyes surveying her. “I—I need you, Adam,” she managed to stutter at last. “I need you tonight. Please …”

Her voice lingered on the air. She was afraid that he wouldn't touch her, that the truth, the pain, bare and exposed, might sweep him away from her. “Adam …”

His arms swept around her, drawing her down, her lips hovering over his. “Adam, may I stay? I need you so badly tonight. I need to touch you and hold you and …”

He smiled, and the blue fire rose into his eyes. “There is a word in my mother's country.
Shalom
. Welcome. I need you, too,” he whispered in turn. And then his lips touched her, fusing with them in a hot, open-mouthed kiss that stole into her soul and swept her breath away.

The cave floor was cold and damp, and the night was filled with danger, yet none of that mattered. His touch was the fire against the cold. Amber heard the flow of the water, the melody moving beyond the cave. She heard the magic of the night, the chirping of the crickets, the call of the birds. And she heard the echoes of their hearts, and the breeze that swept around them. They were on their feet, facing one another, and their clothing was gone. And there, in the moonlight, Amber stood before him and thought that they might have been alone together in some strange, exotic paradise. Adam might have been the first man, his skin glowing in the pale light that filtered into the cave, the length of him hard and masculine, the call between them as ancient as the earth beneath them. Welcome. He wanted her tonight. She felt the heat of his gaze and knew that his eyes were sweeping over her, and that he found her beautiful despite her salt-dampened hair and rag-wrapped feet. When he looked at her that way, the danger of the night disappeared and they were alone in Eden.

She cried out softly, and together they closed the space between them. Suddenly she was in his arms again. He caressed her shoulders and held her close as his lips met hers once more, as his tongue moved into her mouth. He made love aggressively, givingly, but tonight
she
was going to touch
him
.

She broke the kiss, then tasted his lips, teasing them with her tongue. Then her mouth moved to his shoulders, to his chest. With slow, sensual desire, she moved her body against his. She teased his nipples with her teeth and nuzzled her face lower against the crisp, tawny hairs on his chest. She touched him, her touch moving lower, until she was on her knees before him. She loved him completely, and he, too, got down on his knees before her, wrapping her in his arms.

When they lay down on the hard earth she felt as if her bed was in the clouds, because sensation ruled her heart and her senses. All that she wanted was this man deep inside her. He entered her with hunger, with fierce, compelling desire. He moved in rhythm with the pulse of the night, with the tempest of the falls, with hot, driving passion. The crashing of the water seemed to escalate; the drumbeat of the night came harder and harder. His muscles strained and tightened, tension constricting his body, tightening his features. She felt the earth, and yet she wasn't of it. Soft sounds escaped her as she rose so high it seemed unbearable, and then the shimmering explosion of ultimate sensation came upon her, and the ecstasy of it freed them from danger, brought them from darkness into brilliant, bursting gold light.

He held her close, their hearts beating in unison, slowing in unison. Amber groaned and turned her head into his shoulder, where she softly kissed his salt-damp skin and lay replete.

She didn't know how long they were still. She heard the movement of the water, felt the gentle breezes of the night cooling their naked flesh. But then his fingers threaded into her hair, massaging her nape, and he lifted her head and whispered softly, “You make me feel alive again, Amber.” Then he groaned and kissed her again, and she felt the heat rising within him once more.

She never knew when his soothing touch became the touch of passion. The night was short, but there were hours there to be shared. Sleep was forgotten. Again and again the precious sweetness exploded within her, and then his lips would touch hers once more, his hand would cradle her breast, and his lips would be hot against the coolness of her flesh, until the need rose all over again. Finally she realized that when the brilliance fell upon them, it was the real light of dawn.

Adam rose and went to the lagoon, and Amber knew that no matter what they had shared during the night, the day had come to rob them of it.

When he returned, he dressed quietly. She watched him with her eyes half closed, and he stared at her. Then he lowered himself to his knees beside her once again. “Stay here,” he whispered to her. “And don't forget. If I'm not back by eleven o'clock, you start out. Follow the river and swim like a champ. Do you understand?”

She flung her arms around him. “Don't leave me here alone. Let me come—”

“You would be in my way, and God knows, if someone got his hands on you, it could be the death of all of us. We both know that. You have to stay here, and don't leave the cave. Do you understand? Don't leave the cave. I don't want to see you.”

She nodded against his chest. “But I can't do it. I can't let you go.”

“You have to,” he told her.

“If you go back—”

“I have to go back. You know that.”

He released her quickly and walked purposefully out of the cave. She knew that he was gone for good.

Amber reached for her shirt, shivering as she slipped into it. She saw that he had scratched out a message in the sand.
Shalom
. He had forgotten to remind her last night that it also meant goodbye.

She rose and climbed into her jeans. Her hands and face were hot and dusty and sticky, and without thought, she hobbled out of the cave toward the water. She shouldn't drink the brackish water, she knew, no matter how thirsty she was. Still, she dampened her feet in their bindings, and splashed water over her face. She froze then, remembering that he had told her not to leave the cave. But when she looked around quickly, she couldn't see a thing.

She heard a rustle in the brush, and her heart thundered, then seemed to stop, and she waited, still and silent, but she saw no one. The sun was beginning to beat down. The world was green and blue and, according to all apparent evidence, peaceful.

She went to the cave and waited, wondering if she would have the courage to go down the river if he didn't come back.

She glanced at her wristwatch. The elegant gold tones seemed so out of place with her ill-fitting jeans, men's cotton shirt, rag-wrapped feet and salt-encrusted hair. It was a testament to the manufacturer's skill that the timepiece was still working, she reflected. Or was it? Time seemed to be crawling by. Seconds ticked by more slowly than whole days.

She paced the floor, then sat for a while again. It wasn't even eight-thirty, but it felt as if Adam had been gone for hours. How had she come to this? Maybe God played tricks on people. Maybe he had brought her Adam just to show her that she had never really known what she wanted before, that she hadn't begun to understand love.

Not that he had ever said he loved her. He undoubtedly didn't love her. He had been fiercely in love with his wife, the woman who had died.

But I made him feel alive! she reminded herself wistfully.

He was gone now, though, and she didn't know if she would ever see him again.

She paused suddenly, hearing something outside the cave. A rustle of brush … something.

Her hand flew to her throat. Adam. It was over, and he had come back, and she didn't need to worry about going alone. They would be together.

She started to rush for the entrance, then stopped dead still.

Even from the shadows of the cave, she knew immediately that it was not Adam who had come for her. It was Khazar.

And he wasn't alone. Two of his men were with him, flanking him, hovering just outside the entrance to the cave.

Legs spread, hands on his hips, his automatic swinging from his shoulder, he smiled broadly, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “There you are. We've been anxious to find you. All alone out here in the wilderness, as it were. We were completely at a loss, having no idea of where you might have gone until Jaime saw you when he was out on his patrol. I imagine that Tchartoff was here during the night. Yes, Tchartoff. We know his name now. I never wanted him here.” Khazar stopped speaking and spat in the sand. “My father was duped by him. My father was soft. But I know Tchartoff's name, and I know, too, that you are Amber Larkspur, and I know who your father is. American newspapers are filled with your picture.”

Amber backed against the wall of the cave. Adam had told her not to go outside. He had told her, and she had immediately forgotten, and now Khazar was standing there, and he knew everything.

“Where is Tchartoff?” he demanded.

She shook her head. She really couldn't answer. She didn't know.

“Answer me.”

“I don't know where he is.”

“But he knows that you are here. He will come back for you.”

“No. No, he won't come back.”

“I think that he will. I think that I even know how to guarantee that he will.”

He strode across the cave toward her. She flattened herself against the stone wall and swung out furiously, managing to land a good blow on his jaw. But he gritted his teeth against the pain and savagely thrust his fingers into her hair, gripping it so tightly that she cried out in pain. “Come, Miss Larkspur. We'll go outside, where we'll give Tchartoff a chance to come. We'll go tell him just what I'm going to do to you if he doesn't step forward quickly.”