Shades of Gray (6 page)

The silver answer … And love, like death, couldn’t be avoided or denied. Ever. She could no more resist going to him when he called to her than she could resist the next beat of her heart. And nothing could change that stark, simple, painful truth. Whatever he was, whatever he had done or would do in the future, she loved him.

When she had left Kadeira and him, her numbing anguish had come less from the knowledge of what he had done than from the knowledge that she loved him—
despite what he had done
.

“Sara?”

Standing on the terrace, she watched him walk slowly toward her, and her mind screamed in silence,
I can’t let him find out!
She was afraid. That darkness in him, that implacable ruthlessness, would cause him to use the knowledge of her love against her, and she couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t live with him as he wanted, marry him. She couldn’t be with him through the years, loving in this kind of pain. It wouldn’t destroy her love, but it would, in the end, destroy her.

She wasn’t strong enough to love him.

“What is it, Sara?” His voice was low, and his hand grasped hers gently as he reached her side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Andres.” She heard her voice, light and mocking, and prayed that her control held. “Nothing at all.”

After a moment he led her down into the garden, walking slowly along the path that wound in a relaxed pattern through three acres of fenced and patrolled grounds. “Have you become so brittle because of me?” he asked abruptly.

“Brittle?” Very conscious of the warmth and strength of his hand, she tried to concentrate on something else. But it was difficult; someone’s hand was trembling, and she was very much afraid it was hers. “I’m two years older, and a hell of a lot wiser. What did you expect?”

Andres carried her hand to the crook of his arm and tucked it there, and she was a little relieved because at least now he wouldn’t be as likely to feel her shaking through the linen of his white shirt. Oddly enough, it occurred to her only then that she shouldn’t be touching him at
all, that it wasn’t safe. But she didn’t retrieve her hand.

“Sara, in spite of everything, I don’t think we want to tear at each other for the weeks we have together. Do we?”

“No.” She sighed. “No, I don’t think we do. Sorry, I seem to be the one doing all the tearing.” In a voice containing all the calm she could muster, she added, “We made a bargain. It’s over between us.”

Andres didn’t respond for a few moments, merely walking slowly beside her. When he finally spoke, it was in a contemplative tone, faintly wry but deliberate. “I suppose I should follow the rules this time. Play the game. Agree with you—or allow you to think I do.”

“What are you talking about? It
is
over—”

“No, it isn’t. We both know that, Sara. It didn’t end when you ran away, it just stopped.”

“We made a deal!”

“Yes. That you would remain here willingly for a month. I’ll keep my part of that bargain. In a month, if you wish to leave, I won’t try to stop you. And if you leave, I won’t interfere in
your life again. That was my bargain, Sara. I’ve never, at any point, agreed that it was over between us.”

Sara halted, jerked her hand away, and turned to face him. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, and she could see him fairly well. He had also turned to face her, his head a little bent, and the shine of his dark eyes was like the surface of bottomless twin lakes, mysterious and potentially dangerous.

As evenly as she could manage, Sara said, “I’m leaving Kadeira in four weeks, Andres.”

“Unless I convince you to stay.”

“You can’t. You won’t.”

He reached out suddenly and caught her in his arms, pulling her hard against him. “Can’t I?”

Sara caught her breath and then lost it, dizzyingly aware of strong muscles and the hard heat of his body pressed to her own. In the first shocked moment she couldn’t draw away, couldn’t even try. Two years ago Andres had not taken advantage of the strong physical attraction between them, had not used desire to sway
her. Not then. But this time, she realized hollowly, this time he would.

“No! Andres—”

“You’ve given me no choice, Sara,” he said huskily. “I’m fighting for my
life
. And a soldier uses every weapon he can find.”

“
Weapon
,” she repeated bitterly, pushing against his powerful chest in an attempt she knew to be useless. “Is that how you see it, Andres? Sex is just another weapon to bend someone to your own will, to get what you want?”

“You’ve made it a fight,” he told her, his voice growing ragged, strained. “I didn’t want it this way, but if it has to be, I know how to fight.”

“You won’t win, not this time!” Sara didn’t try to wrench herself free, because she knew only too well that his strength would defeat her, but she kept her arms stiff and fought to hold on to the anger.

“Won’t I? Look at what you’re wearing, Sara.”

She went still, catching her breath and forcing her voice to remain steady. “I told you I wasn’t dressed. I didn’t expect to see you, to come out here—”

“You could have changed,” he said softly but insistently. “But you didn’t, did you, Sara?” One hand remained at the small of her back, holding her easily in place, while the other slipped between them and toyed with the thin ribbon tie of her negligee. “A woman wouldn’t wear this to walk with a man she hated, would she? Not something like this, meant to be worn in a bedroom. And not his favorite color. It is green, Sara; I saw that while you stood on the balcony. My favorite color on you.”

She could feel his touch between her breasts, toying with the ribbon until the negligee fell open, and she could feel her arms weakening, the strength of them slipping away. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe, and the warm night was suddenly hot, closing in on her. “No.” Her voice emerged in a whisper. “I just wasn’t thinking. I—”

He traced the vee neckline of her gown slowly with his knuckles, the soft caress trailing fire, and the hand at her waist held her lower body tightly against the hardness of his. She was melting in the heat, the heat of the night and of him.
Melting, and she couldn’t seem to stop it. She tried to think, tried to remember why this was wrong, why she couldn’t let it go on, but her thoughts were fogged, sluggish.

“You never let me see you in something like this before,” he murmured. His hand brushed the full curve of her breast, separated from his flesh only by thin, sheer silk. “Why not then, Sara? And why now?”

She didn’t have an answer, at least not one she was willing to give him. “Don’t, Andres, please.” The last remaining strength in her arms gave out, and like a warlock, he knew the instant she could no longer resist him.

Even as both arms surrounded her, drawing her completely against him, his head bent and his mouth found hers. Before, Andres always had kept a tight rein on his desire, offering her only gentleness; now it seemed there was little gentleness left in him. His mouth was hot, hard, demanding. He kissed her with all the untamed force of his desire, and it was like a jarring blow that left Sara reeling.

She lost something then but didn’t know what
it was. Then she felt it leaving her, torn away by his implacable demand. And even though an answering fire in her matched his demand, even though her senses were vividly alive, her emotions were numbed by the sheer, overwhelming power of his desire.

It was like a sudden storm that blew up out of nowhere, battering her until she couldn’t even fight to save herself, until she was left bruised and bewildered.

“You think you know the worst of me, don’t you, Sara?” he muttered against her throat. His big body shuddered once, and he held her tightly. “But you don’t. And you don’t know the best of me.”

Dimly Sara realized that her arms had somehow wound around his waist, and the knowledge that she was holding him with what strength she could muster was a distant shock. She had to stop this, had to—

“I could take you now.” He lifted his head, staring down at her with eyes that burned even in the night. “I could, Sara. You wouldn’t stop me. You wouldn’t even try. And with this
between us, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate me in the morning. You know that, don’t you?”

She stared up at him, hearing the voice that had moved a country. Hearing the voice that moved her and tugged at everything she was. “Yes,” she whispered finally. “Yes, I know.”

T
HE ADMISSION
,
MADE
with bitter reluctance, quivered in the air between them. She forced her arms to release him, let them drop limply to her sides. Even now, with full knowledge and understanding of the consequences, she couldn’t stop him. And it wasn’t only her body that demanded his with an aching insistence; her heart, too, longed for a consummation that, if not complete, would at least leave her with something when all this was over and she was alone again.

Andres’s hands rose slowly and framed her face. His eyes still burned, but his voice was
suddenly gentle and deep, and his hands trembled against her flesh. “I know. Heart of my heart, I know. But
you
must know the best of me now, my love. I could never, would never, hurt you that way. I could never take from you anything you were reluctant to give me.”

“You said it yourself.” Her voice was soft, still, lost somewhere. “I couldn’t stop you, wouldn’t even try. And I wouldn’t hate you for it.”

“No,” he agreed, touching her lips with his in a fleeting tender kiss. “You wouldn’t hate me. But something between us would be damaged beyond repair. Trust, perhaps. My love, I couldn’t bear it if you gave me only a part of yourself.”

Sara swallowed hard, a dim and instinctive terror stirring inside her. “You want everything, don’t you, Andres?” That darkness, that blackness in him swallowing her …

He made an odd, rough sound. “Don’t. Don’t fear that, my love. Don’t fear me.”

She wondered vaguely if she had stiffened physically, or if he had become even more adept at reading her face, her thoughts. And it was,
finally, the bewildered fear inside her that found a voice for itself. “You want too much,” she whispered. “You ask for everything from me, yet you—No. I can’t.” She felt cold inside, and frightened, and she struck out because there was no other way to fight him. “I won’t give my soul to the devil when he hasn’t one of his own!”

Andres flinched as though she had slapped him. He stepped back, his hands falling from her face, and turned away from her in a jerky motion.

“
I
’
m sorry
!” The words were torn from her in horror; she felt sickened by her own cruelty. “That was … unforgivable.”

“Do you really think me a devil?” he asked, low.

“No. No, of course not.” Sara had her arms folded protectively against the sudden chill of the night. She was conscious of the hot trickle of tears down her cheeks, and it felt as though some vital barrier inside her had ruptured. “Please … please, Andres, stop this. Stop me. Let me go.” She wasn’t even sure what she was saying, except that it had nothing to do with
leaving the island, but she was at least sure of the knowledge that they could hurt each other so terribly.

“I can’t.” His voice was strangely calm.

“You have to.” Her recognition of the awful power they held over each other made her voice shake. “Don’t you understand? I’m like an animal in a cage trying to tear my way out. I—I’ll hurt you without meaning to.”

“Sara …”

“I can’t give you what you want! There’s too much between us, too much I don’t understand, too much I’m afraid of.” She dimly wondered where her anger had gone. Now there was only this sense of desperation, this terrifying recognition that they were both somehow connected—and caught up in something that neither could control. “I don’t have the strength for this!”

Andres slowly turned back to face her, though he didn’t step closer. In the dimness of the garden he was a shadowy presence, big, curiously featureless. “You have the strength,” he said in a deep, still voice. “You
must
have it. I can’t stop this. I can’t let you go. You haven’t
realized … Heart of my heart, the love I have for you is the best of me. And what will I be if I lose that?”

Sara couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. His words shocked her, frightened her, moved her unbearably. The understanding that she was so terribly important to him was a burden, and she staggered under the weight of it. “No.” Her voice almost wasn’t there. “No, don’t say that.”

“I have to. You must know it.”

She realized she was backing away from him only when she felt the jab of a bush behind her, and when she put her hand back automatically, the pain caused by thorns was barely noticeable. He had forced from her the admission that she wanted him too badly to be able to fight him, or even to hate him afterward; she had shown him her own vulnerability where he was concerned, had given him the power to hurt her dreadfully.