Make Mine a Marine (43 page)

"I didn't have any experience. What did I know?"

"You know what feels good to you and what doesn't." He mimicked her soothing motion, stroking the hair at her temple behind her ear.

"Sometimes I felt trapped. It wasn't what I’d thought and… I know I was doing it wrong.  He said, for a teacher I had a lot to learn."

His hand froze and his blood boiled with thoughts of vengeance. "Did he force you?"

She reached up and wrapped her long fingers around his, protecting him from his own vile thoughts. "No. Never. He just... lost interest and gave up. He found someone who could give a man what he needed."

Hawk couldn't speak for several minutes. But when Sarah began to squirm, he knew he had to get past his anger so she wouldn't misinterpret his silence as acknowledgment of her perceived deficiencies. "He found someone who would give a selfish bastard what he wanted. Making love is a two-way street, Sarah. If both partners don't enjoy it, then that's not making love. That's taking. Using. Making love between a man and a woman should be all about giving."

He turned his hand and squeezed her fingers. "Have I done anything that scares you? Or makes you uncomfortable?"

"No. That's just it." She cupped his jaw in the gentle strength of her hands, reassuring him with her touch as much as her words. "I like when you touch me. I love the way you kiss me, too."

Her moment of bravado faded into a whisper.

"I just don't want to disappoint you."

"You couldn't, schoolmarm."

He was relieved to know he hadn't hurt her, hadn't reminded her of Kensit or her encounter with de Vega. But the tension that goaded him refused to drain away.

"Sarah, how long were you engaged to your fiancé?"

"A year and a half. Whirlwind courtship, huh?" She tried to laugh at her own sarcasm, but the weak sound found no answer in him.

"In all that time, didn't he once tell you that you were beautiful? Sexy? Desirable?"

She stiffened in his arms, and he had his answer before she spoke. "There was no reason for him to."

He rolled over and sat up, bringing her with him. He made himself as comfortable as he could with the rock at his back, pledging silently to be there the whole night through for Sarah. Wishing he could pledge something more.

He tucked her head beneath his chin, pulled down her shirt and covered her with the blanket. He held her as tightly as he dared without breaking her. But he knew he couldn't hold her securely enough to erase all her doubts. That would take time. Rebuilding the ego that Kensit had attacked with criticism and indifference, then left to slowly wither and die would take a lot of time. It would require a little nourishment each day to nurse her spirit back to health.

But time was a luxury he might not have with Sarah. Here in the jungle, alone in the middle of the night, she was his. With patience, he could teach her to believe what he believed, teach her to believe in herself again.

But back in the civilized world, where he lived on the fringes of Sarah's venerable Anglo society, he wouldn't have the freedom or the opportunity to pull her close and help her through this. A man who had failed as he had had little right to try to prove that she
hadn't
failed. Those doubts could sink their talons into her again, and tear her fragile self-esteem into unmendable shreds.

He was more patient than most men. If he had the time, he'd pay her a tiny compliment every day. He could think of a million ways to praise her. But he didn't have a million days to do it.

With Sarah, he might not have even one.

"Hawk?" Once he had settled, she spoke into the front of his chest. "Is it all right if I stay here for a while?"

Her whispered request touched him. He pressed a kiss into the crown of her hair. "I didn't intend to let you go."

Once she accepted his welcome, she relaxed and burrowed into him, seeking a more comfortable position. She kept her fingers curled into the front of his shirt. The timorous connection warmed him with an illusion of hope. For now, he told himself, he wanted nothing more than this night with her in his arms.

"Sarah?"

"Hmm?" She murmured the drowsy response without seeming to move a muscle.

"Thank you for sharing your fears with me. I can only imagine what it must have cost you."

Her silence stretched on for so long, he thought she had fallen asleep. She'd gone through more in this one day than most people did in a lifetime. She'd earned her rest.

But she hadn't been sleeping. "It's like an old family secret that no one talks about. But I felt safe sharing it with you."

She deserved the same kind of openness from him. "Speaking of old family secrets… I'm Virgil."

He could count on one finger the number of people who called him by his given name. Somehow he didn't think his mother would mind sharing that privilege with Sarah.

"Sarah?"

She yawned and snuggled closer. Hawk risked a smile. He curled his body around hers and closed his eyes, planning to rest and indulge himself in this simple gift of shared trust.

"Your secret is safe with me, Virgil."

He wished his heart could be, too.

Worthless peasants.

He who walked with the gods hovered at the fringe of their encampment. The two thieving servants who had betrayed their rightful master scurried around the dead body like the tiny worker ants that they were.

"Luis!" the younger one shouted, turning the body over to face the sky. A burnished hilt glistened in the early morning light, warming to the rays of the sun the way He warmed to the task of retribution. Their words, spoken in a foreign tongue, made little sense to him, but He understood their frantic terror and suspicion of each other. "Ramon was stealing from us! But look, he fell on the knife."

Satisfied laughter echoed in the dim recesses of his consciousness.

I am Meczaquatl. King of the great waters and the strong rock and the fertile earth. I walk with the gods. These weak, puny mortals who cover their bodies in strange, white garments are no match for Me. They have no power against My wrath.

He watched the two peasants inspect the sacrifice. In his memory, He could feel the knife's weight in his hand, remember the power He had once felt in the lives He had claimed with it. He swelled with the renewing power He'd felt when the peasant had used the knife at His bidding. The memories made Him stronger.

"This was no accident. I heard Ramon cry out. He was speaking to someone. If he was stealing, we never would have heard him." The man with the silver in his hair tapped the lifeless body with his foot, then lifted his shrewd gaze and scanned the trees at the edge of the clearing.

This silver one might prove a worthy opponent. He recognized the voice of command, the expectation of authority. This one was the leader. This mortal considered himself clever enough and powerful enough to defy His wishes.

But clever or not, He would conquer him. He could show no mercy on those who had defiled Him. Forgotten Him. Betrayed His love for Prini.

The silver-haired one would die. Just as the others would. Just as they all must.

"Antonio." The silver-haired one was speaking again. "Load everything onto one truck and hide it."

"But Luis," the weaker one pleaded, "that will take two men. We have already lost Manuel Hernandez and Martin. Should we not bury Ramon and get out of here as quickly as we can? There is something unholy about this expedition. Too many have died!"

"Silencio!" The silver-haired one pointed his weapon at the young peasant, who cowered beside the dead body. "We have made this trip three times without incident. Each time making you a wealthier man than you deserve."

"But that was Prini's tomb. This time we have disturbed the great Meczaquatl!"

"You are a superstitious fool." Meczaquatl waited for the silver-haired one's explanation with discerning interest, His thoughts of vengeance gathering like a storm. "Look around you. There has been a struggle. Someone else has been here. We do not know that Martin is dead."

"But the gunshot? And he did not meet us at the rendezvous."

"I told him to kill that Indian. The others will not survive without him."

The weak one rose unsteadily to his feet. "You mean Martin is tracking us? Killing us one by one to take the treasure for himself?"

He hovered beyond the edges of their perception and let His consciousness slip back to the other mortals he had encountered since awakening. He had sensed four men and a boy in His tomb. The boy had deserted these others. He could detect no other men except these two…and the warrior.

The warrior had been different. More like Him. The warrior was powerful in ways the weak one could not understand and the silver-haired one would not tolerate.

The two peasants scuttled back and forth, moving His things, touching His tribute. "The empty truck will travel faster," the silver one said. "We will go back and find him before he finds us."

"And if it is not Martin?"

"Then that Indian has survived. And we will kill him."

The silver-haired one slammed his weapon with his fist.

A cumbersome weapon, it seemed. Less wieldy than a spear or knife. But He sensed it could be infinitely more powerful. The daring mortal jerked a handle on it so that it made a terrible, deadly, metallic noise.

A worthy opponent, indeed.

The one who walked with the gods shrank down into a tiny, watchful presence. The silver-haired one was a warrior as well. But a warrior without honor, a warrior who would be destroyed for his arrogance.

They would all be destroyed for what they had done to His beloved.

Static crackled from the radio, as heavy and ominous as the humidity that hung in the midday air and sucked the oxygen from her lungs.

Sarah watched Andrea and Raul tinker with the pieced-together communication device. Then Hawk picked up the transmitter and sent another SOS message, giving their approximate location. With the sun high in the sky above them, she couldn't even tell which direction was north, but she had no doubt that the latitude and estimated mileage from El Espanto he gave were accurate. Hawk possessed a preternatural ability that went beyond reading auras. She likened him to a mercenary Doctor Doolittle. He seemed to communicate directly with the plants and animals, even the very air surrounding them.

That special gift made him less like a gentle country psychologist, though, and more like the wild jungle around them. He seemed so at ease here, so full of purpose. His extraordinary competence filled her with hope for their survival—and made her feel useless.

They'd dumped the last empty water jug that morning. And with the humidity sapping their strength as they hiked, Sarah wondered just how long the eight of them could go before passing out from heatstroke. But then Hawk had told them to stop and rest for fifteen minutes. While they collapsed, he disappeared into the trees, and came back minutes later with an armload of large, flat leaves. He called them traveler's palms, and showed them how to pierce the base of the leaf stalk and suck out its watery sap to ease their thirsts.

"Shadow Man here. Sending out SOS re this location. Expect to reach El Espanto next A.M. Will need medical attention." Shadow Man? Sarah felt Hawk's gaze slide over to her. She lifted her chin and met the question in his look. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, and pushed aside the sticky curls that clung to her face. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but wasn't sure her aching muscles had obeyed her wishes. Just as quickly, he turned away. "Repeat. Shadow Man here. Will need medical attention upon arrival."

She must look a sight. No makeup, no bath, no brush for her hair. They hadn't yet spoken about last night. She wasn't sure she could. She'd opened up her deepest scars to him, shown him all her inadequacies. She'd awakened at dawn, when the heat of the rising sun began to burn off the clinging mist of the night. He’d still held her in his arms. But he removed the cherished protection as soon as he knew she was awake. He tucked the blanket around her and excused himself to wake Raul and gather some breakfast.

He'd made no mention of their conversation the night before. He hadn't touched her in any way more personal than a chaste kiss on the forehead. His hasty departure left her wondering how big a fool she'd made of herself. Had she imagined the intensity of his reaction to their kissing and talking and holding? Or had she seen what she wanted to see, leaving a kindhearted Hawk with no option but to go along with her wishful thinking?

By the time Hawk and Raul returned with an assortment of edible fruits for breakfast, she had the girls ready to go, and her emotional armor was as firmly in place as her tattered defenses would allow.

They'd exchanged several curious, meaningful looks throughout the morning. But Hawk limited his conversation to the business of getting them out of the jungle, and Sarah retreated into cowardly silence.

While the trio worked with the radio, Sarah opened her pack and took out some of the chocolate tree fruit Hawk had brought them. She popped one of the black berries into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Hawk had explained that the plant was related to the persimmon tree of North America. Unfortunately, the chocolate-colored flesh beneath the skin tasted more like the tart persimmon than like its sweeter namesake.