by Diana Palmer
a lot to be said for living close to nature in small groups where everyone knows everyone else."
"There's a lot of disease, though, and a real lack of health care and educational facilities."
He scowled. "Where did you learn that?"
"from Philippe Sabon," she replied. "He said that education was the only hope these people have to escape the poverty."
"He's right." His eyes narrowed. "I hope you haven't let him influence you."
"He may be misguided, and he's dead wrong in the way he's going about it, but I think he does care about his people and wants to help them."
He stared at her intently. "Why aren't you afraid of him?"
She picked at a loose strand of fiber in the basket she was holding. "He isn't what he seems," she said finally. "And I'd bet even money that a good bit of what's going on here is Kurt's doing."
"Your stepfather?" He moved a step closer, towering over her, "Why do you think that?"
She searched his black eyes. "Mr. Sabon could have done anything to me, or to you. But he gave orders that we weren't to be harmed.
He told me that the attack on his people was supposed to be a mock one. But those were real bombs and bullets, weren't they?"
"Yes," Pierce replied coldly. "Mufti's cousin said that the body count was terrible."
She grimaced. "Dear Lord!" .
Pierce was still puzzled. "Do you mean that Sabon didn't know it was going to be for real?"
"That's exactly what I mean. At least, mat's what he said, and I think he was sincere. His grandmother was born in this country and lived here all her life. He has relatives here. Mufti will tell you about the things he's done for his people that the outside world doesn't know about. Does it make sense that he'd kill so many of his countrymen, even to trick another country into sending protection for his oil wells?"
That was a question Pierce didn't want to face. His picture of the monster Sabon was changing before his eyes. "No," he said finally.
"What if Kurt hired the mercenaries and sent them in himself, on Philippe's order but with different instructions than he told Philippe he was giving them?"
Pierce's brow furrowed. "Kurt will be lucky if he lives to tell about it, if that was the case."
She nodded. "Exactly. But Kurt's in Washington. He has Philippe in a very tricky spot. He can say anything he likes to his senator friend. Philippe can't defend himself. Suppose Kurt tells them in Washington that Philippe is a madman who's trying to start a war with his neighbors? Suppose he tells them that Philippe is behind a military coup here and is trying to take over the government and set himself up as dictator?"
Pierce's eyes widened. "Good God, Kurt's not that crazy!"
"He stands to lose everything he owns already," she replied. "Philippe has made some veiled threats about backing out of the deal. Kurt may be looking for a way to cut Philippe out of the loop and take over the oil wells for himself. If he can provoke intervention by accusing Philippe of leading a military coup here, he could claim that with his partner Philippe discredited, he owns the mineral rights outright. The government would be in too much turmoil to assert itself. Kurt could walk right in, take his place with the oil consortium, and clean up. Philippe would be in prison or dead. And Kurt would be rich."
Pierce ran a hand through his wavy black hair. "Brianne, that's a lot of ifs."
"I know. But it makes sense, doesn't it?"
"It makes too damned much sense." He whistled through his teeth. "God Almighty, what a mess!"
"For everyone, if we don't get back in time to stop it," she told him. "And if the mercenaries are Kurt's, and he's dictating their actions, they won't take any prisoners. If they find us, they'll kill us all, and Philippe will be blamed for it."
He was more worried at that moment than he could ever remember being. Brianne was very astute for someone of her tender years, and she made sense. He'd placed Sabon behind everything. But Sabon had too much to lose by killing his own people. Kurt wouldn't hesitate. His past record spoke for itself. He was unscrupulous and he had no sense of honor or morality. "He'll kill Philippe, too," Brianne added suddenly.
"He'll have to. He knows too much." Pierce stuck his fists on his hips and stared into space, thinking. "We can't get out of here tonight. Even by boat, it's going to take awhile to reach Miami. Kurt will probably have some of his mercenaries waiting there, expecting us, even if they don't discover how we're going to get to the States. They'll be watching the airports and the marinas."
"Can't your Mr. Winthrop steal a plane?"
He smiled gently. "If mere was one to steal, yes. There isn't exactly a major airport around here."
She looked around them and nodded resignedly. "Mufti knows more about this man anybody. Mufti can put Kurt in jail, if we can get him back to D.C. alive to tell his story."
"We'll do it," Pierce told her. "Somehow." She drew her eyes down to his broad chest and wished that she could curl up in those hard arms and let nun cradle her while she slept. She was sleepy and worn-out from the ordeal of the past two days.
"Tired?" he asked.
She nodded. "But I can make it." She bit her lower lip. "Pierce, I don't suppose we could tell Philippe?"
"How would we get to him?" he asked reasonably, irritated by her protective attitude toward their captor. "Besides, he kidnapped us."
"I guess so. But he was doing what he thought would save his country."
"That doesn't make him innocent."
She stared into her basket. "He could have killed us. He didn't."
He moved closer. His big, lean hand tilted her face up to his and he looked straight into her eyes. "Tell me what changed your mind about him."
She sighed. "I can't. But something terrible happened to him. He isn't what he seems. If you knew, you'd feel the same pity for him that I do."
He didn't like her having secrets from him, especially secrets that involved another man. He was jealous. He would never have believed himself capable of such an emotion, but there it was.
His eyes went over her lithe young body. He remembered how sweet it had been to look at her and touch her back in Nassau by the pool. He remembered the secret sounds of her voice in ecstasy as he moved against her sensually in the room where they'd been held captive. He wanted her again, wanted her with every cell of his body.
She was feeling something similar. The scent of him was familiar, arousing. She forgot her resentments, her unhappiness at being Margo's
stand-in. She forgot everything except the pleasure he could give her. She wanted it. She moved a little closer, so that they were almost touching, so that she could feel the heat from
Ms body.
"These people are Muslim," he whispered huskily, stiffening .at the proximity that was making his head spin. "They don't accept suggestive behavior in public."
She stared at his mouth. Her breathing was quick and ragged. "I know that."
"Then why are you looking at my mouth?"
"Because I want to kiss you/' she said in a soft, shaky tone.
He didn't answer her. He was on fire, and he hadn't even touched her. He clenched his fists. "We can't."
"We're married," she said miserably.
"I know that, but we won't be alone, even tonight," he said through his teeth. "There isn't ;any way in hell that I can have you here."
She felt the heat pulsing in her lower body, like a living thing. She shivered with the memory of the pleasure they'd shared and wanted it until it was like a sickness.
"Damn," she whispered brokenly.
"And double damn," he agreed fervently.
His eyes narrowed, glittered. "I want you, too. I ache to have you!"
It was the first time he'd admitted it so blatantly. She didn't even care about his reasons. It was enough that he shared the hunger that was consuming her.
He drew in a harsh breath and averted his gaze to the horizon. "You're very young, Brianne," he said after a minute. "Even under the circumstances, our first
time together was good. It's natural that you want to explore the newness of it. But this isn't the time."
She closed her eyes and drank in the scent of him, the faint cologne that still clung to him, the smell of camel and leather that overlaid it from their ride into the desert.
"Are you listening?" he asked when he saw that she wasn't looking at him.
He looked at her with aching passion.
Her eyes opened, as green as spring buds, soft with tenderness. "I wish we were back in Paris," she said absently.
He laughed faintly in spite of himself. "I was too drunk to have done you any good," he reminded her.
"You were vulnerable," she replied. "You needed me. You haven't been that way since.
I'm alternately a responsibility and a nuisance, and maybe once I was a convenience. But I can't get close to you at all."
His jaw tautened. "We've already had this conversation."
She let out a soft breath. "Yes, I know. You don't want to get involved with me. Once we escape from here, I'll go to college and you'll °get on with your business." She searched his black eyes quietly. "But before you send me away, I want a whole night with you,"
His body corded as if it had been starched. He thought of that, of having her in a big, soft bed, with all the lights blazing. "That would only make things worse," he said curtly. , "They couldn't be worse than they already are, Pierce," she replied. She lowered her eyes, breaking me spell, and moved away. "I want to be a whole wife before I'm a divorcee," she said flatly. "One brief encounter isn't enough to live, on."
He hated the memory of that. It had been, like all his dealings with Brianne, villainous. He'd cheated her of a proper wedding and a proper wedding night, not to mention permitting her to be kidnapped and risking her life.
"It wasn't meant to be memorable," he said shortly. "I was sparing you Sabon."
"So you were." She thought about poor Philippe, who could have nothing with a woman, and it made her sad. Even her cursory encounters with Pierce were more than Philippe would ever be able to enjoy.
"You'd better finish your chores," he said. "The rest of us are going to start building a new wall with the adobe bricks the men made earlier in the week."
"Right up your alley, Mr. Hutton," she said with a forced smile. "Construction."
He nodded. "But not in a place of my choosing," he murmured as he turned away.
She watched him walk away with her heart in her eyes. She was going to have to get used to that view of him. Pretty soon, it would be the last one she'd get, perhaps for the rest of her life.
When they finally finished their labors, they had a scanty meal of bread and goat's milk cheese, which was surprisingly good. Then they all sat around the fire and talked of the day's labor. The villagers' language was musical and soothing to Brianne's ears, even though she
couldn't understand a word of it. She was sleepy and her nerves were all but worn-out. She dozed a little.
"She's tired," Tate said, smiling at the picture she made curled up at Pierce's side. "And you look pretty drawn yourself. Why don't you take her on to bed and get her settled? I want to ask our hosts some questions about this so-called coup. My Arabic is a little rusty in this dialect, so I'll need Mufti to translate. We'll be .along later."
"Watch your back»" Pierce cautioned. "I trust Mufti, but we may have enemies that we don't even know about."
Tate grinned. "If there are any here, I'll find them," he said. "I don't doubt it"
Pierce bent and lifted Brianne into his arms, , answering the good-natured teasing that accompanied the action. He smiled and nodded toward the group as he carried Brianne the short distance to the hay-filled stable and into the last stall, which was packed with fresh straw and two large woven blankets that would serve as
pallets.
He laid her down, noting that her arms didn't
fall away when she was resting on one of the blankets.
Her eyes opened and looked up into his in the faint flickering light of the oil lamp that had been placed in the stall to light their way.
He felt the barest pressure of her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, heard her breathing go ragged, felt her hunger as if it were tangible. His face tightened. He reached up for the lamp and, looking down at her, deliberately blew it out.
She heard the rustic of straw as he replaced it on a nearby shelf, and the rustic of fabric as he came down beside her.
His big, lean hands smoothed the garment she was wearing up around her hips, and paused on the waistband of her briefs as he slowly searched for her mouth and covered it with his. He moved over her. She could feel him wanting her. Her legs parted to admit the warm weight of him. She arched as his mouth nuzzled aside the top of her robe and found its way to her soft breast. He suckled her, enjoying her husky moans in the darkness of the stall.
There might be very little time. He didn't dare risk a leisurely loving, regardless of his hunger for it. He roused her quickly, every caress intended to kindle fires. Her body arched up to him as he increased the suction of his mouth, as his hands smoothed up her soft thighs and found her most secret places.
She whimpered. He lifted his head and moved to find her mouth and silence it. While he kissed her with slow, fierce intent, he moved his own garment aside and, catching her upper thigh, brought her hips into sudden, stark contact with his own.
While she caught her breath, he shifted and began to enter her with exquisite care. She was new to this, and despite their earlier intimacy, he had to stop and rouse her carefully before she could accept all of him without discomfort.
The faint noises they made as they moved against each other seemed very loud in the silence. She clung to him, shivering a little as each movement of his hips brought them even closer together. He shifted again, and she gasped at the swell of hot pleasure that stabbed into her.
"There?" he asked quietly.
"Y-yes," she bit off. *
He felt her nails biting into him as he moved again, deeper this time, dragging his hips
against hers so that the contact was intensified, prolonged.
She sobbed, biting her lip to keep back the sharp cry.
His mouth brushed her open lips as he began to increase the slow, powerful rhythm of his body. He drew her leg over his hips and smoothed it there with teasing caresses, and still the rhythm built on itself.
She was gasping in his ear. She could feel him in every cell. It was beautiful. They were like puzzle pieces locking together, smooth and soft and tender. It wasn't even like sex. It was so exquisite to be intimate with him. She arched her back and hated the darkness that hid them from each other. She wanted to look at him.
Her sensual movements delighted him. She slid her arms around him and moved on her own, intensifying the silken thrusts with her own sinuous motion.
He laughed, deep in his throat, at the sensations she caused. He stilled over her for an instant and caught his breath as her body teased him.
She felt the tension and hesitated.
"No, don't stop," he whispered huskily. "It makes me throb all over when you do that. Do it again."
She followed his lead, like warm silk where she touched him. Her hands smoothed up under the fabric of his own robe until they found his hair-roughened chest and began to caress it hungrily.
He paused long enough to push her own robe up under her arms so that he had access to her soft bare breasts. He made a banquet of them. While his body caressed hers in the heated silence of the stable.
She loved the sensuality of feeling his skin against hers, his hair-roughened chest dragging with exquisite abrasion against the very tips of her breasts. She lifted to prolong the contact, aware of heat that was growing, the throbbing full-ness that threatened to explode inside her. She grasped his shoulders and held on as the slow thrusts began to build a terrible, sweet tension her limbs. She gasped as the pleasure grew to a throbbing heat and then a silken orgy of sensation that grew ever sweeter, ever more delici
ously provocative.
It became urgent so quickly. From lazy sensuality to fierce passion, the movements became desperate in seconds. He caught her head in his big hands and brought his mouth down hotly on her lips as he drove against her blindly.
She wrapped her silken legs around his and followed his quick movements with counter-movements of her own, helping him, demanding, pleading for an end to the exquisite pain of unbearable pleasure.
She moaned harshly under his mouth as she felt herself going over some dark, sweet precipice. She sobbed, arching, shivering as the tension snapped and she convulsed all over.