Crimson Rapture (27 page)

Completely
naked, she crouched in a tight ball in the far corner of the room, shaking
still. She was watching them wearily through red and swollen eyes while hiding
herself like a tormented and frightened mouse hides from a cat. Upon
approaching, they saw the various bruises marring her pale white skin. Her
hair—the thick blond tresses that any woman would consider her best asset—had
been cut, cut by a cruel and careless knife.

"Go
ahead! Stare at me! See what they've done to me!" she cried through trembling
lips. She covered her face in her hands. "I don't care... I don't care...

"Elsie,"
Christina whispered, "run to Diego's cabin and fetch his blanket, and then
get a bucket of warm water."

"Aye,"
Elsie replied, staring still as she turned to leave.

Christina
knelt by her side, staring with wide, worried eyes. She cautiously reached a hand
to the cut tresses. Carolyn looked up, and in a moment of desperation, she fell
against Christina in a torrent of tears, reduced to a frightened and hurt
child. Christina's arms came around her and she held her tight, then gently
rocked her, as she whispered words of comfort.

Carolyn
could hardly speak through her tears. "I'll kill them for this... I'll
kill them, I swear it! No... matter what... I'll see them hanged..."

"There,
there."

* * * * *

Darkness
claimed the light. Cloud cover hid the night sky and promised rain, but the air
was warm and unnaturally still. Justin made his way up the beach toward the
campfire with a torch light, followed by his dog. It had been a long hard day,
one of Diego's worst and he had only just seen Diego finally to sleep.

Merciful
sleep.

Thinking
of Diego and in a foul mood to say the least, Justin cursed out loud to
himself, to God, to whomever was listening. Damn, if even Cajun wasn't
beginning to look at him to do what was unconscionable.

It
was a small, noticeably quiet group gathered round the campfire finishing
dinner. Christina was not there and Justin asked Elsie forthright.
"Where's Christina?"

Elsie
did not look up. "She's still sittin' with 'er."

"Has
she eaten yet?"

"Not
that I know of," and with an accusing tone, "awful 'ard to eat when
ye've been sittin' with a ruined woman all day."

"Lord,"
Jacob groaned. "I'm tired of the tither you lasses have been in all
day," he said more to Hanna than to anyone. "That woman survived and
that's a hell of a lot more than she deserved."

Elsie
and Hanna both cast Jacob hard stares as they simultaneously rose and left
wordlessly. Jacob leaned back in the sand and he announced with a wry smile,
"I can see it's gonna be a long lonely night for me.

Carolyn
had finally fallen asleep. Christina sat in the chair just outside the door
planning to stay the night in the event Carolyn woke. A torch blazed overhead
and she worked furiously on weaving a basket. Not that they needed another
basket, they didn't. She just needed something to do. She looked up briefly as
Justin approached but returned at once to her work.

He
stared at her for a few minutes, watching her fingers attack the task. Her
anger was obvious and though Justin rarely entertained banal thoughts, he did
so now. She was beautiful even angry.

"Come
on, Christina, we'll get you some food."

"I'm
not hungry," she said softly, not bothering to stop her work or look up.
"And I'm quite able to look after myself."

"I'm
hardly convinced," he replied dryly.

She
pretended not to hear.

"Christina,"
he tried again, "I'm tired and want to retire."

"I'm
going to stay here the night."

"No,
you're not."

She
stopped her work but still didn't glance up. "I don't want to sleep with
you anymore."

Justin
paused to consider her, the statement, and all it meant. "That may
be," he finally replied, "but I'll be damned if you're sleeping
anywhere else, with anyone else. Now you can walk or be carried."

Christina's
gaze shot up to him. Those very same words he had used that first night
together. And he looked exactly the same, so tall and threatening and, yes,
slightly amused. You would force me to sleep with you?"

"Yes.
Now move."

Christina
froze for a brief moment in an effort to control herself. Then, without a word,
she dropped her work, stood up, and began walking toward the cave. Justin
followed behind with the torch, not seeing how she bit her lip to stop it from
trembling with either tears or fear or anger, she did not know which.

He
watched the long hair falling neatly over the small proud back, the gentle sway
of her hips, the ever-so-feminine gait of the shapely bare legs, and he
suddenly sighed, wondering just how long his enforced celibacy could last.

Hopefully
not past the morning sun.

Christina
slipped inside the cave while Justin left to pull the canvas over the skylight
in case it rained. She lay down on the bed, turned away, and curled up into a
tight ball. Nervously, unconsciously, she gnawed on a finger of her clutched
fist as the humiliation of the past night burned on her cheeks.

She
could not bear it! He would force her again! Make her want him like that,
forcing her to love him when...

When
she no longer wanted to. This she knew for a certainty. She could not escape
the nightmarish vision of his callous indifference to Carolyn Knolls's screams,
his amusement at her pain. She didn't want him to touch her and yet the moment
he kissed her—

What
could she do?

Justin
returned and eyed her position with some patient amusement. He calmly removed
his boots and clothes and lay down beside her. It was time for a talk, a very
long one, he supposed. He moved about to take her into his arms and position
her backside against himself in the way that they often talked, for not seeing
him while hearing his voice somehow permitted her startling intimacy. But
suddenly he saw that she was crying.

"Christina,"
he said as he gently forced her around and held her face to him. She kept her
eyes closed, biting her lip and obviously afraid. Afraid of him. "What's
this?"

"Please...
don't force me again. You don't know what it's like—"

"To
be raped?" He was furious at her obvious train of thought. "No, I
don't know what that's like, but neither do you. I'm forcing you to sleep with
me, that's all, and the only reason is to prevent that very thing."

"I
thought—"

"I
know what you thought. Rest assured, I shall endeavor—somehow—" he added
sarcastically, "to keep my hands from you." He paused to watch her
embarrassment and confusion yield to fresh tears. "Look at me," he
said in a different voice. She looked up slowly to confront both his anger but,
yes, concern too. "I'm willing to wait for you—I have no choice. But,
Christina, I'm at my wit's end with this fear of yours. You must learn to trust
me."

She
searched his face for a long moment. The torchlight danced across his features,
accenting and highlighting his dark hair and beard, the dark brows arching over
finely shaped and intense blue eyes. He was indeed every bit the pirate of her
imagination. She turned away to hide her thoughts, then frantically searched
her mind for the comforting image of another Justin, the one she had loved.

No
such image surfaced and she hugged herself tightly, finally facing the fact
that the other Justin existed only in her imagination.

She
wondered if she did love him anymore, or if she did could such love be a
mistake? She wanted to tell him this, that should he wait for her, he would
have a very long wait. Words were not easy though and the matter seemed far
better demonstrated than spoken.

* * * * *

Justin's
increasing frustration manifested in his dreams. Common everyday glimpses of
Christina formed vivid pictures in his sleep: Christina brushing out her hair
till it flowed like gold silk, Christina stepping out from the pond, her thin
cotton shift molded to her form to accent every delicious curve; Christina
lying naked beneath the sun—that warm, shy smile of hers just before he lowered
his lips to hers—the sound of her laughter as they played in the waves. And
these innocent pictures inevitably led to not so innocent ones.

Each
morning, he woke from just a dream to find Christina sleeping soundly in his
arms. He cursed softly, and dared not to move to relieve the pressure. She'd
only come back against him and any movement disastrously heightened his
frustrations. He lay perfectly still, watching her sleep and wondering—not for
the first time—how much longer he could last. He had never been very good with
celibacy for any length of time but after just a week of it with Christina, he
was very near his breaking point.

Perhaps
if he showed her just what he went through each blessed day, night, morning...

Again,
despite her vows, her nightly promises to herself, she woke up in his arms.
Sometime in the middle of the night she inevitably came against him, seeking
his great warmth, some primal comfort she was certain she didn't understand.
And now, like every morning for the past week, she found herself nestled
intimately against the long length of him, enduring the amusement in his dark
blue eyes as he in turn considered her and her dilemma.

She
looked at him accusingly.

"You
can hardly blame me, Christina," he chuckled lightly, lifting the long
braid of her hair, drinking the sweet scent of coconut. "Can I help it if
your desire manifests as you sleep?"

Somehow
his amusement, the long week of enduring his constant teasing and baiting, only
increased her determination to make him accept the sad fact that her affection
had irrevocably changed. But it had become clear this was impossible; he
steadfastly refused to take her or the matter of her heart seriously. And this
both hurt and infuriated.

"Please..."
she said, shifting to pull from his arms. The movement brought sudden awareness
of his aroused manhood pressing against her abdomen, only the thin cover of her
shift between them. She looked at him, part startled, part frightened.

He
made no move to disengage her. "Tell me, Christina, which frightens you
more, my desire or yours?" And as he asked this, he ran his hand lightly
over the beckoning tips of her breasts, smiling at the easy response this
brought. Alarmed, she tried to pull back, bracing her hands against his
shoulders but she was suddenly held still.

His
hand traveled over the curve of her waist and hip and she drew a sharp breath,
managing only a weak "Nooo..."

"No
what, sweetheart?" he asked innocently as his hand slipped beneath her
short shift.

"No...
you promised—" She started up but stopped, gasping as his hand slipped
gently between her legs. She clasped her legs together but her movement only
clamped his hand against her. Justin chuckled and held her immobile with ease
as he skillfully began caressing her there.

"Promised
what?"

"No...
I—" She stopped as a shocking tremor of warmth shot through her, then
another, and instinctively her back arched to permit him greater access.

"You
seem to be having trouble speaking, sweetheart," he noticed with lazy
indifference as his fingers slowly flamed the fire of her desire. She caught
her breath, weakly trying to twist away from his most insistent touch, only
finding that any movement heightened, ignited the fires he caused. Her mind
tumbled in confusion, though her body was quite certain of its part in this and
she moistened in an ever so painful answer to him.

Far
more than an adept lover to begin with, and after hundreds of hours of pleasure
with her, Justin knew every inch of her body and just how it worked. And he
used this knowledge to expertly bring her to an edge, then carefully keep her
there until her arms swept unwillingly around his neck and quite obviously
mindless, she softly cried for him, for all of him.

And
abruptly he stopped.

"Speak
up, sweetheart. What's on your mind?"

His
voice pulled her from the sweet depth of passion he had just so effortlessly
brought her to. She opened her eyes and suffered a long moment of confusion.

"Hmmm?
What is it?" he queried, then questioned hopefully. "Is there
something you want from me?"

Sudden
embarrassment spread on already flushed cheeks. Oh, she could die! Just die!
How could he do that to her? Forcing her desire, and against her will, then,
then making her ask for his touch!

"No!
No!" she blurted, but embarrassingly soft, her voice never able to convey
harsh emotions no matter how she tried. "There's nothing—nothing! that I
want from you!" And torn between tears and fury, she forced herself away
from him, stopping just short of slapping his amused face again and only by
sheer force of will.

Justin
merely laughed and rose to don his breeches. "I could have sworn there was
something you wanted. If you happen to think of something—anything—by all means
let me know." And with that, and still chuckling, he left to start the
day.