Mindless, she pushed his shirt free, fixed her hands at his buckle. Then she raised her head to hold his keen gaze. “No one else, Ethan. I tried, but there is no one else.” She slid the leather free, their eyes locked. Hunger raged inside her, demanding to be sated. Wicked thumbs teased her too sensitive flesh and stole her breath. But it would mean nothing if he didn’t understand. “You are all I’ve ever wanted.”
Ethan froze, stunned and humbled. He kissed her then, slowly, tenderly, a benediction and a beginning. Murmured into her mouth, into the night, “I’ve only ever been yours.”
In hushed sounds he stripped away the red cotton, the black lace and lingering doubt. When the khaki shorts fell between them, he marveled at the slender lines, the strength and delicacy of her body. He brushed the sweep of taut, golden breasts, crested by a deeper hue that entreated he taste. That he feast.
Turning her, he skimmed moist trails along the arch of spine and dipped lower. She cried out, and he pushed her higher. He knelt beside her, strumming nerves and silken flesh into marvelous agony. Carefully, he traced the scarred flesh and its obscene pattern, the mark that had taken her away from him. He slipped lower, exciting and tormenting with equal measure. When he felt her first delirious release, he rose and swept her into his arms.
They fell onto the bed, a twine of limbs, a tangle of need. Refusing to be taken, Mara ranged over him, body pulsing with aftershocks. She stripped him and fed. At the concave of his stomach, she sampled and teased. Steel stirred near her touch, but she refused succor. Instead, she let herself wander, reclaiming what she’d abandoned. Heat here, power there. In her head, on her tongue, Ethan consumed her and she reveled in the destruction.
Panting, quivering, overwhelmed, they gorged on the piquancy of flesh, on the glide of skin to skin. Tumbling, he caught her and lathed at dips and hollows that remembered his touch. Rising, she streamed over him, mouth and teeth and fingertips wanton.
Cupping his buttocks, she dragged him up to meet her. Anchoring her shoulders, he surged inside to find her.
Free, restless, in love, she took him and gave him reign. She sank into him, nails and hips, taunting him to give her more, to take more than he expected.
Captive, he forced her to set the pace, to rock against him until her blood sang and her body bowed with exquisite distress. He fused their mouths, molded her to him, refusing to take, determined only to yield.
Higher and higher. Deeper and deeper. More and more. She flew above him, arched beneath him. He danced inside her, surrounded her.
Together, they crested the terrible wave, the ecstasy too much. Love, desire, passion burst inside. Holding onto Ethan, Mara accepted the next pleasured rush, fought to stay with him. Consumed by Mara, Ethan dived into rapture, determined to never surface.
Shattered, they rocketed together, neither sure of beginnings or endings, of themselves or each other. But in the dim shadows of night, with forever between them, neither thought of yesterday. Only tomorrow.
Chapter 21
Shadows lengthened, broken by the flashing gold of neon lights welcoming comers to the Renegade Saloon. Mara stirred and enjoyed the subtle ache, the pleasant fatigue of skin and bone. In the dark, she sought the reassuring warmth of Ethan’s skin, the settled thud of his heartbeat against her palm. Beneath her touch, muscles shifted, and gently, a larger hand covered hers beneath the sheet he’d drawn over their cooling bodies.
As though trying to erase the years, they’d sated themselves for hours. Again and again she’d coaxed him into loveplay, trying to say with caresses and the union of flesh what she could not put into words. That she hadn’t known how hollow the emptiness had been until he filled her. Loved her. That lying with him, feeling him move and sink inside, felt like a haven. Like home.
And, heaven help her, she didn’t know if she could leave if he told her to go. So she seduced and cajoled, praying the heat and speed would convince him to stay. In silent rejection of the inevitable, she ranged closer, pressing her body tight to his length. No, she determined, sliding wearily into sleep, she wouldn’t go without a fight. Not again.
Ethan turned to rest his forehead against hers. He did not open his eyes, not yet ready to read what might lay in the amber depths. He barely understood the emotions tumbling through him. Want, need, desire, he’d expected. Craving, yearning, obsession—even that he’d accepted. Love too had found a place and burrowed deep. But the astonishing revelation that continued to ricochet through him was the longing—no—the compulsion to tenderness.
To savor and soothe, to worship and adore.
But each time he tried, she would wrest control from him and urge him into the tempestuous duel that left him spent and shaken. Not once during the long, passionate night had she allowed him to lead. To take her slowly and gently as he had when they’d been young and in love.
Instead, each time had an edge of frenzy, a sheen of desperation that seemed to hint at good-bye. She’d promised not to run, but Mara had not said that she would stay with him. Her life demanded a freedom he couldn’t accept. An autonomy of action, one that permitted subterfuge and coercion. A liberty of the heart a permanent relationship could not sustain.
Yet, in the days since her return, Ethan had come to understand that he would compromise almost everything to keep her near. He squeezed lightly at the slender fingers curled against his heart. Was it possible she didn’t know it already belonged to her? Always had?
Terrifyingly, he knew, she now also owned his soul. He’d forsake his code, his honor, all to be with her and damn the consequences. If she would let him. For her, he would uproot his life and follow her path. Because without her he might survive, possibly thrive, but would move in twilight. Of, but not belonging. In, but not a part. He would be complete, but not nearly the man he became with Mara.
With Mara. Softly, he drifted kisses across the brow wrinkled in restless sleep, along the slant of bone covered by perfect skin. Inexorably, he luxuriated in the brush of lips, in the quiet yielding when her mouth opened in sleep to admit his quest. In low, murmured tones he praised the slope of high, firm breasts, the mellifluous curve at her waist. With canny fingertips he strummed desire not into a conflagration, but a slow-burning flame that lit the night.
Silvery words shot through Mara’s dreams, calling her into liquid pleasure, full and rich and waiting. When her eyes drifted open, he suckled at one rigid peak, the languorous pull more thrilling than she could have imagined. At her throaty moan, he captured her gaze, demanded her attention.
Watch me love you, he commanded silently. Know that I will always be a part of you.
By design, he flowed over every inch of gossamer skin in voracious, tender assault.
By turns he stole at her soul, destroying her with a generosity she scarcely understood.
Mara arched into him, unwilling to accept without giving. Understanding, he lay beneath her mouth, willing himself into stillness while she tested his endurance.
When he could take no more, when she tasted of him, he slid inside in a long, endless thrust that shattered them both. Sighs and pleas and moans mingled in enthralled chorus. Before they were ready, too steeped in the passion of tenderness to stop the night, oblivion broke over them, around them, through them. Limbs entwined, hearts beating in wondered unison, Ethan wrapped her to him and, at last, they slept.
“Mr. Caine?” The ham-fisted knock sounded on the door a second time, and Ethan groggily lifted his head.
“Go away. You’ve got the wrong room.” He grunted at the intruder and tucked Mara closer. The snatches of sleep they’d managed between midnight and dawn had been useless in the face of their intervening activities.
Mara blinked at him sleepily, and he felt himself harden impossibly. He hadn’t realized how resilient the human body could be after years of drought. “Go back to sleep.”
“Can’t,” she mumbled grouchily. “Crazy man banging on the window.” She pointed drowsily to the wide, pale face she could see peeking thr
ough the break in the curtains. Luckily, one of them had the foresight to drag a sheet up after their last session. Probably wasn’t her, she decided. “What does he want?”
“He’s looking for a Mr. Caine. Told the lunatic he has the wrong room.” Ethan shut his eyes, prepared to sleep just long enough to put his new verve to use.
“Caine?” Mara repeated the name, then cursed beneath her breath. With an agility he’d benefited from around two A.M., she vaulted over him, heading for the door. When she saw a single milky blue eye widen in appreciation, she turned, yanked the sheet from Ethan and twisted it into a sarong.
She raced to the door and jerked it open on the chain. The pallid, pie-faced teenager gawked at the glimpses of creamy brown breast she hadn’t managed to cover adequately. Mara noticed the distraction and rearranged her makeshift drape. Drawing his attention upward, she encouraged, “You’ve got a message for Mr. Caine?”
“Um, yes, ma’am,” the boy stammered. He’d seen more skin on the strippers who danced in the saloon, but somehow this was different. The quick look at the lady’s breast had him counting the money in his wallet. Maybe today he’d buy himself an hour with one of the working girls. Dreaming of what he’d only seen in movies or through keyholes, he stared in fascination at Mara.
“The message—” Mara glanced at the gold nameplate pinned to his shoulder. “Roger? You said you had a message for Mr. Caine?”
Snapping to attention, Roger shifted on his feet guiltily. “Yes, ma’am. Mr. Caine left strict instructions to be notified if anyone called the motel describing you and him.”
The boy stopped speaking. Mara waited, until she realized he wouldn’t continue without prompting. “Roger, did someone call?”
“Oh, yeah. A few minutes ago. Asking for a guest registered under the name Mara Reed or Ethan Stuart. Told him we had no such guests by that name. Of course, most of our guests don’t use their real names, you know what I mean?”
Roger chuckled at his innuendo, and she laughed lightly. He obviously wasn’t a challenge to any high-level thinker, but he had information she needed. She resisted the urge to check the bed and see if Ethan was listening in. Hopefully, he was already up and packing.
“I get you. So, what did he say when you told him no?” In a show of trust, Mara released the latch and opened the door slightly wider. “Did you do as Mr. Caine asked, Roger?”
Bobbing his head rapidly, he explained, “I asked him for a description of the guests, and he described you and Mr. Caine. I said I didn’t recollect any lady as pretty as you checking in, but that I’d be happy to take a message.”
Mara patted Roger’s suddenly sweaty hand in praise. “We’re very grateful, Roger. My ex-husband is a mean man, and he’ll do anything to get me back.”
“Ex-husband?”
With a practiced sob, Mara swung easily into her explanation. “Arthur Rabbe. About five-eleven, sandy blond hair, slick look in his eyes. He likes to hit me when he’s been drinking.”
“Sonofabitch.” Filled with chivalry, Roger clasped her hand between his damp palms. “Is Mr. Caine your boyfriend?”
“No, he’s my fiancé. Arthur is determined for me to not be happy, so he’s been tracking us across the state.” Mara allowed her eyes to fill, the golden depths limpid and sorrowful. “If he finds me, I don’t know what he’ll do to me.”
Roger squared his shoulders and lifted the pimpled chin in preparation for battle. “Don’t you worry none, ma’am. I don’t take kindly to bullies, especially the kind who’ll beat on a defenseless woman.”
“You won’t tell him we were here?” Gratitude, as real as the tears were false, lightened Mara’s voice.
“No, ma’am. I promise.” Roger lifted her hand into an awkward kiss, and Mara smiled.
Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his cheek. “Thank you, Roger.”
Stammering, stumbling, he nodded and hurried back to the front desk. Mara turned to find the bed empty and the shower running. Moving fast, she rummaged through her bag for a change of clothes.
She didn’t like deceiving the kid, but too much was at stake for an attack of conscience. Rabbe and Guffin had tracked them to this hovel in the outskirts. That meant she and Ethan were running out of time. They had to find the third key before Conroy caught up with them—or found the safe first. He only had one key, but if he didn’t care about the artifacts, he might risk blowing the entire safe to get to the gold, regardless of Bailey’s aqua regia concoction. She refused to let that happen. Ethan would have his glory and she would have her gold.
“Ethan!” she shouted at the bathroom door, which stood ajar. “Rabbe will probably be here within the hour. We’ve got to get moving.”
He appeared at the door, measly towel riding low on his lean hips. “So I gathered. Did you tell him to warn us?”
“No.” Mara selected a tank top that Lesley had loaned her, and the well-worn khaki shorts discarded by the bed. “Sebastian is good about things like that. But I should have thought about it. I’m slipping.”
“Maybe you’re starting to shed bad habits.” Ethan moved around her to his suitcase, careful not to make contact. The frigidly cold shower he’d endured had done little to ease his ardor. Simply being in the room with Mara had a torpid effect on his body. However, the pieces of conversation he’d caught before he realized they needed to run had quashed thoughts of a repeat performance. “Not everyone lives like their lives are on the line. Perhaps you’re unlearning.”
“You’d better hope not,” Mara cautioned. Ignoring his censure, she explained, “Conroy must realize we’ve found two of the keys. He may know that the safe is rigged to open without the fourth one. If we find the third one before he does, we might win. Which means he has to get us soon or risk losing everything.”
“Go shower.” Ethan conceded the point and began to gather their belongings. “I’ll pack the car.”
“Gimme five minutes.” Grateful he hadn’t pressed the issue, Mara hurried into the bathroom. As fragrant steam filled the air, scented by Ethan, she dropped her sheet and jumped beneath the scalding spray. Were Rabbe not en route, she’d tempt Ethan to join her. But cavorting in the shower would have to wait until they could drench themselves in gold coins.
Ducking her head beneath the torrent, she lathered quickly. More than once she scrubbed at sore points and grinned at the memory. Soon, she thought, they’d find the gold and they’d beat Conroy.
Again. Like grandfather, like daughter.
Excited to move, she finished quickly and, covering herself with the remaining towel, returned to the main room to dress.
Ethan stood in the doorway, staring at a departing Roger. Concerned, she crossed to him and touched his shoulder. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Rabbe sent a message to Mr. Stuart.” The low voice, raspy from lack of sleep, growled over the words. Turning, black points burned hotly with banked rage. “The message was to tell Mr. Stuart that Dr. Lesley Baxter didn’t make it home last night. Until we arrive with the keys and the map to the safe, she won’t be either.”
Chapter 22
At midday Ethan jogged the convertible into a makeshift parking spot on the narrow rutted lane at Cementerio a Santa Therese. Mourners marched in stiff procession around the oval path that descended to the gravesite. On the air, wails rose in bereavement, and a priest moved among the grieving to offer comfort.
“I thought the cemetery would be deserted.” Mara riffled through the guidebook they’d purchased on the road. In hushed tones, despite the fact no one could hear them, she whispered, “The population of Santa Therese is 307. Must be the whole town down there.”
“Almost.” Ethan peered at the clock. Finding the town had taken more time than he’d planned. Like many villages and hamlets in Texas, the only connection between point A and point B was an unpaved county road used decades before to drive cattle. The resulting surface refused speed, jarring the unwary traveler with potholes as deep as wells. Twice they’d been forced to
scare stray cows and nudge them onto the closest pasture.
He climbed out of the car and braced his hands on the hood, immune to the pouring heat. Tension knotted his neck, coiled on his shoulders. Concern for Lesley collided with the tumble of emotions his night with Mara had wrought, and he couldn’t find his balance. “He’s got her, Mara. Somewhere, he’s hurting her because of this. Because of us.”
“She’s fine, Ethan.” Mara slide across the front seat and emerged on his side of the car. Ducking beneath his arm, she anchored her arms around his waist and hung back to catch his hooded gaze. “Look at me, Ethan. This is my territory. And I promise you, Conroy has no reason to harm her unless we fail him. Which we won’t.”
“We could.” He lowered his forehead to hers, eyes closed. “All of this for a sheaf of paper and a sack of gold. Her life is worth more.”
Mara hugged him tighter and kneaded at the rigid muscles at his back. “Yes, it is. Conroy knows it too. And he needs us. Without our help, he’s got a single key and no clue where the safe is. When we find the key and the safe, as I’m sure we will, we bargain for Lesley.”
“And if he doesn’t go for it?” Ethan broke her hold but held her hands tight. “Or what if he decides he can find it without us?”
“Listen to me. This is my area of expertise. Men like Conroy live for the hunt and the reward. Plus, he’s obviously a manipulative bastard who enjoys watching us scurry to do his bidding.” She turned her hands beneath his to mesh their fingers. “That’s why he paid for your research after that first find. And that’s why he’s had Rabbe tracking me without killing me. He’s pragmatic and slick, and he thinks he’s smarter than us both.”
“He’s not.” Ethan murmured the words, trying to be convinced.
“No, he’s not.” Mara grinned suddenly and tugged free to encircle his neck. “Trust me one more time, love. We’ll get Lesley back, find your manuscript and totem, and claim my grandfather’s gold. It’s in the bag.” Covering her angst with a bright smile, she pulled him down into a bracing kiss. Over his shoulder, when her eyes finally fluttered open, she saw a dark line winding through the cemetery gates. “The procession is clearing out. Let’s go.”
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