Mystic Memories (21 page)

“He’s breathing comfortably now. His heartbeat isn’t racing anymore, either.”

“Do you think the worst is over?”

She turned her head to look up at him in the pale light. The corners of her lips curved up slowly in a drowsy sort of smile. “He made it through the night. I think it’s safe to say he’ll more than likely pull through.”

He kissed her in gratitude, then said, “Thank you.”

She seemed to be half asleep, still languishing in the dream that had affected both of them. Her dark eyes stared at him for a long moment. “You’re welcome.”

Unable to resist the taste of her lips, he lowered his mouth to hers once more. She made a sweet noise again, a low, kittenish purr, as the backs of his fingers brushed across her breast. He unbuttoned her shirt and slipped his hand inside. Her skin was flushed with heat. He caressed one nipple between his thumb and finger with gentle tugs.

When Cara shifted onto her back, her hip rubbed against his swollen flesh, causing him to moan with the ache of wanting her. Her lips parted further. The tip of her tongue touched his, teasing him, inviting him.

As the kiss deepened into a slow, seductive dance, he freed the remaining buttons of her shirt, then opened it. Her back arched, pressing her breast into the palm of his hand. He brought his head downward, taking her other nipple into his mouth. The gentle suckling caused her breathing to grow shallow. His own body tightened, throbbing low in his belly.

Vowing to himself that he would take her slowly, not brutally as he’d nearly done before, he reached for her buckle.

Her hand dropped to his wrist, stopping him.

He glanced up.

Silently, she brought his hand back to her breast, then began to unfasten her own belt. He gave her a slow smile and a slight nod of understanding, returning his attention to her firm, rounded breasts and the delectable feel of the pert nipple against his tongue. She shifted and moved beneath him, removing the last of her clothing as he pleasured her with his lips.

Slow . . . Go slow . . . Take her slowly
.

His hand slid down along her flat belly, over the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. As he dipped his fingers into her moist feminine folds, he felt the slick wetness of her womanhood. Her readiness prompted a need in him so great that he had to fight for control.

His heart pounded in his ears. His entire body throbbed. Yet he somehow managed to maintain the slow, deliberate seduction. Freeing himself from the restraints of his trousers, he shifted his body over her and positioned himself between her thighs. Her hands slid down to his buttocks, grasping them and pulling him into her. He held back, resisting his desire to take her fast and hard. The tip of his manhood entered her, then pulled out again. She gasped and writhed. He was torturing her, he knew. He was torturing himself as well.

Little by little, he entered her farther, then withdrew completely, each time stroking the outer folds of her flesh as well as her inner core. Her fingers dug into him, but he refused to hasten his pace. And it was killing him. His mouth suckled her neck, harder and harder as he held back his release. Her teeth bore down on his shoulder, biting him as her breath quickened. Her body stiffened beneath him, then gave way to its own quivering spasms of ecstasy. Her gasps came loud and hot in his ear.

Overpowered by his own body’s need, he slid his hands under her and wrapped his arms around her. Then he drove deep inside her, filling her completely, pressing against the hot barrier of her womb.

That one feeling, that one sensation surrounded him, stilling his movement. Nothing else existed at that moment except the feeling of warmth and pleasure. He felt as if his entire being had left behind his physical body and nested within the deepest reaches of this mysterious woman.

Somewhere in the nether regions of his mind, he heard her soft voice. “Let go, Blake. Let go . . . Take me with you.”

Pictures and images raced past his mind’s eye. Things he’d never seen before. Boats with bright, fanciful sails. People in odd clothing, nearly as bare as the
Kānaka
. Yet they were not Sandwich Islanders.

Panic swept up his throat. God, what was happening to him? He was making love to Cara, wasn’t he? Why was he seeing—?

“Let go, Blake. Let go . . .”

“NO!” His yell was muffled as he buried his face in her neck. He bucked against her, pounding the images from his mind, bringing back only the unsatiated male need. Desire mounted with each thrust. Then came the huge burst of excruciating pleasure, followed by wave after wave of shuddering release.

Collapsing on top of her, he refused to kiss her or thank her or say anything at all to this sorceress. The mere touch of her flesh did things to him unlike anything he had ever before experienced, reaching deep inside him, making him remember the past. But now . . . what were the strange pictures he’d seen? How could his mind be filled with such vivid imagery, as if he were transported to another time and place?

Cara felt her heart still pounding wildly from their love-making as her mind filled with his silent curses. Holding him in her arms, she bit her lower lip, trying not to cry yet unable to keep from hearing his fearful accusations. He damned her for manipulating him into this sexual liaison so he would take her with him. Then he wondered if she drove other men from her bed stark raving mad.

He had every right to blame her, she thought, remembering the surreal pictures of fireworks and the Fourth of July that had darted through her head during the heat of passion. Only after Blake had cried out did she realize he’d also seen the alarming glimpse of her modem world. In his mind he accused her of casting a spell on him, destroying his sanity.

“I’m sorry, Blake,” she whispered between gulps of air, her breathing still erratic.

“As am I,” he said on a long exhale, then lifted himself off of her.

Chapter
14

A
fter Blake left the cave, Cara curled up on her side, too stunned to do anything as sensible as gather her clothes together and get dressed. Their lovemaking had started out so beautifully but ended so badly. Never had she experienced the level of completion, yet afterward . . . something had happened that she couldn’t begin to understand.

She had always believed the union of a man and a woman was more than the sexual joining of two bodies, that for a brief moment it was the transcendence of separate existences. Intertwined as one, they shared the same thoughts, same breath, same beat of their hearts. With Blake, she had felt all of that and more. Much, much more.

Then everything had abruptly changed with the strange vision of a holiday unlike any memory of her own. She had no recollection of the people or the place. But it had been enough to scare the hell out of Blake.

Now as she lay on the sweet-smelling bed of grass, she wiped away a tear trailing down her cheek. She didn’t want to believe he thought he’d been coerced into doing this against his will. But it was quite obvious that he believed it.

He believed she was using him, that her feelings were detached, that she would use any means to see that he took her with him when he sailed.

Confused and disillusioned, she swallowed the sob lodged in her throat. A shudder of cold shook her, and she groped blindly for her clothes. Finding her panties inside her trousers, she had started to put them on when Blake reappeared at the opening of the cave. His smoldering gaze settled on her erect nipples, taut from the sudden chill. She made no move to cover herself. Instead, she surreptitiously slipped the tiny scrap of cotton underwear into the pocket of the pants.

She sniffed, tilting her chin up. “I’m getting dressed.”

“So I see.” He came inside anyway, shuttering his initial reaction to her naked body. “Here.”

She looked down at his extended hand, holding out a wadded wet cloth. She took it but said nothing.

“I thought you might want to wash,” he explained, a tough edge to his voice. “It’s the best I could do. I’ll bring more water.”

As he turned to leave, she saw that he had cut off the rest of his shirttail for her. Why? How could he hate her so much in one instant and treat her with kindness in the next? Was he afraid she’d put a hex on him if he didn’t?

She slipped into her shirt, buttoning it just before he came back with both her shoes filled with water.

“I’ll give one to Bud while you clean up and get dressed.”

She nodded mutely, then watched him minister to his dog, his back to her, allowing her a modicum of privacy.

A short time later, they headed back to the path leading to the small town. Bud was awake but too weak to walk so Blake carried his sick dog the entire way. When they reached the village, Cara expected to be dropped off on someone’s doorstep. Instead, Blake led her to a stable, where he hired two horses to ride the final three miles to the hide houses. She didn’t dare question his actions. While his mind was preoccupied with getting his dog back to the
Valiant
, she wasn’t about to remind him of his promise to leave her.

As their mounts descended the hill overlooking the beach, Keoni and the other
Kānaka
ran up to meet them. Blake handed his injured dog to his friend, saying only the word “rattlesnake,” then dismounted and helped lower Bud to the ground. One of the men was sent for water as the dog tried to raise his head to look around. Keoni asked another man to go back to the oven for some of the herb the
Kānaka
kept for snakebite.

Getting down off her horse, Cara picked up the reins of Blake’s horse and stood with both mounts, watching and waiting for Blake to realize finally that he’d forgotten to dump her on a family back in the village.

Then again, he could be planning to send her back alone to return the two horses. No, she told herself, he would not send her off after the way he’d acted yesterday about her safety. And unless he bodily dragged her back to the village, she wasn’t going anywhere but back to the ship.

She listened as Blake explained the events of the last twenty-four hours to Keoni, discreetly leaving out the love-making at dawn, she noted. Then he took her completely by surprise—given his surly attitude—by mentioning her daring risk to save his dog from the snakebite. She found herself feeling a little flattered that he actually gave her credit for saving the animal’s life.

Kneeling across from his captain, Keoni looked straight at her, his broad face creased in a smile. “
Wahine
do good, eh?”

Cara forced a grin, but noticed that the Hawaiian was well aware that something was wrong. He frowned, glancing from her to Blake and back again. His eyebrows arrowed upward, then a sly smile crept across his face. He turned back to Blake.

“Maybe
wahine
do good med’cine for Bud, she good med’cine for all-a us, eh
kaikaina
?”

“No, not for
all
of us,” corrected Blake with a sharp tongue. “I only brought her back to care for Bud until he’s completely recovered. After that, she goes. Either way, we sail within the week. Without her.”

Cara’s spine stiffened. His words hurt, especially after the intimacy they had shared. But she would be damned if he’d leave her behind. She had to find Andrew.

One of the men carried a small wooden bucket of water up the hill. When the bucket was set down, Bud struggled to stand but required support. Cara watched the thirsty dog briefly lap the water before he collapsed. Her heart went out to him as she watched him battle his weakness. With a determined spirit, he propped his chin on the edge of the bucket between his two front legs. After a moment’s rest, he stretched his neck and drank until he had to pause again.

“Lazy man’s way,” laughed Keoni, breaking the tension in the air. A dark-skinned Sandwich Islander ran up and handed Keoni a little leather pouch, which Cara assumed contained the herbs he’d requested.

Blake lifted the dog into his arms. “Let’s get him to the ship so you can give him some of your
Kānaka
medicine.”

“What about the horses?” asked Cara, holding up the reins in her hands.

Blake had already started down the hill toward the bay. He turned and looked at her as if to say, “I don’t give a damn what you do with them.”

Keoni said something in Hawaiian to the
Kanaka
who’d brought the pouch. The other man eagerly took the horses, happy to have free use of them until the owner sent someone to get them.

On the way down to the water, Keoni spoke to Cara loud enough for Blake to hear. “I heard talk at the oven last night of a yellow-haired boy on a ship bound for Boston.”

“That must be Andrew,” cried Cara. “Blake, did you hear him?”

Blake had not only heard, he’d stopped dead in his tracks until Keoni paused alongside him. Then he asked the cook, “The name of the ship?”

“The
Ballade
.”

With a whoop of joy, Cara threw her arms around Keoni and started to kiss him on the cheek. But his head turned at the last second, and he took her kiss full on his mouth. Embarrassed, she pulled back, but he leaned forward, prolonging the unintentional intimacy before he chose to break it off. Her gaze flitted to Blake, who stared at her with narrowed eyes.

She stared right back at him, daring him to make more out of an innocent kiss of a friend. Besides, he obviously didn’t want anything to do with her anymore, so he couldn’t possibly care whom she kissed.

Oh, but his indifference hurt.

Was he upset because Keoni had just proved her right about Andrew? Of course! That had to be it. And now he was full of piss and vinegar because once again he had proof that her mysterious way of knowing things was not the behavior of a crazy person. She was as sane as he was. And he was going to have to accept it.

With her own information corroborated by a reliable friend, Cara had to convince Blake to take her back to Boston with him. There was no other option. She had to sail on the
Valiant
.

“Marry her,
kaikaina
.”

“Are you mad?” Blake nearly choked on a sip of rum.

They stood at the rail adjacent to the ship’s galley, staring out across the calm waters of the moonlit bay. It was after eight bells. The watch had been set. The rest of the crew had gone below into the forecastle for the evening. Bud was resting comfortably in the cabin, recuperating slowly but steadily. This was the time of evening when Blake could enjoy a bit of the spirits, of which he was in much need, especially after the mess he’d made of things with Cara. Three days had passed since the incident in the cave. In three more, the
Valiant
would set sail.

He still couldn’t get past the feeling that he’d been used. That she’d wanted him bound to her so she would be assured passage on his ship.

“You can’t leave her here alone. And she has no money to pay for fare on another ship. Even if she sails as your wife, the men may still do a good bit of grumbling about the bad luck of a woman on board. The owners of the
Valiant
may not be too pleased either. But at least she will not have traveled as an unpaid female guest of the captain, which could cost you dearly.”

“Then
you
marry her.”

After a long pause, he answered, “All right.”

“What?!”

“If she will have me, I will marry her. Tomorrow.”

“You
are
mad! What sort of spell has she cast upon you?’

“None.” He turned to leave, clearly angry, which was a rare sight.

“Wait, Keoni . . .” Blake couldn’t believe his friend would go through with this. “You can’t be serious,
kaikuaʽana
. She will never agree to live four or five months in your small cabin.”

“If it is the only way to reach Andrew, she will.”

“This marriage would be in name only,” stated Blake firmly, expecting his friend to agree.

“Have you seen the size of my berth?” The
Kanaka
cocked one eyebrow. “After five months together in my cabin, what do
you
think?’ ’

Blake was momentarily stunned by the insinuation, then angered by the image of his
Kanaka
brother lying with Cara in his arms. “I think you are both insane and deserve one another. Congratulations and best wishes for a long and fruitful marriage.”

He downed the last of the small amount of liquor, shoved the cup into the cook’s hand, and stormed off, bellowing for Jimmy to prepare his things so he could go ashore.

“Wait,
kaikaina
.”

Blake looked down at the hand on his shoulder, then glared at his friend. “Get the hell out of my way.”

“Where are you going to go at this hour?”

“Why, to celebrate, of course. I intend to go to the
pulpería
and toast your future with . . . her.” He jerked his head toward the aft cabin. “I might even find a young
señorita
to keep me company for the night.”

“Don’t be a fool.”