by Nora Roberts
other in a frenzy, her hands were as quick as his.
Flesh against flesh, warm, firm, sleek. Mouth against mouth, open, hot, hungry. They rolled over the soft ground with no more inhibitions than children, but with passion full-grown and straining.
She couldn’t get enough of him and tasted, touched, as if she’d never known a man before. In that moment, she could remember no others. He filled her, heart, mind, threatening to stay so that there would never be room for another. She understood, and after the first fear, accepted.
He’d wanted women before, desperately. Or so he’d thought. Until now he hadn’t known the full meaning of desperation. Until now, he hadn’t known what it was to want. She was seeping into him, pore by pore. Women were allowed to pleasure and be pleasured, but they weren’t allowed intimacy. Intimacy meant complications a man on the run couldn’t afford. But there was no stopping her.
His hands might run along her skin, clever, skilled, strong, but it was she who led. He knew a man was at his most vulnerable when in a woman’s arms—mother, wife, or lover—yet he forgot anything but the need to be there. She melted into him, dangerously warm, dangerously soft, but he took and cursed the consequences.
Naked, agile, exquisite, she moved under him, wrapped around him. With his face buried in her hair, Doug heard the door lock behind him. He heard the bolt slide quietly into place. He didn’t give a damn.
Taking his time, he ran kisses down her face, forehead, nose, mouth, chin. He felt her smile answer his. Her elegant pampered fingers slid down to his hips. They both had their eyes open when he plunged into her.
He filled her and moaned at the exquisite heat and softness that encompassed him. Her face was dappled with sun and shade, her eyes half-closed as she matched him stroke for stroke, pulse for pulse.
Speed built, needs whirled. As his thoughts began to tumble and skid, his last rational flash was that perhaps he’d already found the end of the rainbow.
They lay in silence. Neither were children, neither were without experience. Both knew they’d never made love before. Both were wondering what the hell they were going to do about it.
Gently, she ran a hand up and down his back. He drew in the scent of her hair.
“I guess we knew this would happen,” she said after a moment.
“I guess we did.”
She looked up at the canopy of trees overhead and the pure blue beyond them. “What now?”
It wasn’t practical to think beyond the present. If her question dealt with the future, Doug thought it best to pretend otherwise. He kissed her shoulder. “We get to the nearest town, beg, borrow, or steal transportation, and head to Diégo-Suarez.”
Whitney closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. She had, after all, walked into this with them open. She’d keep them that way. “The treasure.”
“We’re going to get it, Whitney. It’s only a matter of days now.”
“And then?”
The future again. Propping himself on his elbows, he looked down at her. “Anything you want,” he said because he couldn’t think of anything but how beautiful she was. “Martinique, Athens, Zanzibar. We’ll buy a farm in Ireland and raise sheep.”
She laughed because it seemed so simple just now. “We could plant wheat in Nebraska with about the same rate of success.”
“Right. What we should do is open an American restaurant right here in Madagascar. I’ll cook and you do the books.”
Abruptly, he sat up, gathering her with him. Somehow, he’d stopped being alone and hadn’t fully realized it until that moment. Stopped being alone when alone had always seemed the best angle. He wanted to share, to belong, to have someone there right beside him. It wasn’t smart, but it was.
“We’re going to get that treasure, Whitney. After we do, nothing can stop us. Anything we want, anytime we want. I can shower diamonds in your hair.” He ran a hand through it, forgetting for the moment that she could have her pick of diamonds now if she chose.
She felt a twinge of regret, and of something like grief. He could see no further than his pot of gold. Not now, perhaps not ever. Smiling, she ran a hand over his cheek. Yet she’d known that all along. “We’ll find it.”
“We’ll find it,” he agreed, drawing her closer. “And when we do, we’ll have it all.”
They walked through another day to dusk while Whitney’s stomach rumbled and her legs went to rubber. Like Doug, she fixed her mind on the goal of Diégo-Suarez. It helped keep her feet moving and her mind from questioning. They’d come this far for the treasure. Whatever happened before, after, or in between, they’d find it. The time for thinking, questioning, analyzing would come after.
She shook her head at the fruit Doug offered. “My system would punish me if I sent any more mango down.” As if to soothe it, she placed her hand over her stomach. “I thought McDonald’s had franchises everywhere. Do you realize how far we’ve walked without seeing one golden arch?”
“Forget the fast food. When we’re finished with this, I’ll fix you a five-course dinner that’ll make you think you’ve gone to heaven.”
“I’d settle for a hot dog with everything.”
“For somebody who thinks like a duchess, you’ve got the stomach of a peasant.”
“Even serfs had a leg of mutton now and again.”
“Look, we’ll—” Then he grabbed her and shoved her into the bush.
“What is it?”
“A light, up ahead. See it?”
Cautiously, she looked over his shoulder and angled her head. It was there, faint and white through the dim light and thick foliage. Automatically, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Remo?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He went silent as he thought of and rejected a half dozen ideas. “We’ll take it slow.”
It took them fifteen minutes to reach the tiny settlement. By then, it was fully dark. They could see the light through the window of what seemed to be a small store or trading post. Moths as big as the palm of her hand batted against the glass. Outside was a jeep.
“Ask and you shall receive,” Doug said under his breath. “Let’s have a look.” Crouching, he made his way over to the window. What he saw inside made him grin.
Remo, his tailored shirt stained and limp, sat at a table scowling into a glass of beer. Across from him was Barns, balding, molelike, and grinning at nothing in particular.
“Well, well,” Doug breathed. “Looks like our lucky day.”
“What’re they doing here?”
“Running in circles. Remo looks like he needs a shave and a husky Norwegian masseuse.” Doug counted three others in the bar, all giving the Americans a wide berth. He also saw two bowls of steaming soup, a sandwich, and what looked like a bag of potato chips. Saliva pooled in his mouth.
“A shame we can’t order something to go.”
Whitney’d seen the food as well. She barely stopped herself from pressing her nose up against the glass. “Can’t we wait until they leave and then go in and eat?”
“They leave, so does the jeep. Okay, sugar, you’re going to be lookout again. This time do a better job.”
“I told you I couldn’t whistle last time because I was busy staying alive.”
“We’re both going to stay alive, and we’re going to liberate ourselves a set of wheels. Come on.”
Moving quickly, he circled the hut. With whispers and hand signals, he positioned Whitney near the front window while he crept to the jeep and went to work.
She watched, gasping when Remo rose and began to pace. Eyes wide, she looked back at the jeep. Sprawled on the floor, Doug was hidden from view. She gritted her teeth and pressed her back to the wall as Remo passed the window.
“Make it fast,” she hissed to Doug. “He’s getting restless.”
“Don’t rush me,” he muttered as he freed wires. “These things take a delicate touch.”
She glanced inside in time to see Remo shove Barns to his feet. “You better get your delicate touch mov
ing, Douglas. They’re coming.”
Swearing, he wiped sweat from his fingers. Another minute. All he needed was another minute. “Pile in, sugar, we’re almost there.” When she didn’t respond, he looked up to see the little front porch of the hut was empty. “Sonofabitch.” Struggling with the wires, he searched for her. “Whitney? Goddamn it, this is no time to take a walk.”
Still swearing, fingers working, he scanned the settlement. Nothing.
He jolted at the sound of squeals, barks, and confusion as the engine roared into life. As he started to leap out of the jeep, gun raised, Whitney raced around the side of the hut and jumped inside.
“Hit the gas, sugar,” she panted. “Or we’ll have company.”
The words weren’t out of her mouth before he had the jeep roaring down the narrow dirt road. A low-hanging branch swiped against the windshield and broke with a crack like a gunshot. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Remo running around the side of the hut. He pushed Whitney’s face into the seat and the gas pedal to the floor before the first of three shots rang out.
“Where’d you go?” Doug demanded as they left the light of the settlement behind. “A hell of a lookout you make when I nearly get myself shot looking for you.”
“That’s gratitude.” She shook back her hair as she sat up. “If I hadn’t created a diversion, you’d never have gotten the jeep hot-wired in time.”
He slowed down only enough to assure himself he wouldn’t smash the jeep against a tree. “What’re you talking about?”
“When I saw Remo was coming out, I figured you needed a diversion—like in the movies.”
“Terrific.” He negotiated a bend, bumped over a rock, and kept on going.
“So, I ran around back and let the dog into the pigsty.”
Whitney brushed the hair out of her eyes and revealed a very smug smile. “It was quite entertaining, but I couldn’t hang around to watch. It did, however, work perfectly.”
“Lucky you didn’t get your head shot off,” he mumbled.
“I continue to prevent you from having yours shot off and you resent it,” she returned. “Typical male ego. I don’t know why I…” She trailed off and sniffed the air.
“What’s that smell?”
“What smell?”
“That smell.” It wasn’t grass, damp, or animal, odors to which they had become accustomed. She sniffed again, then turned and kneeled on the seat. “It smells like…” She lowered so that when Doug turned his head he saw only her slim, well-shaped bottom. “Chicken!” Triumphant, Whitney leapt up again, holding a drumstick. “It’s chicken,” she said again, taking an enormous bite. “They have a whole cold chicken back here and a pile of cans— cans with food in them. Olives,” she announced, digging in the back again. “Big, fat Greek olives. Where’s the can opener?”
While she dug, head down, Doug plucked the drumstick from her hand. “Dimitri believes in eating well,” he said over a healthy bite. He could have sworn he felt it slide all the way down. “Remo’s smart enough to raid the larder when he’s going to be on the road.”
“I’ll say.” With a light in her eyes, she flopped back on the seat again. “Beluga.” She held the small tin between her thumb and finger. “And there’s a bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé, ′79.”
“Any salt?”
“Of course.”
Grinning, he handed her the half-eaten drumstick. “Looks like we’re traveling to Diégo-Suarez in style, sugar.”
Whitney retrieved the bottle of wine and drew out the cork. “Sugar,” she drawled. “I never travel any other way.”
C H A P T E R
13
They made love in the jeep like giddy teenagers, high on exhaustion and wine. The moon was white, the night still. There was music from night birds, insects, and frogs. With the jeep pulled deep into the bush they feasted on caviar and one another while the forest sang around them. Whitney laughed as they struggled to have more of each other on the small, uncooperative front seat of the jeep.
With her clothes half on, half off, her mind light, and her hunger satisfied, Whitney rolled on top of him and grinned. “I haven’t had a date like this since I was sixteen.”
“Oh yeah?” He ran a hand up her thigh to her hip. Her eyes were dark, glazed with a combination of weariness, wine, and passion. Doug promised himself he’d see them like that again, when they were in some cozy hotel on the other side of the world. “So a guy could get you into the back seat with a little wine and caviar?”
“Actually it was crackers and beer.” She sucked beluga from her finger. “And I ended up punching him in the stomach.”
“You’re a fun date, Whitney.”
She tipped the last drops from the bottle into her mouth. Around them, the forest was full of insects rubbing their wings and singing. “I am, and have always been, selective.”
“Selective, huh?” He shifted so that she lay across him as he supported himself against the door of the jeep. “What the hell’re you doing here with me then?”
She’d asked herself the same question and the simplicity of the answer left her uneasy. She wanted to be. For a moment she was silent, nestling her head against his shoulder. It felt right there, and though it was foolish, safe. “I suppose I fell for your charm.”
“They all do.”
Whitney tilted her head, smiled, then sunk her teeth, not so gently, into his bottom lip.
“Hey!” While she laughed, he pinned her arms to her side. “So, she wants to play rough.”
“You don’t scare me, Lord.”
“No?” Enjoying himself, he gripped both her wrists in one hand and circled her neck with the other. Her eyes never flickered. “Maybe I’ve been too easy on you so far.”
“Go ahead,” she challenged. “Do your worst.”
She looked up at him with that cool half smile, her whiskey eyes dark and sleepy. Doug did what he’d avoided all his life, what he’d avoided more cleverly, more carefully than small-town sheriffs and big-city cops. He fell in love.
“Jesus, you’re beautiful.”
There was something in the tone of his voice. Before she could analyze it, or the look that had come into his eyes, his mouth was on hers. They both fell into passion.
It was as the first time. He hadn’t expected it to be. The feelings, the needs that swam through him were just as intense, just as overwhelming. He was just as helpless.
Under his hands, her skin flowed like water. Under his mouth, her lips were strong, more potent than sweet. The light-headed weariness passed into a light-headed power. With her, he could do and have anything.
The night was hot, the air moist and heavy with the scent of dozens of heat-soaked flowers. Night-feeding insects rubbed their wings and whined. He wanted candlelight for her, and a soft, cool feather bed with silk-covered pillows. He wanted to give, something new for a man who, while generous, always took first.
Her body was so delicate. It captivated him in a way all the others—the flamboyant, the obvious, the professional—never had. Her curves were subtle, her bones long and elegant. Her skin was soft in a way that spoke of daily pampering. He told himself there’d be a time when he’d have the luxury of exploring every inch of her, slowly, thoroughly, until he knew her like no other man ever had, like no other man ever would.
There was something different about him. He was no less passionate, but she knew there was something…
Her senses were tangled, layered one on top of the other so that she was caught in a delicious mass of sensation. She could feel, but what she felt came from him. The stroke of a fingertip, the brush of lips. She could taste, but it was his flavor which filled her, warm, male, exciting. She heard him murmur to her, and her own whispered answer floated on the air. His scent reached her, muskier, more intoxicating than the hothouse that surrounded them. Until now, she hadn’t understood what it meant to be steeped in someone. Until now, she hadn’t wanted to.
She opened. He filled. He gave. She absorbed.
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nbsp; From the beginning, they’d raced together. This was no different. Heart pounding against heart, bodies close, they crossed the line all lovers seek.
They slept lightly, only an hour, but it was a luxury they took greedily, curled together on the seat of the jeep. The moon was lower now. Doug watched its position through the trees before he nudged her.
“We’ve got to move.” Remo might still be scrambling for transportation; then again, he might already be on the road behind them. Either way, he wouldn’t be cheerful.