He braced himself over her and positioned the velvety head of his shaft. Then he thrust forward, sheathing himself in her willing flesh with one swift stroke.
The pain was brief but intense, a shock wave that swept through her whole body in an instant. Then it was gone, leaving a not unpleasant sense of internal stretching, and the deep satisfaction of knowing that they were mated in the dance of life.
The effect on Robin was far worse. He stiffened, his expression stunned. "Good God, Maxie! Why didn't you say something?"
She smiled and slid her arms around him, clasping his hard buttocks to hold him tight against her. "Because I knew you would get one of those maddening attacks of gentlemanliness. You can't help it, you're an Englishman." She rolled her hips upward, drawing him deeper. "You're thinking too much again, Robin. Don't."
Unable to resist, he drove into her again and again, his breath fractured and irregular. Though she had never experienced such sensations, she knew in her marrow how to respond, how to match his rhythm and resonate to his passion. She welcomed the flagrant maleness of his assault as much as she rejoiced in the female power that could inflame and absorb such desire.
His body arched and went rigid. "Ah, God..." he groaned, his voice a low, shuddering prayer. Though she did not reach the same fiery pinnacle as before, she felt an echoing sense of release and fulfillment.
As his body softened, she smoothed her hands over his sweat-slicked body, feeling the slow relaxation of his muscles. She touched her tongue to his shoulder, liking the saltiness, and the pounding of his heart, so close it seemed like her own.
He rubbed his cheek against hers, then rolled away and slid from the bed. Too exhausted even to be curious, she simply watched him cross the room. Garden of Eden indeed. Robin must be used to the casualness of naked lovers, but it was new to her, and an unanticipated pleasure. He was like a mountain lion, sleek and lithe and utterly masculine. The memory of what it had been like to have him inside her made her exhale roughly.
He went to the washstand and opened the drawer. After removing something, he returned to the bed and handed her a neatly folded towel. She used it to cleanse herself, and was pleased to see there were only a few spots of blood. It would have seemed gauche to stain a stranger's bed.
When she was done, he stretched out alongside her and drew her into his arms again. "Was I such a pathetic case that you felt compelled to do your utmost to patch me up?" he asked with rueful amusement.
She smiled. "I suppose there is a grain of truth in that, but it hardly does justice to either of us. I've wanted you from the time we met, Robin. Tonight I decided to stop acting like a demure English miss and behave like a woman of the Mohawk." She made an exaggerated face and nipped his shoulder. "We are famed for our ferocity. We take what we want, white man!"
Tenderly, he massaged the back of her neck, his thumb exactly fitting a hollow he found there. "You had me thoroughly baffled. Given your age, your contraceptive tea, and general lack of maidenly vapors, I had assumed you were not a virgin."
"Among the Iroquois, many families share a longhouse. Children learn early what is natural between men and women." She chuckled. "So no maidenly vapors."
"You also said once that women of your mother's people have a freer acceptance of their desires. Certainly you are comfortable with yourself like few women I've ever known." He gave her a quizzical glance. "But that makes it even harder for me to understand why I was the first for you. Are American men such fools?"
She grimaced. "As I said once before, there were plenty of men who thought a half-breed was fair game, but I decided early on that I would not be used so casually. Yet because we traveled so much, there was little opportunity to develop the kind of relationship where I could be sure I was desired for myself." Which was true as far as it went. What she did not say was that resisting advances had been easy, because she had never met a man who attracted her half as much as Robin.
He kissed her on the forehead. "Whatever the reason, I am greatly honored to be your choice."
She eyed him sternly. "You're not going to make some silly remark to the effect that since you ruined me, it's your duty to give me your name in holy matrimony, are you?"
"I might if I thought I had any chance of success, but I know you well enough to realize that such an argument would never work." He ran his hand down her body under the blanket. "Besides, you don't seem ruined to me. You seem quite enchantingly flawless."
She gave a low chuckle. It might not do to talk of love, but it seemed fair to say, "You're rather wonderful yourself. It was worth waiting."
He kissed the edge of her ear. "Good night, Kanawiosta," he murmured. "No more bad dreams for either of us tonight."
She rolled over and nestled her back against his front. Her body was so relaxed that she could have knotted herself up like a pretzel and still fallen asleep.
With such physical and emotional closeness between them, she could easily sense Robin's mood. The combination of confession and passion seemed to have greatly eased his inner darkness. Even if they had no future beyond the next few days or weeks, his innate strength and resilience should enable him to continue the healing process.
It was gratifying to have been able to help, though she suspected that her principal virtue had been her foreignness. It was often easier to reveal one's secret torments to someone with no connection to one's normal life.
She suppressed a little sigh. In spite of his proposal, she still couldn't see them as having a future together. He could tell her anything and it wouldn't matter, because she would not be there as a reminder of when he had succumbed to weakness.
Now she was the one thinking too much. All that mattered was that Robin had healing, and that she had tasted a sweetness and pleasure she would never regret.
Chapter 25
Washed clean by the storm, the dawn sky was pale and clear when Maxie woke. It was nearing the summer solstice and the sun rose very early, so she couldn't have had more than two or three hours sleep, yet she felt amazingly refreshed.
Robin still slept, his spun-gold head resting by hers and his arm across her waist. His face was peaceful and very young. Hard to remember his despair of the night before, or to believe that he had done the things he had; this morning he looked scarcely more than a schoolboy.
That image was belied by the scar on his side. She studied the location. It was a miracle that the bullet hadn't destroyed some vital bit of anatomy.
Her arm tightened around him. She really ought to wake him, but couldn't bring herself to do so. The previous night had been very special. Since they might never again be so close, she was reluctant to end the lingering magic.
She brushed a kiss against his hair. His absurdly long lashes swept up and he smiled at her. At close range, his azure eyes had the impact of a cannonball. If she weren't already in love with him, she would be after that lazy, intimate smile.
He murmured, "I always sleep well when I'm with you."
"The effect is entirely mutual." Touching the old bullet wound, she continued, "I suppose that this and your various other scars were received in the line of duty."
He nodded. "I got that one in Spain."
"What about the whip marks on your back?"
His expression became ironic. "I was innocent of the crime I was flogged for, but since my real actions would have hanged me, it seemed better not to defend myself."
"And your hand?"
He raised it so that the irregular outline was clearly discernible. "A determined gentleman wanted me to write a letter that would endanger a friend of mine. I was reluctant. After the fellow had broken several of the bones, I mentioned that I was left-handed and couldn't possibly write anything."
She shuddered at the sheer cold-bloodedness of the torture. "That must have been excruciating."
He made a vague sound of agreement. "It was several days before the bones could be set, which is why they aren't all straight. I was very fortunate that infection didn't set in
and that the hand still works properly."
"You've lived altogether too exciting a life." She leaned forward and tenderly pressed her lips to the scar left by the bullet. The ridged flesh was rough against her tongue.
His nipple was only a few inches away. Curious whether it was as sensitive as hers, she nibbled her way over. The soft nub of flesh hardened deliciously against her tongue. No wonder Robin enjoyed kissing her breasts so much.
When she transferred her attention to his other nipple, he sucked in his breath. "Be careful, Maxima, or you might get more than you bargained for."
She glanced up, making her eyes wide and innocent. "How much more?" Her hand crept down his torso and curled around warm male flesh. He was already half erect, and he instantly firmed to full hardness.
His fingers dug into the sheets. Voice uneven, he said, "Aren't you sore after last night?"
She considered. "Not especially. All of those years of riding and walking, I expect." She began caressing him, her thumb stroking the rim of the velvety head. "I'm not sure I've got the knack of making love. More practice wouldn't go amiss."
He gave a gusty sigh of laughter. "You win, witch."
He made one of his lightning-quick movements, as he had the night before when she had tried to waken him from his nightmare. Before she could blink, she was lying under him, but this time he was fully awake, his eyes alight with laughter and his hands and mouth spinning a web of intoxicating pleasure. He remembered precisely what she had liked the night before, and found a dozen new ways to please her as well.
When she was whimpering with desire, he entered her. He was very gentle at first. When it became clear that she felt no discomfort, he intensified his lovemaking, filling her with swift, hot pleasure.
As she hovered on the verge of shattering, he reversed their positions again so that she was above. She clung to him, feeling as if she were spiraling into the sky, higher and higher until she fell into the sun. As he poured himself into her, she splintered into fire, glorious and terrifying.
Then she collapsed, shaking, on his chest, her legs lying outside his. He had been right that she was getting more than she had bargained for. A woman might sell her soul in the hope of finding a lifetime of such delight. A good thing she'd been telling the truth when she said that a soul couldn't be sold, lost, or given away; otherwise she would be damned for eternity.
Robin lazily stroked her back, his affection as warming as his passion had been. When they had both recovered some semblance of sanity, he said, "Enough of letting chance control our journey. Today we go to London."
She raised her head and looked at him. "How? We haven't the money for coach fare, even from this distance."
He gave her a bright smile, the one she had always distrusted. "I'll explain later. But now we must rise so we can leave before the estate workers are up and about."
Working together, they removed all signs of occupancy within the hour. After a quick breakfast, they collected their knapsacks and left. It was still early enough that there was no one about to see the trespassers.
Their path took them by the stables behind the house. Instead of walking by, Robin swerved and went in a side door. Alarmed, Maxie followed into the dimly lit stable, where horses whickered drowsily at their entrance.
Mindful that grooms might be sleeping on the upper level, she kept her voice low, but still managed a full measure of outrage when she asked, "What are we doing here?"
"Finding transport." Calmly Robin walked down the aisle, studying the box stalls on each side. Most of the horses were for field work, but there were several riding hacks as well.
When he led a gelding from its stall, Maxie planted herself in front of him, fire in her eye. "Blast it, Robin, I don't want to be a party to horse theft. Or do you intend to turn these loose a few miles down the road, like you did with Simmons's nag?"
He circled around her and tethered the horse, then went for another. "Not this time. We're going to need the beasts for the rest of the journey."
"Robin!"
"Don't worry. I've written a note to explain what has happened to the horses." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and spiked it on a nail that protruded from a post.
Not pausing to read it, Maxie followed Robin into the tack room. "You say you're not a thief or a swindler," she said tightly. "But you're not a spy anymore, either. The war is over. What the devil do you think you're doing?"
"We won't get into trouble." He lifted a saddle from a stand. "I know the owner of the estate."
She stared at him, her hands clenched. The feelings of trust and closeness were gone, leaving her baffled and uneasy. "Why the blue blazes should I trust your word, Lord Robert?"
The skin whitened over his cheekbones. "I'm sorry you feel you must ask that."
She took a deep breath, knowing that she was on the edge of saying something irrevocable. When she had mastered some of her anger, she said quietly, "I believe that there was honesty between us last night. But today is another day, and there is still far too much that I don't know about you."
"I'll answer any question you ask," he said gravely. "But... I would prefer to defer it until later."
Maxie wanted to weep with frustration. It was certainly possible that Robin knew the estate's owner, but it was equally plausible that he was indulging in a bit of casual larceny. When one has killed, seduced, and betrayed, taking two valuable horses might seem like a mere prank.
He balanced the saddle against his hip and lightly touched her cheek with his free hand. "Trust me just a little while longer, Kanawiosta?"
When he spoke like that, she had no choice. She exhaled wearily. "In for a penny, in for a pound. But you can't postpone the day of reckoning much longer."
He sighed. "I know. But this journey has been a special time. It isn't only you I've discovered, but in a real sense, myself. I'm not quite ready to face reality."
She gave him a smile, a little crooked but genuine. "Are you proud of the fact that you can reduce me to a mound of quivering aspic, or is it unnoteworthy because you have that effect on all females?"
"You overrate my charm." He leaned over the saddle and gave her a quick kiss. "But I'm glad you're susceptible. It keeps the balance of power a little more equal."
As he headed back to the main stable area, she sputtered, "What is that supposed to mean? You've been winding me around your finger ever since we met!"
He saddled the first gelding, then turned to her. "Surely you know that if you asked me to crawl on my hands and knees through a bed of hot coals, I would do it."
She blinked. "Wouldn't you at least want to know if I had a good reason for making such a request?"
He smiled. "Yes, and I'd wear my asbestos drawers as well. But I'd still do it if you asked."
An odd, breathless sensation fluttered in her chest as she gazed at him. He was either completely serious or the best liar on the face of the earth. Or perhaps insane; she mustn't forget that possibility. Wearily she found another saddle—the oldest, shabbiest one in the tack room—and saddled the other horse.
Robin led the way outside and they walked the horses quietly to a small gate in the estate wall. Maxie stared at the toes of her boots while he picked the lock. When they went outside, he relocked the gate, then they mounted and headed south.
When they were far enough from Ruxton for Maxie to feel safe, she asked, "Can we reach London today?"
"Yes, though it will be evening when we arrive."
She frowned, trying to calculate the state of the treasury. "Can we afford a night's lodging when we get there?"
"Not really. We have enough for tolls and food for the day, but that's about it. However, I have friends who can put us up."
"Won't they ask awkward questions?"
"Not these friends." He sighed. "Our casual habits will have to change, which is one reason why I haven't wanted the trip to end. Respectable folk would already consider you horrendously compromised, but it doesn't count since nobo
dy knows. In London, however, we will rejoin the real world. Besides investigating your father's death, I assume you will want to visit your aunt. We're going to have to behave with a semblance of propriety, and make sure that our lies about the journey match."
She made a face. "I suppose that means separate beds."
"I'm afraid so. If any of your relations—or mine, for that matter—discover that we have been traveling together, there will be a loud outcry demanding that we marry immediately."
"Why should you be concerned about that?" she said dryly. "I thought marriage was what you wanted."
He chuckled. "I can think of nothing that would make you fly off more quickly than being told that you had to marry me."
"I am quite capable of resisting social pressure, particularly from people I don't know," she retorted.
"So am I, but I learned a long time ago that superficial conformity simplifies one's life enormously."
"When in Rome, do as the Romans do?"
"Exactly. And that goes double for London." He glanced over at her. "Luckily I can obtain funds tomorrow, so we'll have no problems in that area."
"Dare I ask where you intend to get the money, Lord Robert?"
"From a banker, very boring and legitimate." His eyes danced. "Did you know that you always call me Lord Robert when you are disapproving?"
She thought for a moment, then gave a reluctant smile. "I suppose that silly fraudulent title symbolizes everything I don't know and don't trust about you."
"Do you truly distrust me?" he asked quietly.
She was not surprised that the question had resurfaced; it was at the core of their relationship. Luckily, they were entering a small village, which gave her time to think about her answer. After they threaded their way through the narrow high street and returned to the open road, she said, "It's no credit to my good sense, but I do trust you, at least to a point."
"What is that point?" He didn't look at her as he asked, and his expression was cool and unforthcoming.
Angel Rogue: Book 4 in the Fallen Angels Series Page 24