Master of Paradise (19 page)

She wanted this above all things. His
presence had unleashed such a volcanic yearning that she knew she
must have him or die.

The shelter was forgotten. Gone was any
thought of refuge. Security, protection, these were words from
another realm that seemed so much less real than what was
transpiring in this mystical, storm-thrashed world.

She slipped the soaked clothing down her body
so it fell at her feet. As she stepped out of it, it seemed to
symbolize the baring of her naked soul for his pleasure.

Gently, he took her hands in both of his and
came close so his mouth was at her ear. “Legend says on stormy
nights, the male
coco de mer
uproots himself from the earth
and goes to the female to mate. No human has ever seen such an
occurrence. Were we to witness it, we’d be struck dead, so we would
tell no tales.”

She glanced up at the giant tree above,
believing in the magic, thinking she almost saw its fruit move and
shift and become a man. Lightning cracked against the sky, sounding
like the wrenching of ancient roots from the hard earth at their
feet.

It reminded her of when they were children,
his telling her fanciful tales. Then, like the man of action he
was, he picked her up, swung her around, and laid her down on a
soft, grassy bed, making her forget the child he’d been in the man
he now was.

His mouth was on her, at the mound of her
breast, the curve of her belly, the fragile, pulsing tissue of her
inner thigh. He licked and nibbled and nipped with a constantly
moving mouth, the mouth of a virtuoso, the mouth of a man who loves
the taste of a woman and can never get enough. He moved over her,
not in a sensual, slow-moving trail, but in a swift fashion that
carried with it the tantalizing element of surprise. In the dark,
she couldn’t see. He played on her defenselessness, enhancing her
awareness of his mouth by kissing her first on her shoulder, then
on the balls of her feet, raising a leg to lick the back of a
shapely buttock, then nipping at her nipple with the grinding
friction of gently gnawing teeth. She never knew where his mouth
would surface next. The not knowing excited her, made her forget
everything else in the delicious anticipation of his next move.
Just as his mouth settled on a breast, his fingers played with the
damp evidence of her hunger, causing her to cry aloud, then moved
too quickly to trail a fevered path along her calf to circle the
cap of her knee. By now, her body was on fire, wanting his touch so
much, she grew impatient to have him sheath himself in her.

She reached for his breeches, caressing the
manifest bulge. “Don’t tease me, Rodrigo. Come inside.”

Her hands ripped at the fastenings. He
brushed them aside and she heard the wet material slide down his
hardened skin. Then she gasped as he lay atop her, his body warm
and hard, and utterly masculine, the body of a man who knows his
own desires. She felt his erection against the opening of her
thighs. He angled himself so he was rubbing against her, back and
forth, slowly, slowly, until she opened her mouth wide and panted,
“I want you so.”

She arched her hips to increase the lovely
friction of him rubbing against her, his erection now slickly moist
from the juices of her lust. He grabbed her hair in a fist that was
neither caring nor compassionate. Like a caveman claiming his woman
in the wild. It thrilled her.

Then he took himself in hand and for some
time, teased her, parting her wet curls, sliding back and forth,
then circling her cleft, goading her to a state of turmoil that
intensified her passion and caused her to thrash her head from side
to side. She lunged up, trying desperately to coax him inside, but
he put a halting hand to her collarbone and pushed her back to
taunt her still more. Her senses began to slip. Everything inside
her melted away—her exhaustion, her terror, even her relief at
finding him alive. She lost track of everything but the need to
open herself to him, to be
taken
by him. To be elated beyond
reason by the unbelievably exhilarating torment of his touch.

Just as she felt her climax building—when she
no longer cared what he did or how—he entered her with a savage
thrust. He pierced her like a man who could no longer wait to seize
the woman he loved. He plunged into her like a hurricane at sea,
lifting her hips and thrusting with the same mad grace with which
he wielded his sword. Unconquerable. Impossible to guess where he
might strike next. As he drove into her, his hands wandered to her
breasts, her throat, to thrust his fingers in her mouth. They were
everywhere and nowhere, urging her body to new heights of desire,
inciting her hunger and quenching it all at the same time.

She was panting and gasping so loudly, she
couldn’t believe it was her. She’d never made such untamed noises,
like an animal of the wilderness. She bit down on his fingers and
tried to quiet herself, but he sank into her like an arrow hitting
its mark and she threw back her head and cried out loud.

“Go ahead and scream,” his voice said at her
ear, hot and hushed like a fever. “There’s no one to hear you.
Civilization is miles away. There are no rules of decorum. It’s
just you and me,
carícia,
and the heavens and the sea.
Surrounded by a jungle few men have ever seen. Wild things, all.
Tonight, you control your own destiny. Tell me what you
desire.”

He nipped her ear, sending a spiraling heat
pulsing through her senses. His words had taken hold of her. She
felt like a savage creature, stripped of its human bonds.

She’d waited so long for him. She’d wanted
him as she’d wanted nothing and no one. She’d fought him, denied
him, but always she’d known it would come to this. To her panting
helplessly in his manly arms. To her begging him to give her what
she’d denied she’d wanted for so long. The inevitability of it was
dazzling.

“What is it you desire?” he coaxed.

“Harder,” she gasped. “
Harder.
HARDER!”

Her words enflamed him. He hauled her up and
obliged her, sending her soaring until her head dropped back, her
mouth gaped open, and she screamed her fulfillment to the stormy
skies.

Gabrielle awakened with her head between
Rodrigo’s legs, her cheek resting on his inner thigh. It was
sticky, the dark gold hair slicked down by the issue of their night
of passion. A torrid night of unimaginable bliss. Her blurred gaze
followed the sleek line of his swordsman’s legs to the apex of his
thighs, where he lay flaccid but still huge—a symbol, a
manifestation of manhood, of power, of...liberation. They’d slept
under the stars like children of God, with no clothes to cover
their nakedness or impede their roving hands. When he’d reached for
her repeatedly in the night, his rough palm was greeted by warm and
willing flesh: the soft orb of a breast, the curve of a tender
thigh. This morning, here in the Garden of Eden, in her lover’s
embrace, smeared with the proof of their passions, she felt truly
reborn.

Overcome with gratitude, she lowered her head
and, with an eager tongue, took a long, lingering lick up his
thigh.

He stirred and came awake. Feeling him move,
she took him in her hand and kissed him reverently as she felt him
spring to life beneath her lips.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” she
murmured with a sigh. “It’s like a miracle. I’m so grateful, I
never want to let you out of my sight again.”

“You’re not as distraught this morning, I
see,” he observed with an amused smile.

“I feel stronger. It’s as if you passed some
of your strength—your energy—to me.”

“I have. The Shona of Africa believe that
when a man climaxes, he transfers his energy to the object of his
desire. And I’ve got eight years of energy built up. No wonder you
have such a glow about you.”

“I don’t flatter myself that you waited eight
years for me.”

“Mentally, I did.”

She laughed at his sheepish expression.
“Well,
physically
you’ve improved. Not that you needed
improvement.” He looked embarrassed. “How
did
you get to be
such a...
formidable
lover?”

He just shrugged, as if he’d prefer to drop
the conversation.

“Come on, Rodrigo.” She gave him a nudge with
her elbow. “Tell me.”

“I had...a teacher.”

“A woman?”

“Yes.”

“Was it Shayla?”

He was truly flabbergasted. “How do you know
about Shayla?”

“Oh, that’s easy. When we were children,
whenever a damsel was to be rescued, you always named her
Shayla.”

“Did I really? Well, Shayla was a Shona woman
from deep in Africa. She was eighteen and I was twelve.”

“Twelve! And she taught you lovemaking?”

“It was a tradition in my family. My father
and grandfather had both been taught the love secrets of the Shona
at the advent of manhood. You see, Gabé, the Shona are the
descendants of a lost civilization that once existed in central
Africa—Zimbabwe. I’ve seen the ruins of their great cities. They
had an advanced culture, more advanced, I think, than anything that
has ever existed in Europe. Their men and women were equals—true
partners. They understood how the willing exchange of power in a
relationship could create an authentic balance, and a level of
trust that is unheard of in European love affairs. They made
lovemaking into an art form, the secrets of which have been carried
down through the centuries by their Shona descendants. Though that
knowledge seems to be slowly dying out.”

After a pause she asked, in a vulnerable
tone, “Did you love her?”

“I adored her. As a pupil loves his
teacher.”

“Shayla is a beautiful name.”

“I always thought so.”

“And just what were these secrets she taught
you?”

“Well...it’s hard to explain in words.”

“Try.”

“They involve restraint; submission, and the
playing of roles to break down inhibitions. As an actress, you
should like that.”

“Restraints...really?”

“Among other things. And, of course, there
was my graduation exercise—the greatest of the lost love secrets of
Zimbabwe. That’s something I can never speak of aloud.” He turned
and looked at her with a glint of mischief. “Only perhaps show you
someday.”

She felt the heat of his implication curl
down her spine. “When?”

But he didn’t answer. He just gave her a kiss
that was more enticing than any answer he might give. “What
happened to her? Your Shayla?”

She felt him stiffen. “The slavers got her.
She was a goddess, and they tried to make her into a slave. But she
died before they could put her on the block at Zanzibar. She was
too free a spirit ever to adjust to
that
life. She just
stopped living.”

A sudden sadness permeated the air. Neither
of them spoke for several moments, until Rodrigo said, “Does it
surprise you to learn I had such a secret in my past?”

“A little.”

“I’ll wager you have secrets of your
own.”

Drawing up, she said, “Would you like me to
tell them to you?”

He studied her a moment, then said, “Only
when you feel ready.”

She didn’t respond. In the silence, they felt
the magical mood of their lovemaking slip away and the cold, hard
reality of their situation set in.

She asked, “Did you lose many men in the
battle?”

“A great many, I’m afraid. Most of them. I
tried to find survivors, but all I saw was the sea littered with
corpses. I can only hope there were survivors and that, like you,
they escaped to safety.”

“Everything was so confusing...it was too
dark...I don’t suppose you saw...Cullen?”

He was quiet for a moment, as if measuring
what he should say. “I saw him take a direct hit. I never found his
body. I fear, Gabé, that we must count him among the dead.”

She said, through the swell of guilt, “I
swore to protect him, and in the end I failed him.”

“You can’t protect people, Gabé,” he said
gently, putting a comforting arm about her. “Often, when you try,
you hold them back from their own growth.”

“There was no growth. He was an Ashton, and
the fate of the Ashton men is written in stone. Doomed to a life of
helplessness...” She couldn’t afford to go on thinking about
Cullen. It was too raw, and she too responsible.

A skink the size of a large cigar crawled
over her foot and she jerked her leg, causing her to wince in
pain.

“What’s that?” he asked. She realized he was
looking at her badly bruised leg. It was yellowing now, but it
still looked frightful, with most of the thigh discolored and
swollen.

“I hurt it in the explosion. I had a staff
somewhere, but I lost it in the storm.”

“And you walked all this way, on such an
injury?” She saw the pride in his eyes. “You’re as brave,
carícia
, as any of my finest men.”

She felt warmed by the praise.

“I can make a salve for your wound from
takamaka bark. I’ll venture out and find some.”

“I’ll go with you. I just need a staff.”

He rose and, gloriously naked, used his knife
to cut a limb and shave it for use as a staff. It was so quickly
done that she couldn’t help but recall the way she’d struggled with
the same process.

They walked slowly through the valley as
Rodrigo looked about as if he’d just come home. At one point, he
took her hand, gesturing with a sweeping motion of his arm. “Look
around you, Gabé. This is the heart of paradise. There are no
predators here. Nothing is poisonous, not a plant, not a spider,
not a snake. See those birds?”

She looked up through the foliage, and saw
once again a cloudless blue sky animated by the carefree flight of
the birds.

“What are they doing?” she asked.

“Displaying themselves.”

It seemed a charming phrase. As if they knew
their beauty and were offering it to the world.