Crimson Rapture (13 page)

With
the matter thus settled, the gathering soon broke up to begin tackling the
day's tasks. Christina never paused for a minute. Cajun taught her how to care
for Marianna, for that would be her job. The men began constructing small wood
shelters, like tents, while Elsie and Hanna gathered more food for the night.

The
sky remained cloudy all day, but when dusk settled over the island, it brought
a strange quiet. The wind stopped completely, not even a breeze stirred, and
the ocean waves grew gradually smaller and less fierce.

Christina
sat on the warm sand near the stream, watching the ocean darken by the minute.
Jacob had carved her a wooden comb and presented her with the first batch of
coconut oil. She had soaked her hair first in water and then worked the coconut
oil through it, and now she struggled to comb it. Her thoughts traveled far
away.

So
many people had perished in the storm, hundreds, maybe. Justin, with unmasked
grief in his eyes, said the
Defiant
and probably his other ship the
Hero
had probably met an unkind fate. She could hardly imagine so many tragic
deaths.

In
the afternoon, an older quiet man named Brahms had led a brief memorial
service. Justin had been noticeably absent. While brief, the service had been
poignant, even poetic. Brahms had likened the passing of so many people to
watching a ship sail into the horizon. "Finally, the great white sails are
but a small cloud on the most distant horizon and then it disappears all
together. Is it gone now? No, others are watching it arrive on the opposite horizon,
waiting to greet the passengers."

It
seemed to effect Hanna the most, for she had started crying. Despite her
good-natured goading of her lord and lady, she confronted the certain fact that
they had perished with sadness and grief. "They really were good to me and
my mum, truly..."

Christina
herself could hardly bear the thought of so many deaths. Captain Forester and
Dr. Michaels, the others she had come to know, even the Ladies Knolls and
Everett. She thought optimistically, though, that perhaps fate had intervened
for them as well; perhaps the ships had been somehow spared, or at least some
of the crew and passengers.

Her
musing was interrupted by Elsie's laughter, which drew her attention to the
campfire. Elsie stirred a fish stew in an old tortoise shell she had found
washed up on the beach. Eric was at her side, apparently causing her laughter.
Jacob and Hanna had gone off to gather moss for the four small tents of sticks
the men had constructed. She did not know where Justin had gone.

Justin!
She closed her eyes and imagined another Justin, the man she had known through
a small hole on a doomed ship. How she had fallen in love with him—that other
Justin! Her heart broke with the duality. She worshiped a part of him and
disliked— nay hated—the whole. She reached a hand to her lips and remembered
his kiss, sometimes so gentle and other times forceful, both equally
devastating.

She
panicked at the question of what the night would bring.

Don't
think of that now...

Night
fell with abrupt swiftness. Christina took a place at the campfire. Justin and
the others returned, gathering around the fire for the evening meal. The flames
of the campfire danced like gypsies in the night and tossed long shadows up and
around the small party. Shells served as the plates they had all known in a
world now lost. The fish, cooked slower to soak its own juices, tasted even
more delicious and Elsie and Hanna had found numerous other fruits to add to
the fare.

The
men conversed about all nature of things: the tasks at hand on the morrow,
retrieving items from the ship, the conditions on the island, what the other
men would report finding when they returned, and the subject that would be
popular for a long time—the prospects of rescue.

Christina
hardly listened. Even when he addressed the others, she felt his gaze upon her.
Would he force her to sleep with him? No surely... he wouldn't do that. Why
then was she so terribly frightened, a fear that seemed to engulf her entire
being?

Justin
was well aware of her fear written plainly on her features. An inevitable fear,
he knew, and he was quite confident of putting it to an end—and tonight, a
night of unspoken promises. He had thought he could wait; he knew with sudden
certainty he could not. Not for a week, a day, an hour.

He
could only wonder how the firelight accented her beauty so. Bathed in the soft
light, her long gold hair, drying now, fell in neat waves down her back and, so
long, the ends curled in the sand. She sat with her legs folded under her and
she stared into the fire with a faraway look in her eyes that was part
trepidation, part something else he couldn't identify.

One
by one the men left to retire beneath the lifeboat. Then it happened. Christina
watched in shock as first Jacob and Hanna rose, retreating to one of the
shelters, then Elsie and Eric. She had not expected it, at least not so soon
and her eyes shot to Justin in apprehension.

"It's
for the best, Christina," he said, not having to guess at her thoughts.
"There are two things a man will fight for: fortune and women. Had either
Hanna or Elsie not chosen, and soon, my men would have been like a pack of
wolves, the women their catch. That would not have been pleasant."

She
refused to believe this. "Would you ever do that?"

"Until
now, no. I've never cared for a woman enough to fight for her," he said
with masculine simplicity. "But now, I think I could kill a man and for
the mere thought of touching you."

The
words jolted her, scaring her with an ominous portent of something horrible,
too horrible to contemplate. Fear grew on fear; her heart started pounding, she
felt cold and shaky all at once. She watched him lift a stick that had moss
wrapped tightly around the end. He set it to fire. With torch in hand, he stood
up and took her hand. She hesitated, seemed to plead for something he was not
willing to give.

"I'm
not asking" was all he said.

He
led her to one of the shelters and stopped in front, leaning over to plant the
torch in the sand outside the opening.

She
had to stop him. Somehow, some way, she had to stop him. She thought first of
begging but then she looked into the darkness that was the forest.

His
gaze returned to her and he chuckled, reading her thoughts. "I am
perfectly capable of chasing you down. Spare yourself the humiliation."

She
stood frozen, just staring at him, hating him, his height and strength, his
threatening masculine presence outlined in the firelight, hating most of all
his amusement as he considered her, and wishing she could run. Tears
threatened, she could not help it, and when Justin saw this, he went to her and
lifted her into his arms, carrying her into the shelter.

He
laid her on the thick cushion of sweet-smelling moss, and lay down next to her,
careful to keep her partially beneath him. He stared down at her and unmasked
tenderness showed in his eyes, confusing her almost as much as the sweeping
warmth that sprang so quickly between them.

"Christina,"
he whispered, gently brushing his hand over her forehead, then through her
hair. "This fear of yours, is it just a maiden's fear or is there
something more?"

She
could not answer him through all she felt and she tried to turn from him, but
he stopped the movement. "No, don't turn from me, sweetheart. Close your
eyes and pretend we're back on the ship, I want to know."

"But
that's just it," she cried in a whisper. "We're not on the ship and
you're not the... the Justin that I... I—" She stopped, for to finish
would be a confession she was not willing to make.

"Fell
in love with?" he questioned with sudden understanding. He smiled.
"Christina, I can make no apologies for who I am but I assure you, the man
you fell in love with is the same man lying with you now."

"No."
She denied it adamantly. "He would never... never force me."

He
ran his hand along her side, stopping beneath her breast, pleased with the
small shiver his touch brought. "The only thing I will force is your
desire."

She
shook her head and braced her hands against his shoulders to stop him.
"You can't," she vowed with sudden passion. "I can't stop you
but you can't make me... make me want you like that."

"You
are so innocent," he kissed her lips lightly, all too unconcerned,
"and it will be my pleasure to prove you wrong."

He
took her hands and gently pinned them to the ground, careful to rest his weight
on his elbows. For a long moment he stared down at her, loving her even then as
she stared back in defiance, almost daring him. But unable meet his stare for
long, she retreated behind lowered lashes in obvious pained submission.

"It
will not even be hard, Christina," he whispered, "for know it or not,
I already have your heart."

His
lips found hers, his tongue slipped into her mouth and he kissed her with a
tenderness he had never before shown her. He drank the sweetness that was her—a
sweetness he could never get enough of and filled her with the taste of him. It
was her undoing; she could not fight the effect, not even for an instant.
Warmth spread through her. As his lips broke from her to travel slowly along
her neck and teased there, she felt a rush of wild tremors. She held perfectly
still, frightened and yet—

His
hand untied the laces crossing the front of her chemise. He parted the flimsy
garment, marveling at her partially unclad beauty. She stiffened and forgot to
breathe. His hand slipped lightly over her breast, caressing her in a way she
had never imagined, a way that made her draw a sharp breath, then bite her lip
hard. Almost lazily, with but a casual touch, he caressed until he was
answered. With a half groan of pleasure, he smiled. "No, it will not even be
hard."

Her
eyes opened in protest but she met his bold desire, mixed with a hint of
amusement. She shut her eyes tight again, fighting the continuous rush of
shivers from his touch, frightened by all she felt.

He
undressed her slowly, savoring every long moment and for her, forced to endure
it passively, it felt like an eternity. He untied the strings of her petticoat
and pulled it from her, his hands brushing her skin with fire. Her chemise was
lifted over her and all the while he touched her in a manner that made her
breath come in small quick gasps. She quickly crossed her arms over her
nakedness but he gently forced them back, allowing her no modesty as he lifted
from her to give the sight of her unclad beauty shrouded in the soft light of
the torch a long thorough appraisal.

She
could feel it! She felt his gaze travel slowly over her, her skin grow taut in
his path, the effect every bit as devastating as his touch.

He
drew a sharp breath, unable to believe how beautiful she was to him. He
shrugged out of his breeches and turned her to him, pulling her slender figure
against his hard length. She started, then gasped at the feel of his lean
muscled body on her skin, the hard swell of his manhood pressed against her
nakedness.

"Yes,
Christina," he smiled at the virginal response, "I want you to feel
me. To know how much I want you."

And
then his magic began.

He
kissed with a deep longing as his hands came over her in a slow exploration,
careful to keep his desire under tight restraint, wanting to awaken every part
of her to his lovemaking. She was unaware of his restraint; she only knew he
was kissing her again, that his touch, light and curious, was leaving her awash
in sensations. She felt hot and cold and shaky and all at once. That melting
feeling spread through her as a hot flush. Tremors rushed from a tight ache
building deep inside her, making her twist restlessly beneath him.

Feeling
this, seeing the sultry darkness fill her eyes, Justin rolled over,
effortlessly lifting her with him. He slid her slender body slowly over his
length. She arched against him as a shocking hot warmth gushed through her. It
made her mindless and breathless, crying, no more able to stop herself than she
could him. She was suddenly like a wild supple creature in his arms, and witnessing
the birth of her passion overwhelm her innocence, he nearly lost himself. He
lifted her higher and took her breast in his mouth and she gasped, clinging to
him, crying softly for something she could not yet know.

He
could barely restrain himself and while he still had her slowly, there was
nothing casual or leisurely about the way he began caressing her. His lips
played over every inch of her skin, his hands touched and caressed, forcing her
to tremble with rhythms of pleasure at his command. But when his hand gently
slipped between her thighs, where nothing had touched before, she panicked and
tried to pull away. "No, Justin... please, I—"

"Shhh,"
he whispered, forcing her still, gently biting her lips before kissing her. He
slowly caressed her there. Flames leaped from his fingertips and her back
arched instinctively, as though she knew this game. She broke from his kiss,
clung to him ardently, as that sweet ache of desire grew, swelled, blossomed,
then suddenly, mercifully collapsed only to return again and again.