Lovers Never Lie (20 page)

It was impossible to contemplate checking for broken bones. She'd have to move to do that, and movement was impossible. She remained where she was, frozen against the ledge.

"Wiggle your toes," Andrew instructed, "or your fingers. Wiggle anything."

She had to do it. If only for him. Slowly, so slowly she was not positive her body obeyed her brain, Stacia wiggled the fingers of first her right hand, then her left. Her toes were next. She couldn't see them, but she could feel them curl inside her runners.

Nothing really hurt. Not if she discounted the gash on her temple dripping blood into her hair, and the cuts and scrapes she knew existed from the burning sensation they created.

Crack!

Another bullet ricocheted off the cliff above her, and a handful of gravel rumbled down, sprinkling Stacia with a fine layer of pebbles and sand. She flattened further against the hard rock and Andrew's head drew out of sight. For a long moment, there was no sound at all.

"Andrew!" She screamed.

Andrew's face reappeared, his eyes black bullets of fury as he stared along the cliff. Stacia raised her head infinitesimally and followed Andrew's gaze. Maria and her helper were half way down the other cliff trail, scrambling with more speed than care.

Every few feet, Maria halted and took aim. Another shot sung out, but the angle was poor. It hit an out-jutting piece of limestone far beyond Stacia. Another shot followed in swift succession, and a loud voice shouted something incomprehensible.

Stacia cautiously raised her head higher, saw Maria's man crack open his gun and swear again. He turned to Maria, but she shook her head and showed him her own gun. Another stream of pebbles rattled down from above.

"Are you all right?" Andrew called.

With a hard swallow, she nodded. "I think they're out of bullets, Andrew."

"I see that," he said.

"Go after them," she cried, though she didn't want him to leave. "You have to get your diamonds back."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"They're worth too much to lose. You said so yourself."

"I'm not leaving you."

"They're not armed anymore."

He didn't move.

When Stacia stared upward, all she could see of Andrew were his broad shoulders, muscular arms, and of course his face.

"You're afraid," she whispered, unable to believe it, but staring into his eyes, she saw the truth of her accusation.

"Not of losing my diamonds," he replied grimly. His eyes darkened to a mask that kept his emotions secret.

"Andrew," she moaned, heard the desperation in her own voice. She clenched a handful of sand from the ground beside her, and tried again to speak, more softly this time. "They'll get away," she entreated.

"It doesn't matter," he said.

"It has to matter." She started crying and couldn't seem to stop.

Maria and her helper were almost to the bottom of the cliff now, the movement of their feet sending avalanches of dirt sliding down before them. Maria still clutched the package and the man his useless gun. Every few yards they looked back, as though amazed no one was following, that Andrew wasn't after what was now possible to get.

"I'm not going anywhere until you are off that ledge and safe," Andrew called down, his voice drawing Stacia back from her contemplation of their enemy.

Safe.
The one thing she'd sworn to renounce. The one thing she now wished for them both with all of her heart.

"Can you sit up?" Andrew asked. His stomach churned when he looked down and knew he couldn't go to her, that his weight would break away the ledge upon which she rested.

She smiled at him faintly. "If you promise they won't throw stones next."

"I'll throw them back if they do." He tried not to hear the engine of Maria's boat sputter to life in the distance.

"Your last chance," Stacia said, her eyes begging him to desert her. "They're leaving!"

"Let's get you up from there," he replied. "I need to hold you."

Pink tinged her cheeks.

"But you have to sit up," he added.

Her lips opened as though she were about to say she couldn't, then she pressed them tightly shut and slowly eased herself into a sitting position. Only once did she glance below before swiftly averting her gaze.

Andrew glanced at the sea also. What had once been inviting now presented danger. The sea's edge was far below and covered with rocks, and that's where Stacia would land if she fell from her ledge.

"Can you stand?" he asked, pushing away all images of her not making it back into his arms.

She shook her head.

"You have to do it." He'd do it for her if only he could.

Stacia's skin paled as though she were suddenly engulfed by dizziness, and she shut her eyes tight.

"Put your head between your knees," he commanded urgently.

She bent over, her hair parting around her neck. Her skin was creamy and vulnerable, but beneath the soft exterior, she had the courage of a goddess.

"Take a couple of deep breaths," Andrew instructed, his heart pounding furiously. If she fainted, she could topple over the side.

"I can't come down to you," he said again. "That ledge won't hold my weight. You'll have to climb up."

She glanced at him, then her gaze held steady.

"Imagine my arms around you, Stacia. Imagine I'm holding you, never letting you go." The trust in her eyes made his heart tremble. "Keep your back to the wall," he added, "and edge your way to a standing position. Look up, not down."

She placed her hands flat against the wall, and slowly, surely, eased herself upright.

In his heart, Andrew cheered heron, not wanting to distract her by speaking aloud. Maria's boat passed directly in front of them, seemingly to mock them as it bobbed gently up and down in the water.

"Keep your eyes on me." He spoke loudly this time to cover the sound of the boat's engine, and was relieved when it disappeared from view around the out-jutting rocks.

Stacia's face filled with determination and she did as he suggested.

"Now lift your hands to mine."

She twisted her head as she looked up, her cheek against the dirt as she examined the cliff's surface. Then she pressed her hands harder, as though her fingers were all she had to keep her glued to the cliff face.

"I can't do it," she said at last, her skin a pasty white.

"You have to," he said fiercely.

Her eyes filled with worry. "I can't let you help me," she said. "Your wound... it's bleeding."

"That's not important."

"It is to me."

"I'm fine." He stared steadily down at her, willing her to do as he said.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she edged her hands skyward, and he leaned farther over the cliff. He pressed as close to the ground as possible, his wound plastered against the dirt, and his blood reddening the earth beneath him. Pain sucked the air from his body. He thought he might pass out. Stacia's eyes were black with fear, but the courage she had drawn upon to face Andropolous was there also, all the more powerful because she possessed it despite her fear.

Andrew stretched a fraction further and his fingers met Stacia's. When they intertwined with hers, a current flowed between them, exchanging heart for heart, and with it their strength.

"Now turn," he instructed softly, "so you're facing the cliff."

She caught her lip between her teeth.

He wished he could make it easy. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll hold you."

She kept her gaze skyward, didn't look at the danger below, and slowly, carefully, shuffled her way around. Pebbles and sand littered the ledge upon which she stood, and more skittered down as her body brushed the cliff. She blinked her eyes, no doubt blinded by the falling sand. But perhaps that was better. The less she saw, the less she'd be frightened.

With a swift release of hands, an uncrossing of arms, and a swifter re-grasping, Stacia stood positioned on her tip-toes, holding onto Andrew by his wrists. He clutched her wrists also, determined never to let her go.

"Now what?" she asked, a tremor in her voice.

"Now you climb," he answered gently.

Her eyes widened.

He tightened his grip.

"Trust me," he exhorted, his heart echoing in his ears. She smiled at him shakily, but her smile was filled with trust. With legs that seemed locked, she slowly, inexorably, raised her right foot. She edged it into a fissure and managed a step upward.

He held onto her with his hands, and also with his eyes. If he could retain her gaze, he could get her up safely. He focused past the pain in his bleeding wound and knotting shoulders, and concentrated instead on pulling her up a few inches.

He edged his body backward as she moved upward, anchoring them with his toes. The wound from the bullet bled more profusely than ever, but the courage and trust in Stacia's eyes lent him strength.

"You're almost there," he whispered finally.

Her head topped the cliff. Dirt fell ominously around her as she scrabbled for a foothold in the freshly eroded soil. He braced himself on his elbows, and rose to his knees.

Stacia's grip on his wrist suddenly loosened, and her foothold fell away. He held on tightly as for one endless moment she hung in space.

She scrabbled for another foothold and Andrew got to his knees. Hanging half on and half off the cliff in a tug of war between life and death, Stacia managed, with one final pull from him, to fight her way up and over the edge.

He fell backward and she sprawled across him, both their strengths gone. Her breathing suddenly grew so slow he thought she might have fainted.

He sifted his fingers through the silky strands of her hair, and felt his heart swell knowing she was safe in his arms.

Stacia felt in Andrew's arms as though she'd come home.

When he breathed, she did, too, felt grounded and safe by his body's presence. She crushed the fabric of his shirt between her fingers, and never wanted to let go of him again.

"You saved my life," she whispered.

"You saved mine," he answered.

"I almost got you killed," she protested.

"If you hadn't cried out, Maria's man would have shot me."

"Without me, you'd have your diamonds."

"None of that matters as long as you're safe." His voice was heavy with fatigue and pain.

"No-one is ever safe," she denied, knowing love held more danger than all else together.

"You're safe with me," he insisted.

"I never asked to be."

"Travel tip number four." His smile was gentle. "You don't always get what you ask for."

A heat swept through her that was anything but safe, and Stacia slowly bent and kissed him. His lips were gritty with dust and salty with sweat, but they sparked in her a desire so intense her limbs shivered.

"I need you," he said, his words vibrating against her lips. His groan of desire was like a whisper on a summer's night, and when his tongue met hers, her senses swirled.

She longed to revel in the passion, drown herself in it, but behind the sensuous release of feelings, she knew he was in pain. With a mighty effort, she pulled her lips from his.

"We have to do something about your wound." Blood covered his chest and now her blouse. "We have to get you to a doctor."

"Later," he said hoarsely, reaching one arm behind her neck to pull her back to him.

"Now," she said, holding firm against his hand.

Unbuttoning his shirt, she examined the spot where the bullet had hit. It was still impossible to tell if it was lodged in his body. The grim set to his jaw frightened her, as did the lines around his eyes. She gently stroked his cheek, wishing her touch had the magic to dispel his pain.

"We have to get that wound looked at," she said, feeling helpless. "In this heat, it could become infected."

He ran his hand down her back. "It won't," he insisted.

She rolled off him and grasped the tattered hem of her blouse. With a hard yank, she'd ripped off enough cloth to bind his wound, and tied it carefully around his shoulder.

"Let's go," she said, struggling to her feet. She held her hand out to him. His weight was more than she'd anticipated. Halfway to his feet, he pressed his palm to his shoulder. His skin paled beneath his tan and his breathing grew shallow. When he looked at her, his eyes were wide and dark.

"Can you make it?" she asked, gripping his arm.

With a nod, he staggered upright and pulled his hand across his eyes, blocking his pain from her view.

"Do you have a boat?" she asked. "My boat left."

He nodded again.

"Are you sure the fisherman waited?"

For an instant he looked confused then his expression cleared. "I came on my own," he said. "I wondered how you got here ahead of me."

"How did you convince a fisherman to let you take his boat?"