One Touch of Topaz (5 page)

“I can imagine.” There was such savagery
in Fletch’s voice that it forced Samantha’s gaze back to his face. His eyes were glinting with icy fury in the lantern light.

“My God,” he asked, “what kind of monsters run that place?”

She was silent.

“They killed your father,” he said harshly. “You must want to murder every one of them.”

“I did at first.”

“Not now?”

She shook her head wearily. “Hatred can eat at you until there’s nothing left, until you become the thing you hate. I try not to hate anyone now. It’s better just to try to change the bad to good and help bandage the wounds.”

“I’m sure that’s very laudable, but I’m afraid I couldn’t be as philosophical in your place. I’d enjoy too much inflicting a few wounds myself.”

She could see that he’d enjoy it. The savagery in his face shocked her.

He noted her reaction and smiled mirthlessly. “You said you wanted to know what I was thinking. You should have stated a few reservations if you didn’t want the raw product. My thoughts are sometimes not as pleasant and civilized as you might like.”

“I’d rather know the truth,” she said shakily. “You know you’re actually more of a warrior than Ricardo. I often thought it strange that he should spearhead the revolution when he’s far more suited for almost anything else.”

“I suppose he has the soul of a poet?” Fletch asked caustically.

“Close.”

Fletch frowned. “Well, I don’t want to talk about your dashing young poet. I don’t believe you’d like my thoughts on the subject.”

“But you’d like Ricardo,” she protested. “He’s a fine—”

He touched her. The tips of his fingers rested on the pulse beating beneath her chin. It was a gossamer-light touch, but it sent
heat rocketing through her and made her forget what she had been going to say. She moistened her lips with her tongue. “What are you doing?”

“Touching you.” His fingertips trailed lightly to the hollow of her throat. Her pulse leapt crazily under the pads of his fingers.

“Why?”

“Because I want to.” He held her eyes and a faint smile curved his lips. “And because I wanted to stop you from talking about Lazaro. I don’t want to hear you even speak his name. He’s out of the picture.”

“No, he—”

His fingers moved quickly to her lips, and the words froze before they were spoken. Her lips were throbbing, growing pliant, swollen, as he touched them. His index finger slowly traced the outline of her lower lip to one corner and then back again. “Forget him,” he said softly. “You know I can please you. The sparks have been flying between us since the moment we met in the glade tonight. I felt them. You felt them.” He
smiled that rare smile again. “I think we’re both burning, aren’t we, Samantha?”

“Yes.” She could barely get the words past the dryness in her throat. Her breasts were rising and falling as she tried to force air into her constricted lungs. “I guess we are.”

He took a step nearer, and his hands cupped her face in his palms. “I like the feel of you.” His thumbs splayed out, savoring the textures of the planes of her cheeks. “You’re light, almost weightless, yet there’s a strength …” His head lowered slowly. “But not too much strength. It’s very erotic for a man to know he has the power either to break or treasure something infinitely fragile.” His mouth brushed back and forth over her lips, each movement a kiss. “I like that power, Samantha, but I don’t think I could ever bear to break you.”

His lips wooed with delicate sweetness, taking, giving, with a skillfull sensuality that made a moan rise from deep in her throat as
pleasure cascaded through her in golden ripples of sensation. He lifted his head, and she could see a tiny muscle jerk on his cheek. “No, I could never hurt you.” His tongue licked gently at her lower lip. “Open, love. I want to taste you.”

Her lips parted and the magic began again, a deeper and more intimate magic. Her hands reached out blindly to clutch his shoulders. He was so big, there was so much power, so much beauty …

His heart was pounding against her breast, and his mouth was becoming hotter, more demanding. His teeth caught her lower lip and nipped teasingly. The tiny, elemental pain sent a shiver of hunger through her. He buried his face in the hair at her temple, his arms going around her to press her into the hollow of his hips. Arousal. Stark, bold hunger. “Let’s get back to the blankets,” he said thickly. “I probably wouldn’t notice if I were lying on a bed of nails, but these rocks might mark you.” He moved her yearningly
against him. “And I don’t want anything to mark you but me.”

She was trembling. Pleasure. He could give her pleasure and beauty, and she would forget terror and loneliness. She had never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted Fletcher Bronson at this moment. So fast. How had this happened? Why this man when no other had aroused this wild wanting within her?

“Samantha?” Fletch’s voice was a soft demand.

She moved closer, and he gave a satisfied chuckle. “You had me scared. You want me?”

Oh, yes, she wanted him. She was aching, throbbing, with that hunger. “I want you.”

“Good. Let’s get the hell back—” He broke off. She was stepping back, pulling away from him. He stiffened, his eyes narrowed on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” She was still backing away, shaking her head, her eyes glittering in
the lantern light. “I didn’t mean … I don’t think …”

“Are you saying no?” His voice was dangerously soft.

“I think it would be … it’s for all the wrong reasons.”

Fletch cursed beneath his breath. “Reason has nothing to do with it. You
want
me, dammit. And I want you.”

Her feet felt weighted, her whole body sluggish. She didn’t want to do this, she thought wildly; all she wanted was to go back into his arms and press herself against his big muscular body and let him—No, it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair to him, and it might not be fair to herself, either. She was too shaken to think right now. She drew herself up straight, trying to still the trembling of her body. “I didn’t mean to be a tease,” she said with dignity. “I’m not myself tonight, and you caught me off guard. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

He took a half step forward. “The hell I—”
He stopped, fighting for control. “Dammit, I’m
hurting.”

“I know.” Her topaz eyes were shimmering with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

He gazed at her, and then suddenly his lips curved in a rueful smile. “Not nearly as sorry as I am.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re not angry?”

“I’m not feeling very kindly toward you at the moment, but anger doesn’t enter into it. I can’t afford it.”

That was a strange thing to say, she thought in bewilderment.

He leaned down and picked up the lantern and handed it to her. “Let’s get back. Lead the way.”

“Thank you for being so understanding,” she said haltingly as she started down the passageway.

“I don’t understand,” he murmured behind her. “But I have every intention of understanding everything about you. Soon.”

She could feel his gaze on her as she led
them through the caverns, and she found it acutely disconcerting. He wanted her. He was looking at her buttocks and her thighs and imagining his hands on her. She knew it, and the knowledge was bringing a warm, liquid weakness to her every muscle.

She was relieved when they finally reached the central room. She set the lantern down by the campfire. “It’s beginning to get cool, isn’t it? There are some more blankets. Shall I get you a few?”

“I won’t need them.” He dropped down on the pallet farthest from the fire. “I can’t imagine being cold at the moment.”

Samantha felt the color sting her cheeks as she sat down in her previous place across the fire. “Good night.”

“I doubt it,” he said dryly as he settled his big bulk on the pallet. He turned to face her, his head resting on his arm. “It won’t be a good night for either of us.” He paused. “Unless you change your mind.”

She shook her head emphatically.

“The offer remains open.” His gaze met
her own across the fire. “You want me, you know you do.” His deep voice was all-coaxing male persuasion. “You don’t have to be alone over there. All you have to do is come and lie beside me and I’ll give you what you need. What we both need.”

The temptation was almost irresistible. Even in repose Fletch’s brawny body radiated power and virility. She remembered how warm and hard he had been as she had pressed against him, how safe and secure she had felt leaning on his strength. Sensuality or security? Which was her motivation? she wondered desperately. Perhaps it was both. Oh, she just didn’t know. The only certain thing was that she was too bewildered to make a decision involving a man like Fletch Bronson.

“No.” Her voice was almost inaudible.

“Think about it.” He smiled. “I’ll be here for you.” It was a promise.

She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. She could feel his gaze on her again, and it was impossible to force her
muscles to relax. He was lying there, wanting her, waiting. She could feel her heart start to pound harder, and she was excruciatingly aware of everything around her: the crackle and hiss of the logs on the fire; the liquid gurgle of the spring; the light, steady breathing of the man across the fire.

Fletch. Waiting.

S
HE WAS DREAMING
again.

Samantha realized on some remote level that she was dreaming, but it made no difference, because the terror was real, even if the cause of it was not.

And the scene in the dream was always the same: the wide black mustache on the face of the general in the portrait on the crumbling stucco wall; the four officers sitting at the long table, their expressions all identical; the broken flagstones beneath her feet as she walked slowly toward them.

And Papa sitting a little apart from the others, gazing at her with an agonized expression, his lips drawn back from his teeth as if in pain.

Papa. No, don’t—
Papa!

She came away from the wall, her eyelids flying open. Her heart was beating as if it might burst from her breast, and great shudders were racking her body. It was over, she assured herself frantically. It was all in the past. She was not at the Abbey but here in the caverns. Safe. Fletcher Bronson was only a few yards away. What had happened was in the past.

But it could happen again.

If she stayed here, it could happen again. She could be captured and taken to that place. Her heart was racing so fast, she felt sick.

She
had
to stay. She mustn’t be such a coward. Perhaps it would be better after Fletch left the island and no longer offered such temptation. A wrenching pain swept through her. He would leave and she would
be left alone. She might die here, never knowing, never experiencing so many wonderful things. She might be taken to the Abbey and—

No! With wild immediacy she rejected her vision of the future. She might have to stay, but she would not be cheated. She had a right to some joy.

“Are you all right?” Fletcher Bronson gazed intently at her.

She drew a deep, quivering breath. “Yes.” She moistened her lower lip with her tongue. “I’m fine.” She began to quickly unlace the army boot on her left foot. She pulled it off and then began unlacing the right boot. “I had a bad dream.” She tossed the other boot aside and stripped off her socks.

“Does that happen often?”

“I don’t want to talk about it if you don’t mind.” She rose to her feet and began unbuttoning her khaki shirt with swift, nervous fingers. “It’s over now. Do you want me to undress completely, or do you prefer to
do some of it yourself? I understand many men—”

“I beg your pardon?” He stiffened to total immobility, his gaze on her fingers on the buttons. “I seem to be behind the times. Do I take it you’ve changed your mind?”

She nodded jerkily. “If you still want to do it.” She stripped the shirt off and dropped it on the pallet behind her.

Something hot flickered in the depths of his cool green eyes. “Oh, I still want to do it. At the moment I can’t imagine anything I want more.” His gaze dropped to her small, uptilted breasts, naked now in the firelight. “You don’t wear a bra. I couldn’t tell in that oversize shirt.”

She could feel the color heating her cheeks. He was so casual, as if she had undressed for him a thousand times before. “I don’t need one, I’m not very big.”

“I can see that. I’m going to be able to hold your breasts in the palms of my hands. I’ll like that.” He sat up. “Will you come here, Samantha? I want to touch you.”

She hesitated, then crossed the few paces separating them and dropped to her knees beside him. For the first time she looked directly into his eyes. She inhaled sharply, a tiny thrill of excitement running through her. She had been mistaken. Fletch was not at all casual. She swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. “You’re not touching me.”

He smiled. “I’m quite aware of the fact. I want to take my time. You’re special, Samantha.” He unclasped her tortoiseshell barrette and tossed it on the ground. “Very special.”

“I’m skinny.”

He nodded. “You’re too thin. We’ll have to do something about that. I feel as if you’ll shatter if I put even one finger on you.”

“Oh, no, I’m really very tough. I get lots of exercise.”

His lips tightened. “Running through these hills dodging patrols, no doubt.” His fingers threaded through her hair, and the slight tugging sent a frisson of hot delight
down her spine. His hands suddenly tightened on her hair, and he pulled her head back to look into her eyes. “We’ll do something about that too.”

She scarcely heard him. He was close enough for her to feel the heat of his big body and a faint musky fragrance that was wildly exciting. She began to unbutton his shirt. “Do you mind? I want to see you.”

“I’m not very pretty. Not like your Adonis, Lazaro.” He pulled away from her and rose to his feet. “I’ll do it.” He stripped quickly and efficiently and stood before her, still scowling. “I told you I was no Adonis.”

Not Adonis. There was nothing slim or elegant about him. Fletch was all bulging muscle and power, tree-trunk calves and thighs, tight buttocks, and flat stomach. The thick auburn hair roughening his chest was gilded with silver, and he looked fully mature, overpoweringly male. Not Adonis but perhaps Vulcan or Hercules.