Love Under Fire

by Frances Housden

  The priestess scooped up a handful of dust, letting it spill through her fingers as she called out, “Earth!”

  The athame circled above her head. “Wind!” she cried. Every particle of air inside the trees seemed to follow the knife, swirling and forming a funnel. The long strands of hair spun around her head. Widening its circumference, it twisted between their robes and ripped through the fronds of the tree fern sheltering them.

  Jo’s pulse jolted as her gaze followed its snarling progress through the leaves and branches until suddenly it died away, and everything except her heart stilled.

  With a sleight of hand worthy of a magician, a sprinkling of powder flew from the priestess’s fingers onto the smoldering pyre. “Fire!” she shouted.

  Almost blinding after the darkness, flames shot high, illuminating the circle and burnishing the leader’s tangled locks where they floated round her shoulders.

  Rowan’s camera whirred and clicked. He’d loaded it with a fast film, and these pictures were their best chance of getting the evidence they needed.

  A hush fell over the gathering as the priestess’s attention turned to the women kneeling beside her. Others carrying flowers joined the group and laid their hands on the supplicants’ shoulders.

  Jo steadied her aim, looking along her arm, then stopped, bewildered. Familiarity teasing her memory, she studied the raised faces of the women as they lifted to the priestess. Athame and flower garlands held high, the leader turned in a circle, stirring the dust at her feet into a fine mist at her hem. Flames glanced off her knife, casting a ripple of reflected light onto the trees as if a streamer of fire leaped through them.

  Knife and flowers forgotten, Jo’s aim faltered.

  Rowan’s gasp matched her own as they finally saw the leader’s face.

  Chapter 12

  L ike in a game of follow the leader the faces were revealed, and the worst thing about it, Jo found most of them familiar. None more so than the one holding the knife.

  “Ratchett!” What a fool, the answer had been right there under her nose if only she’d bothered to look.

  She didn’t realize she’d cursed out loud until Rowan nudged her with his elbow. Leaning closer, her forehead grazing his cheekbone, she whispered, “Moira,” then backed off before his musky male scent made her forget her purpose for being there.

  There was magic in the air and it wasn’t all happening in the circle.

  Her landlady, the witch. Good grief, Rowan must think she was the dumbest cop around not to have known. And somehow, her not knowing only served to emphasize that even Moira still thought of her as an outsider.

  But Moira was no killer.

  Jo would stake her life on it.

  Her landlady made a magnificent sight with her bright red hair agleam in a tangle of firelight and curls, like a symbol of her high status. From the instance of recognition, the scene went through a transmogrification. And with change came the belief that these women, kneeling before Moira had nothing to fear from either her or this place.

  Jo recognized one of them as Seth MacAllister’s wife and wondered if the young cop knew what his wife was up to.

  The camera clicked and whirred, reminding her she wasn’t alone. Shadows tattooed a pattern over the plains and hollows of Rowan’s features, disguising them in striped camouflage. He lay beside her, watchful as a jungle cat, and every bit as lethal.

  Her last thought made her hesitate as she touched his shoulder. Maybe the ambience of the circle had worked its magic again. Even in shadow his sheer maleness aroused her. In this all-female gathering, Rowan’s strength became more pronounced, more alluring. A sought-after prize in the game of mating.

  Man, woman…child.

  “Oh heavens,” she said on a hushed breath as enlightenment dawned. And with the knowledge came the need to leave quietly, as if they had never been there, never witnessed the proceedings. The purpose behind the ceremony in the Nest of the Gods was obvious now. As obvious as the reason for Seth’s departures on personal emergencies. They wanted a baby.

  Time to depart and allow these women their privacy.

  Leaning closer she inhaled the irresistible masculine essence emanating from the collar of his shirt. There was temptation there. Temptation to nibble on his lobe instead of whispering her decision. “We should go now. There’s nothing for us here.”

  He nodded, tantalizing her weakened libido as the stubble on his chin scraped her cheek. Shaken by need, her whole body quivering, she finished, “I’ll back out first.”

  It wasn’t an easy retreat from their hiding place. Her mind wasn’t on the job. The silhouette of Rowan’s shoulders reminded her of the sheer strength of them, looming over her this afternoon as he covered her body with his.

  Don’t go there. This isn’t the time for those thoughts. Those temptations.

  Her body didn’t give a damn. A spear of need twisted inside her and coursed between her thighs. She felt as if she were in heat. Her heart pounded beneath her breast and a flush of arousal flooded her skin.

  She wanted Rowan. Wanted him now. Wanted to roll over and open her body to—

  Pain jarred Jo to her senses as her ankle banged against the soft spongy trunk of a ponga tree fern. “Oh, boy.” She’d needed that. No wonder they brought women who were having a hard time getting pregnant to this place. She ought to tell Moira they might have more success if they brought their husbands along. Of course she wouldn’t do that. She had a good relationship with her landlady. Not as honest as she’d thought, but she didn’t want to ruin it.

  Biting her bottom lip, Jo started to shuffle backward once more. The painful jabs of spiky little twigs towed along by her bootlaces were more noticeable now that her mad arousal had subsided.

  A simple lift of her eyes showed Rowan would soon overtake her. She needed to get a wiggle on, take her mind off his butt and those tight jeans, and circumspectly crawl out of there.

  Not that she could see his butt, it was far too dark, but her memory of it started a fire easier than rubbing two sticks together. She could tell the cat-that-stole-the-cream look still lingered on her face by the time she was far enough away to turn around to make her way out headfirst. Before her, the nearest light stick glowed dimly. At last she could stand up.

  A crackle of dead leaves preceded Rowan. Warily she stepped back among the foliage, not trusting the strength of her resistance. Still uncertain if the circle had cast a spell, or if her libido, primed by its release from hibernation, was to blame.

  Then something fell off the greenery into her neckline.

  Panic.

  No, don’t panic.

  She shuddered as every hair on her body stood on end. Deliberately, she closed her mind against the peculiar insect life inhabiting New Zealand’s bush. It didn’t work. Seemed like it, too, hated being ignored.

  Trying not to squeal, she struggled out of her jacket and tossed it aside. Holding out the hem of her sweatshirt she wriggled, hoping to dispatch the many-legged hitchhiker she sensed running down her back. Her skin tightened, shrinking away from it. She’d shivered over them at natural-history classes, creatures, part worm, part stick insect, which ran on tiny little legs. Wettas, whose large back legs could inflict a sting.

  Oh Lord. From giant huhu bugs to poisonous spiders, her mind listed them all. By the time Rowan reached her, her arms were high and feet stamping as if issuing a challenge with her own rendition of a Maori haka.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Bugs, creepy crawlies. One fell down my neck.”

  He took the light stick from the tree. “Here, let me help.”

  “What is it? What can you see? Is there something in my hair?” She fluffed out her curls, scouring them with her fingers.

  “No, nothing there. Hold this.” He pushed the light stick at her and slid his hands under her sweatshirt.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for bugs.”

  His palms skimmed her back, but it wasn’t enough.
He’d been dying to touch her from the moment she lay down beside him. Every time her hip or elbow brushed against him, he’d been tempted to throw caution to the wind.

  And now he could.

  Rowan’s fingertips trailed across her shoulder blades on the way up. Jo trembled and he smiled, confident he could make her forget about bugs. His smile deepened as something prickled against his finger. “Hold still,” he murmured.

  Jo froze. “Have you found something?”

  “Yeah. Let’s see what it is.” The light played over a strand of rimu needles from the tree above them. “No wonder you thought it was a bug. With those spiny needles, it would travel around inside your sweatshirt every time you moved.”

  Jo sighed, letting her body lean into his. He’d have liked to pretend it was passion, but common sense told him it was because he hadn’t dismissed her fears. He pulled her closer, nuzzling her ear, tasting it with his tongue. “I take it I’m safe this time.”

  “S-s-safe?”

  “You aren’t annoyed because I rescued you.”

  “No, just grateful, but don’t you dare tell a soul that bugs scare the living daylights out of me.”

  “I won’t. It’ll be our secret.” He wasn’t likely to share the way watching her had made him feel. This visit had given him a whole new take on Jo. He’d always admired her as a dedicated cop; getting shot hadn’t changed that. Discovering the woman who came apart in his arms made him want to rethink a decision made long before he knew she existed, before he knew anyone could tear his heart out the way she did. Now he’d discovered the child in her, scared of bugs. Who’d have believed it? He gave her another hug and brushed a tender kiss over her silky tangle of black waves.

  “I think I’ve worked out the reason for the ceremony. Remember the effect the place had on our libidos?”

  He not only remembered, he was still in its thrall, but this time he’d known what to expect.

  Her hands slid up his arms and caressed his biceps through the fine cloth of his shirt. “Maybe the legend has a basis in fact.”

  At her touch his muscles expanded, bulging as though strutting their stuff for her approval. Not only that, the brush of her fingers against him turned his already aroused sex hard as stone. Given his druthers he’d take her here and now and to hell with who heard her shouts of release.

  Her palms swept across his chest, rubbing in concentric circles. “There’s certainly some sort of magic in the air.”

  “You could be right.” He bent his head and took her mouth. She tasted of desire, flavored with golden honey and rich dark figs, holding a promise of heaven. His hands slid down and cupped her buttocks, pulling her up tight against his need, so she would have no doubt of her effect on him. He lifted his head and looked at her. A stray beam of moonlight bathed her face as her head fell back and her hair swung free. There was no mistaking the desire on her lips or the hunger in her eyes, shaded by half-closed lashes. “I prefer to make my own magic,” he growled.

  He let her feel the slide of his teeth on the cord of her neck. Her throaty response was enough to get them back to the boat and into his bed in double quick time.

  On the way, he gathered their guiding lights until gradually they walked in a shimmering ball of phosphorescence bounded on each side by trees. “And you had no idea about Moira?”

  “Not a clue. I know she has lots of women visitors. I simply took it for granted they all came for herbal remedies.”

  He patted the pocket where he’d stowed his camera. “I got some good shots of her. Do you think she’d like copies?”

  “Good grief, no! She must never know. If you must develop the film, do it when you go home to Auckland. Can you imagine the stir if you had them processed locally?”

  His mouth went dry; this was the first mention of his departure. From the moment they’d become intimate it was as though the subject had become taboo.

  “What difference is this going to make to your investigation? Will you still pay Rocky out? The only proof of satanists we have now are those letters and he could have written them himself.”

  He recognized hope in the way she tilted her head toward him.

  “Bull gave us a week. But I can take as long as I like.” A lifetime. Hell, he knew being with Jo had screwed his mind around. His last thought proved it. He was hedging about leaving her. What had happened to the notion that he’d be okay as long as he was the one to walk away? “I’ll give it at least until we hear what forensics has to say about the letters.”

  They’d reached the top of the slope down to the beach and the rope he’d tied off earlier. He released the last of the light sticks from its branch and hooked it onto one of his belt loops. “Here, fasten this one on to you. It’ll help a little. Even if only to show where you’ve been.”

  He shoved the rest into his pack, his movements jerky from the frustration running through him. His leg had stiffened up from lying on the ground. So far, he’d managed not to show it was giving him hell but he wasn’t looking forward to the climb.

  Everything seemed to be conspiring against him: his leg, the thoughts of leaving her that had been playing through his mind. No matter what time they got back on board, he wanted to love her so well, she’d never be able to forget him. Or he her. But with his leg in the shape it was in…

  He shouldered his pack again. “Put your gloves on. I’ll go first. Then if you fall you’ll land on me.”

  It was near midnight and she was bone tired, yet she didn’t want to sleep. The journey downhill had been worse than the one going up. Heaven only knows how Rowan had coped on his bad leg, but if he’d been in pain she hadn’t been able to tell with her back to him. Any grunts he’d let loose had been no worse than her own as her arms took the strain on the rope.

  More than that, the load on her quads had been tremendous and her hip joints had taken to calling her unrepeatable names by the time she hit the beach. They creaked like a dry hinge when she finally sat down on the edge of the RIB to go back to the boat.

  From low down on the water, the night sky was glorious, a real midnight-blue velvet. The only thing bothering her was the ring around the moon as per Moira’s prediction of trouble. With thoughts of omens on her mind, she’d watched it sail high above the cliff top, blighted by a red haze.

  Shivering, she asked, “Do they call that blood on the moon?”

  Rowan laughed. “You’re very superstitious all of a sudden. The wind that’s blowing from offshore is the smoke from Moira’s fire drifting in front of the light. Nothing to worry about…unless they set fire to the bush.”

  Back on board, they stood in the middle of the companionway as if in limbo, neither at her cabin door nor his. Slowly, his hand reached out and plucked a green sprig tangled in her hair. Rowan tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Do you wanna shower first?”

  “I can use the shower off my stateroom.”

  “My ensuite is larger. Use it.” To settle matters he took her jacket and tossed it into his cabin followed by his own.

  His palm centered on her lower back and pushed her in after them. “You go get started. I’ll bring the tender aboard ready for tomorrow.”

  If she hadn’t known Rowan’s was the master stateroom, his bathroom would have clinched it. There were no sharp corners anywhere. A huge mirror lorded it over shiny white lacquer cupboards, curving below a brown-flecked granite vanity counter with two basins. The heads fitted behind the sweep of granite, and above, stacks of terra-cotta towels packed the shelves. An almond-shaped glass wall enclosed the shower, its base the same nonskid surface as the floor.

  The mirror she could have done without.

  She cringed to think she’d looked this way while Rowan held her in his arms and made no bones about wanting her.

  Man, he must have it bad.

  And that was good.

  She smiled to herself. A secret smile, born of a thought she hadn’t dared voice. Not to herself. Not to anyone. With an urgency she didn’t question, she stripped off
her sweatshirt, boots and jeans. There was little glamour to be found in thick socks; she added them to the pile. Bra and panties joined them in quick succession, then naked, she reached for one of the towels.

  For less than a minute she studied her reflection. Her body wasn’t the type which graced the pages of pinup magazines. Her honey-colored skin and plum-dark nipples weren’t in the usual style. What was it Rowan had said last night? “You taste like Caruba rum and I’m going to get drunk on you.”

  The words alone intoxicated her.

  She got high just listening to him.

  High on love.

  Was that her problem? Had she really fallen in love with Rowan? The warmth she felt inside by simply looking at him wasn’t anything she’d experienced before. A look from him made every bone in her body melt and everything she was softened with a sweetness she’d never known existed.

  She’d told him about her father, something she hadn’t shared with another living soul. That and her phobia about bugs. Rowan was an honest man, trustworthy, and he brought out the best in her. Wasn’t that what she’d always wanted?

  Magic in the air or not, she’d be unlikely to find her answer in the mirror. Caught up in speculation, she hadn’t heard Rowan enter, but suddenly his reflection overlapped her own, wide, tanned shoulders bare like hers.

  Until he stretched for a towel on the pile, she hadn’t realized he was naked. He grinned at her, tucking the ends of the towel in at his waist. His expression didn’t quite wipe the pain from his eyes. Her heart turned over in her chest. She’d known the climb would be tough on his leg. “Would you like to go first? I can wait.”

  His arms pulled her close to his hard body as heat burned away the pain she’d seen and made her blood race. “You disappoint me, Jo. What makes you think I can wait?”

  Her fingers splayed against his tanned chest as he ducked his head and nipped gently on the side of her neck. A violent shudder rocked his chest beneath her palms.

  “I can’t get enough of you, didn’t you know that?” In contradiction he pushed her away and lifted a hand to rub his chin. “But first I’ve got to shave.” From his chin to hers was a small leap. His thumb caressed her bottom lip, making it tremble. “Tonight I’m going to take real good care of you.”