Catalina's Caress (23 page)

"You mean you don't even owe her an apology?"

"Apology? What the hell for? Because she didn't have time to open the door herself? Because he thought of it first? Come on, China."

China sighed and shook her head. "You are most certainly a very stubborn man. I do hope the gods are smiling on your impossible single-goal mind." -

Anyone else would have wilted before the frigid ill-controlled anger in Marc's eyes. But China had no fear of him, and her love for him drove her to try to make him forget the path he was on and to turn his hatred to love, for she was more than sure Catalina was one way to the truth—the truth that would free Marc from this quest he should never have begun.

"Don't worry about your gods, China. I can take care of myself and any little tricks they might play on me. For now Fd like to concentrate on how we're going to get Travis off the boat."

"You have thought of a way?"

"I think so."

"What do you have in mind?"

"For a while I considered having Jacob just... take care of it."

"Kill him?" she asked in surprise.

"I don't want anybody's blood on my hands. Besides, Jacob couldn't kill a bug."

"Then there has to be another way."

"I guess a woman would be the most effective ploy."

"I'll talk to Charlene, but won't Catalina wonder where he's gone?"

"By that time we'll be on the river again."

"He won't leave this boat without talking to her."

"He will if he thinks she's tricking me. That's where you and Charlene come in."

"How, Marc?"

"I think you'd better sit down, China. By the time I join the lady for dinner I want this plan clear so there will be no slip-ups."

China sank down onto a chair, quite willing to hear any plan that would take the barrier of Travis Sherman from between Marc and Catalina.

❧

Wanting to stay away from Marc and Travis, Catalina made her way back to her cabin. Annoyed that she would be forced by circumstances to remain inside when the day was beautiful, she began to search the stateroom for something to occupy her time. What she found taught her more about Marc than she wanted to know.

The cabin was not large, but when she looked about she realized it was the habitat of a creature who enjoyed his comforts. The carpet beneath her feet was thick and comfortable, and the walls had been painted a pearl gray white. Two of them were lined with shelves that contained books. Upon examination she found that his taste in reading ranged from poetry to navigation.

The bed was not large, and she kept her eyes from it, knowing full well it was clean and comfortable. She remembered too well when she had shared it. The memory only increased her aggravation and her sense of imprisonment.

Unable to cope with quarters that seemed to grow smaller and smaller, she finally left the cabin, determined to walk in the sunshine despite anything or anybody.

Again she walked the deck, and this time she was not disturbed. Then she stood at the rail and watched the Mississippi roll beneath the boat. She thought of the trips she'd made with her parents up and down the
meck-e-se-be
, as the Algonquins had named it, and of how she had loved the always different, always amazing, and always beautiful views.

The Mississippi was a grand river. She could feel the power of it beneath her feet. Graceful trees dipped their branches into the swiftly flowing water and small lazy towns, like miniatures, were set against the small rolling hills that extended from the banks.

If Travis and Marc hadn't been aboard she would have taken great pleasure in this trip. But they were both present—and both dangerous. She could not afford to trust anyone but herself.

The truth was something she had to learn. If Marc knew where Seth was she must persuade him to give her an answer. Yet she found that she had a tendency to believe Jacob. What nagged at her was that even if Seth had not come aboard Marc could know what had happened to him, might even have brought it upon him. That thought frightened her.

Catalina was so engrossed in her speculations that she was totally unaware of China's presence until she spoke.

"It is beautiful," China said softly.

Catalina turned as she approached to stand beside her.

"Yes, very beautiful."

"You have taken this journey before?"

"Many times. With my parents, from the time I was a little girl. It's always different and always so beautiful."

Catalina's curiosity was piqued. China was close to Marc Copeland. She could not trust her either, yet something drew her to the woman. Some intuitive feeling told her that China's presence beside her was no accident.

"Marc has always found it so too."

"You have known Marc a long time?" Catalina did not turn to look at China, but felt her eyes on her. She had tried to speak as casually as she could.

"I have known Marc for many years." The reply was noncommittal.

When Catalina turned to face China, there was nothing to be read on China's face.

"Catalina," China said softly, "I think you will find here something you seek. I would only warn you not to judge what you hear or feel too quickly. I have watched you and have spoken with you, and now I warn you to think carefully. You have much to gain if you are as courageous as I believe you are."

"Are you telling me to trust no one?"

"Trust your heart. Trust what you feel is truth and not what you hear."

"China, I don't understand. Why can't you tell me—"

"I can tell you nothing. Just that you are in less danger than you think, and that if you have the courage I believe you possess, you will find something much more valuable than you even dreamed of."

Before Catalina could speak again, China moved away, leaving her to ponder what had been said.

Catalina sighed and turned back to her thoughts, forgetting the river and the view. There were so many puzzles to find the answer to ... and tonight she would begin the search. But she had a nagging suspicion that something intangible, shrouded in the mystery of Marc Copeland, was going to have more of an effect on her life than she had bargained on.

W
hy do I care what I wear or what my hair looks like? Catalina demanded of herself as she dressed for the coining dinner with Marc. She violently denied that she wanted to look her best, yet she had chosen the prettiest dress she had brought. It was the color of wild violets, and ivory lace trimmed it where it bordered the enticingly soft flesh of her breasts. The decolletage bordered on the scandalous, yet she had a secret desire to shatter the cool amused reserve that always seemed part of him.

She had deliberately brushed her hair and let it fall about her in waves that glistened with deep flame. She would see if two couldn't play the game of cool detachment. As she laid down the brush a rap on the door drew her attention. She paused to gather her courage, then crossed the room.

She had expected to see Marc, but instead she found two young men with covered trays and a third with a small table.

They carried these items inside, and as if performing a feat of magic, they grinned in pleasure upon producing an immaculate table cloth and napkins. Next came fine china and crystal wine glasses, and the table was set for two. A silver candelabra was set upon it, to light the table with a mellow glow.

Having done this in a few minutes, the young men bowed their way from the room.

Catalina knew food and Marc would soon appear. It was the food that arrived first, and again she had to smile at the precision with which things were arranged. It seemed that Marc had set his people through the same paces many times. She wondered how many unsuspecting females had succumbed to his masterful touch.

To make the effect work to her advantage Catalina extinguished all the lamps and left the lighting of the cabin to the candelabra.

She stood on the periphery of the light, faced the door, and waited for the soft rap that came within a few minutes.

"Come in."

Marc anticipated many things when he swung the door open. All of them had crossed his mind on the way to the cabin. He would be met by a wronged woman, a distraught sister, or an arrogant and demanding Carrington. He was prepared for any one of them, but not for the vision that met his eyes.

He had expected cold resistance, defiance, anything but the half-smile on her lips and the entrancing vision she made. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

The candle glow burnished her skin to a mellow gold that was enhanced by the violet of her gown. He restrained himself from crossing the room, slipping his lingers into her hair, and kissing her into submission. Only the glint in her eyes told him he should feel like the proverbial fly in the spider web.

He smiled, like a warrior who knew the best defense could be offense.

"I should have forgotten about the food. You look delicious enough to make me lose all appetites. .. except one."

He watched her force herself to keep from snarling an answer, and was amused to see her succeed.

"The food looks delicious," she replied. "May I pour you some wine?"

"Please."

She moved to the table, poured two glasses, and handed him one. Then she raised hers to touch it to his.

"Here's to truth," she said.

"Strange toast." He smiled, but he sipped the wine.

"You find truth strange ... or difficult?"

"I find it hard to find."

Marc walked to the table and slid a chair out for her. She sat down, hoping that the subtle perfume she wore would weaken his reserve. She had no idea of how effective it really was.

He sat opposite her, lifted his napkin and placed it across his lap. He reached out and took her plate.

"Do you mind?"

"No, please."

He placed liberal helpings on her plate, and put it before her. Then he filled his own.

He ate with a healthy appetite, but Catalina's nerves were so taut she could only play with her food.

To keep her trembling hands occupied, she often reached for her wine glass, which he kept filled.

"You told me today," she said with a half-smile, as she again sipped the wine, "that you talked more comfortably with good food and wine. Now that you have satisfied yourself with both, tell me what you know of my brother."

"What I told you before was the truth. After your brother left
the Princess
I never spoke to or saw him again."

"Why did you do it, Marc?" she said softly.

"Do what?" he answered, but he knew what she was talking about.

"Why did you deliberately take the
Belle
from Seth?-What could he have done to you to make you do anything so calculated ... so cruel?" ' "Cruel... calculated. Words you use but don't really understand."

There is so much about you I don't understand."

"Ah, I'm a simple man, Catalina." He laughed softly.

"Simple. That is not a word to describe you."

"What is the word that does?"

"I don't know. You're ... mysterious. Yes, mysterious is the word. You have a lot of sides to you. What do I believer

"I've asked you to believe nothing."

She bent toward him, her eyes wide, searching his.

"But I need to believe something. I need to believe that you're telling me the truth, at least about one thing. Tell me about Seth. Please."

She said the last word softly. Marc reached across the table and traced her cheek lightly with his fingertips. Then he caught her chin and lifted it so their eyes held.

"Catalina, I have not harmed your brother. True, I took the boat from him. But he was alive and well the last time I saw him."

"But you must have known what you were doing when you gambled with him."

Marc stood up and walked to the small stand nearby. He was uncomfortable under her intense gaze. He picked up another full bottle of wine and returned to the table.

"Of course I knew what I was doing. I intended to take this boat from a man who wasn't strong enough to hold it."

"He was a boy."

"Stop it, Catalina! He was a man, though you might see him as a boy. And what about you, pretty Catalina? If you don't have your way, is it because you're not woman enough to get it? Are you a little girl too?"

She fell into his trap neatly, her anger making her rise from her chair. Her eyes lit with rebellion, she walked to him, and he was suddenly ripped by a surge of desire.

"And what about me, Mr. Mystery Man? What about me, Marc? What is it you planned to take from me?"

"Why, Catalina," he said suggestively, I've already had a small taste of what I want from you. A very small taste which has only whetted my appetite for more. The woman Catalina ... is she here?" His voice was low and caressing.

"There is so much you are not saying. I feel—"

"What do you feel, pretty Catalina," he whispered. "What do you feel?" He put his hands about her waist and drew her closer. "What I feel? An excitement... the same kind of excitement that heats my blood."

She pressed her hands against his chest, but he could see the pulse at the base of her throat beat frantically. She wasn't able to keep him from pulling the length of her body close to his. The lean muscle of his thighs pressed intimately against her, and the arm about her felt hard and strong.

An inner voice shrieked a warning that his challenge was a trap, but his head had already lowered and his mouth was already claiming hers. He took possession of her lips in a way that almost frightened her. She was aware of a deep all-encompassing hunger that pulled at her, body and soul. It was almost as if she might disappear into him. The edges of her being softened and dissolved as he caressed the length of her body, reverence and intensity in his touch, as if he were a sculptor intent on molding them into one.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear a small, despairing voice asking why she could not end this, why she could not overcome the feeling that she was drowning in his warmth.

Marc was immersed in a seething cauldron of desire that was rapidly melting the bones within him until he felt that he was flowing about her. This was all a part of his plan, wasn't it? To seduce her until he bent her will to his, until she was broken and dependent upon him. Wasn't having her willing and warm in his arms a part of his goal? Why then did he have to battle his guilt, to submerge it and drown it before it overcame him?

The world seemed to rock and sway about them as he let his mouth roam from her lips to her cheeks and throat. His hands were now deftly removing her clothes, scattering them randomly, uncaring of where they fell.

She was lifted, and her head fell back and her eyes closed. Her arms looped about his neck. Then she felt the softness of the bed beneath her and she looked up into the green eyes that burned into hers with the flame of passion.

His hands moved over her breasts and down the length of her body, exploring its curves and hollows. Her mouth still clinging to his, Catalina realized dimly that she had wanted him to make love to her from the minute he had walked into the room. But none of her memories of his touch, none of her imaginings, had ever been like this reality.

She felt his mouth on her breasts, lips, and his tongue teased her nipples until she groaned, a muted, strangely incoherent sound. At the same time his hands moved lower.

She was flushed and shaking from the recurrence of these same wild and thoughtless emotions... thoughtless! No. Like a flash of brilliant lightning she knew—she loved him. Despite everything, she was in love with him. And she wanted him to love her. Could she ever capture the mercurial Marc Copeland? She wanted to try.

He felt her surrender and slipped into the melting heat that emanated from her.

His fingers stroked gently . .. firmly ... rapidly ... until she forgot who she was and who he was and strained her body upward against him.

"Catalina," he half groaned, as with silken body and bold seeking hands she stirred to higher heat the fury of their passion.

His tongue traced patterns on her flesh, sending tingling shudders through her with its feathery touch. Lower and lower he moved, nipping gently at her flesh with his teeth until she wanted to scream. Gentle hands parted her thighs, and suddenly she felt the piercing heat of his seeking tongue and her hands caught at him, tangled into the thickness of his hair to urge him on. Suddenly he was above her and her body arched in shock as, with a deep thrust, he embedded himself in the depths of her.

As he began to move, inexorably and steadily, her body quivered with delight. Her breath came in short gasps and soft moans escaped her. Prisoners of unexplained enchantment, they moved together, her slim body arching to meet his driving thrusts and her hands moving over his body, digging into the muscles of his back, sliding down to his hard muscular hips to urge him to even deeper possession. Each was hungry for fulfillment, each aware of the other's needs. Giving and taking, they rose higher and higher until his mouth was all that silenced her cries of ecstasy as they soared to the pinnacle and beyond, clinging to each other.

The pale golden glow of the candelabra on the table some distance away put the area of the bed in partial shadow.

Marc gazed down on Catalina, caught by the magic the pale light wrought on her skin.

No woman had been able to hold him after their first mingling, but despite the completion he felt, he had an urge to embrace her, to keep alive the amazing emotions they had shared, to hold her captive in his arms for as long as possible.

He still refused to see that the moment would come when he would relinquish her willingly. He called what they had shared by the lesser name of passion, but Catalina was instinctively wiser. She knew this man would be the only one who would be able to reach the part of her that completed her being.

She recognized love for what it was, and in the same moment recognized his firm resistance to such an acknowledgement. As her thoughts tumbled into place she found that she believed what he had said about Seth. But she again began to wonder why he had deliberately taken the boat from Seth and why he had seduced her. Both acts were connected to some ultimate purpose, and she also knew only Marc could explain it.

Could she mold this passionate beginning into something deeper? Could she change the purpose that seemed to drive Marc to destroy her and Seth into an aim which would permit the construction of some more promising thing? She didn't know. She only knew she was going to try, for the alternative was to let Marc crush her heart and to walk away from the ashes of what could have been.

Marc was as entangled in disbelieving thoughts as Catalina. Permanent commitment to this woman, to any woman, was not part of his plan. He was angry that only part of his mind seemed to be listening. The rest was swirling in a confusion matched only by the violent sensual reaction of his body.

There was no room for love in his plans! Love! He thought in angry wonder. Now where the hell did that thought come from? She had a delightful body which could drive him to the pinnacle of passion, but that was not love and he damned well didn't intend to let this go any further than sensual completion.

He had accomplished what he wanted. He had heard her soft sounds of ecstatic surrender. He knew he could reach her again and again, until the walls of her resistance crumbled and she was totally at his mercy. Then and only then would he cast her aside and witness the total destruction of Catalina Carrington.

For now he would sink into the pleasure of her warm, soft, and delightfully rounded body. The night was young, and he intended to enjoy it to the fullest.

He paid no attention to his wounded craving for vengeance, which warned him that standards of battle had been raised and that the first skirmish had gone to the one intended to be the victim.