Her vision blurred again. She blinked rapidly, willing herself not to cry. A hundred times or more he’d said similar things in her fantasies. But the reality of hearing them made her imaginings mundane and weak.
“There is much between us to work through, Isa. We may well fight again before we can make peace.” With the tip of his nose, he affectionately nuzzled the sensitive spot beneath her earlobe. As he spoke, his warm breath tickled the fine hairs along her skin. “There is also much between us that needs no aid.”
Mm. Yes. That part of their entanglement. The part where her heart refused to remember all the reasons she didn’t want to be at his mercy and threw her headlong into his arms. And into his bed.
She sighed, too contented by the light kisses he scattered down her neck to argue. Even now, when her world was crumbling around her shoulders, she wanted him in a way that seemed shameful. With September in danger, Isabelle had no right to pleasure of any kind. Still, it felt too nice to relax, if even for just a few minutes, to argue.
“Let us go back there tonight.” His teeth grazed across her earlobe. “’Tis after four. The sun sets in two hours. Will you put aside buyers and the wrongs I have committed and watch it with me on the cliffs?”
Could she?
How could she not? Alone, September’s predicament would eat her alive. Caradoc held the uncanny ability to make Isabelle feel like she could weather any storm.
His embraced tightened, pressing her more fully against his body. His heat soaked into her, drowning her in absolute peace. She could spend the night alone in her room and think herself into hysterics, or she could grab onto the life support Caradoc offered and make it through to morning. She had no idea where September might be, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do until tomorrow when she had the necklace in her hands.
“Yes,” she murmured. She yearned for the escape, however fleeting it might be. With him, she could stop thinking about all the horrible possibilities she couldn’t control.
The security of his warmth fled as he stepped back, and longing arced through her. She flipped one hand over, unwilling to let go of the only anchor she possessed, and twined her fingers through his. As he drew her to his side, Caradoc gave her a tender smile.
Silence fell between them as they walked down the wide pavestones toward the side entry gate that stood open to Shapiro’s private drive. Isabelle took comfort in the grip of his fingers, the scrape of his roughened palm against hers. Just having him here with her, even if he knew only half of the truth, relaxed her tight muscles. She breathed more easily. Walked with a freer stride.
“Where are we going?”
Caradoc gestured at a colorful piazza flecked with bright awnings at the top of the narrow north-south via. “There.”
“But I thought we were going to the cliffs?”
“We shall.” Giving her hand a light squeeze, he chuckled. “How long has it been since you have eaten, Isa?”
Her stomach growled at the mention of food. Too long. At once, she became aware of the hearty aromas on the light breeze, rich flavors of seafood, bold spice, and citrus. One of the things she’d looked forward to on this trip was the chance to sample Sicily’s fabled cuisine. But keeping food down had become impossible. “I’m not sure I can.”
“You are naught but skin and bones.”
She glanced down at her waist, self-conscious about the way her skirt hung on her hipbones. A stranger wouldn’t notice the loose fit—her suit jacket covered enough. But Caradoc knew her too well.
“When we were in Oxfordshire, ’twas you who insisted we taste everything. That you have said naught here tells me much.”
She sighed. There was no use trying to talk herself out of his keen observation, and she’d already told him one too many half-truths. “It’s that dream.”
“You cannot starve yourself into a solution.”
“I know.”
“Then will you try to eat?”
Worst-case scenario, her food would make a reappearance. For the moment, however, her stomach seemed as at peace as the rest of her body. Maybe she could choke down something light. “Yes.”
As they entered the lively piazza, Caradoc steered her through the gathering evening crowd, across the wide-open square, around busy merchant’s stands, and to a corner café. They bypassed bold, red plastic patio furniture, heading for the window to place their order.
A thin brunette slid the glass open, her smile radiant. “Buona sera, Signore.”
Caradoc released Isabelle’s hand and pulled his wallet out of his hip pocket. “Parli inglese?”
“Sì.” She bobbed her head. “What can I get for you?”
Above the woman’s head, a wide menu displayed a variety of treats. Smooth dishes of gelato framed vegetable and cheese wraps, fruit pastries, and pizone-style sandwiches. Isabelle’s mouth watered. She’d take one of each. A dozen of the custard-filled miniature pies. Oh, Lord they had cannoli. Almond and honey, no less. She could almost taste the way the powdered sugar would melt on her tongue.
Caradoc, however, was more sensible. He gestured at the menu. “One swordfish impanata, one chicken. We will have a plate of potato croquettes and two lime sodas.”
While he paid for their meal, Isabelle turned around to survey the historical buildings that framed the piazza. Intricate carvings adorned time-bleached, smooth stone facades. Here and there, painted shutters pocked the high walls with vibrant color. Merry voices bounced off the rooftops to blend with a constant undercurrent of laughter. Strange how a place so warm and welcoming could cause her so much grief. She should be awed by the magnificence, impressed with the obvious marks of so many cultures. Instead, she had yet to notice one outstanding fact about Palermo.
Until just now, thanks to Caradoc.
Pressure at her elbow brought her out of her thoughts. Caradoc offered her two plastic cups, which she readily accepted. The first tang of sweet carbonated lime dissolved over her tongue. Better than a Sprite, any day. She took a deeper pull off her straw.
Following the broad expanse of his back, she wove around the tables to a stone bench shaded by a rare Dragon’s Blood tree. She sat down, unable to stop from marveling at the umbrella-shaped network of skyward reaching branches tipped with spiny leaves. Nature had definitely crossed genes with this creation—it looked like someone had stuck a head of broccoli into the ground and fed it Miracle-Grow. Nonetheless, to have attained its height, it was several decades old. Once more, the timelessness of Sicily enveloped her.
Caradoc took a seat at her side, their food positioned between them. With a plastic fork, he cut each impanata in half, put one of each of both plates, then passed her one.
She glanced down at the bite-sized halves and chuckled. “You can eat two of these alone, Caradoc.”
He grinned. “Aye. But I did not wish to overtax your belly. We can eat again later, if you wish.”
Tenaciously, she took a bite, chewing as if she tried to soften leather. She waited for the habitual roll of her stomach, but to her delight, it remained still. When she swallowed, Isabelle allowed the flavor of grilled swordfish to engulf her. Her belly knotted, but not in upheaval. Rather, it felt like her stomach had just coiled in on itself in a frenzied attempt to devour the tiny morsel. Encouraged, she took another bite.
Again, silence spanned between them as they ate. Caradoc watched the bustling people; she watched him. Every now and then, a frown touched his forehead, as if he’d been struck by a thought. But the pucker of his brows smoothed into unreadable calm just as quickly. Was he thinking about September? Work maybe? She never had figured out what brought him to Sicily. No better time than now.
“Caradoc, why’d you come to Palermo?”
The way he stopped chewing said she’d caught him off-guard. He took a long drink, then wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Duty sent me.”
“Duty?”
“Aye.” As he turned, a bright sparkle touched his eyes, and impishness lifted the corners of his mouth. “The thi
ngs we are not speaking of tonight.”
“Oh,” she answered with a chuckle. “Tell me in the morning?”
“You are staying with me then this eve?”
His playful expression took on deep seriousness, intensity that shook her to the core. Was she? She hadn’t really thought that far in advance. In fact, she hadn’t been thinking at all. Morning with Caradoc was just natural. Habit. But his question brought back all the hurdles that lay between them—September, Caradoc’s leaving, Isabelle’s fear he would abandon her again. If she stayed, she’d become more tangled up in him. Leave herself open for devastating heartbreak if he once again turned tail and vanished.
If she didn’t stay, that dream would surface once more.
“May I?” she asked hesitantly.
“You need not ask, Isa. You know what I desire.”
He desired her. Of that, she had no doubt. September though…Did he want her as well?
Isabelle accepted with a nod. September was another subject they weren’t supposed to talk about. That question would have to wait for morning too.
Chapter 23
Contrary to her usual zest for food, Isabelle ate like a bird. Caradoc watched as she popped another potato croquette into her mouth and chewed as if she gnawed on leather. He had hoped her enthusiasm would return if she were removed from Shapiro’s, where the demands of business were ever-present. Her smile had, aye. But the rest resembled a mere shell of the real woman.
His thoughts weighed heavily. She held something back. What, he could not fathom, but ’twas clear she maintained secrets. If she would but tell him…
He sighed inwardly. She would say naught, for he had forbidden conversation on the very things that plagued him the most.
She set her paper tray aside and picked up her soda with both hands. This too she sipped as if the straw were three times narrower. Yet she had eaten more than he had expected, given her protests. Despite what he had said, he would understand the details of her dream before another night passed. She could not continue to starve herself.
When she did not set her cup aside in favor of another bite, he recognized her silent signal. Standing, he scooped up their trash, and then deposited it in a nearby trashcan. He reached for her hand. “Shall we?”
A faint glimmer of the Isabelle he adored showed through the brightness in her eyes. She nodded, slipped her palm into his. “Where to?”
“This way.” Stepping around the large tree, he ushered her behind the row of merchant buildings at the base of Mount Pellegrino. There, a narrow path of gravel had been carved out of the thick greenery. Caradoc lifted a low-hanging branch and ushered her beneath the shaded canopy. “A few feet up, there is a break in the trees.”
Grinning, Isabelle glanced over her shoulder. “How do you know about this place?”
“I have been here before. Many years ago.” He pointed at the buildings she had studied earlier. “When those were but rock foundations.”
“Oh.”
Her shiver vibrated against his hand, and his frown returned. “Are you chilled?” He shrugged his shoulder, attempting to shed his suit coat.
“No.”
Caradoc paused, perplexed. Slowly, he eased his coat back on.
“It’s just…strange,” she continued in a low voice. “I don’t question what you’ve told me about your past, but thinking about it is flat-out weird. You were alive through every major societal change. You’re—” She stopped abruptly with a shake of her head.
“I am what?” he asked as he guided her over a fallen tree branch. Evidently, this path had fallen into disuse. No longer did those who tended St. Rosalia’s sanctuary clear the way.
Color turned her cheeks bright crimson. “Ancient,” she whispered.
The first true bit of laughter he had felt all day burst free. With it, the tightness in his chest eased, and the discomfort he had felt over their circumstances ebbed. “Aye, I am.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nay, do not be. ’Tis true. Some days I feel older than time.”
As their conversation became more natural, so did the movements of her body. She walked closer to his side, swung their joined hands in time with her easy stride. Her nearness relaxed him further, and he began to feel mayhap they could move back in time and become the lovers they had once been.
“I noticed you were limping more. Is the arthritis in your knee worse?”
Her fingers tightened against his, and for one heavenly moment, the curve of her breast brushed his upper arm. His body tightened, instantly aware of the soft flesh beneath her tailored suit. A glimpse of one lean thigh as she climbed up a rock had him biting back an oath. Whilst he had enticed her on this walk with the deliberate mention of the desire they shared, he had intended to wait until their vows were spoken. But as his gaze traveled over the graceful curve of her heart-shaped bottom, the idea of waiting longer than it took to lead her where no one could stumble upon them, became unreasonable. Why should they wait, when he could indulge himself in the sweetness of her body?
From atop the flat rock, she set her hands on her hips and peered at him curiously. Gradually, he became aware of the fact he had not answered her question. He shook his head. “’Tis not arthritis but the curse.”
“The curse?”
He climbed up the rock and set his hand in the small of her back, guiding her forward. “Each knight’s greatest tragedy festers inside him along with the darkness.” Caradoc kept his gaze fastened on the trees ahead, unable to keep the truth from her but unwilling to acknowledge her pity. “Mine was a physical event.”
“What happened?”
“Turn here.” Tugging on her elbow, he steered her onto a debris-covered off-shooting trail. His voice rang through the overgrowth with flat acceptance. “Two years afore I took my oaths, I was captured in a battle. I was put on the rack for three days and would have died, had my men not broken through the gates and claimed victory.”
Isabelle’s soft gasp cut through him like a knife. He flinched, but refused to look at her. What had happened lay in the past. Whilst his body suffered now, once they were pledged to one another, the aches would pass. He would forget again, and the dank dungeon and the coals set to his feet would be no more dominant than the castles and peasant villages he had once known.
“I am so sorry, Caradoc,” she whispered with feeling.
The gentle slide of her hand down the center of his back had him sucking in a sharp breath. He had known no compassion then. Had experienced no woman’s concern, nor the tender touch of a maid’s healing hands. As many men did, he mended alone. Now, the stroke of tenderness touched a buried portion of his soul, a place so deep he had not known it existed. He closed his eyes a moment, shaken by the wealth of feeling that swelled within his chest. He had killed men, known no remorse for the conquests of his youth, and his armies had destroyed villages whose only fault lay in who owned the land they stood upon. As a Templar, though his purpose held great merit, his deeds oft held equal resemblance. Isabelle cared for him beyond what he deserved.
“Are you okay?” Her gaze latched onto his, deep indigos brimming with concern.
A short breath served to restore his composure. “Aye. ’Tis in the past, and we are here.” He swept his hand before them, indicating a narrow outcrop on the mountainside that overlooked the turquoise Tyrrhenian Sea.
Isabelle turned into his arms and looped her wrists around his neck. Her body flattened against his, the warmth of her skin inviting. “Is there anything I can do?”
Though he knew her question held no intimate suggestion, he could not stop his swift reaction. Blood rushed to his cock, swelling it so fiercely she could not possibly be ignorant to the stiffening against her hip. He curled his fingers into her waist to keep from shifting her position so that her soft flesh cradled his erection.
“You are,” he exhaled. “You take my pain away.” I love you, Isa. How he longed to say the words aloud. Yet the fear they would send her scurrying away and
spoil the brief peace they had attained kept him silent.
She made it all the more difficult to keep his roiling emotions in check. Lifting to her toes, she feathered her mouth over his. Though her kiss was innocent, the brush of her body alongside his hardened cock ground his senses to a halt. He captured her mouth before she could fully retreat, tightened his hold on her waist, and held her in place as he deepened the kiss.
Like sparks set to kindling, Isabelle awakened in his arms. A quiet sound of satisfaction bubbled in her throat. Her nails pinched through his coat and shirt into the muscles between his shoulder blades.
’Twas all Caradoc needed to lose his senses. He wound one arm around her waist, sank his free hand into her loose bun, and greedily took possession of her mouth. She tasted like lime, and not once in his life had he ever been so hungry for the bitter citrus. Yet he could not have enough of her kiss, of the slide of her tongue, the impish nip of her teeth. Unable to stop himself, he nudged his hips forward, rubbing his throbbing erection against her sensitive feminine flesh.
The white-hot burst of ecstasy that ripped down his spine, however, forced him to concentrate. If he did not stop this now and take a few moments to gain control of his body, ’twould be over before they began. Last night had been wrought with need. A frantic coupling that brought pleasure, but the next time he made love to Isabelle, he intended to show her the full meaning of his love.
On a ragged inhale, he broke the kiss and stepped back to distance their bodies. Her blue gaze smoldered into him, her swollen lips begged for his return. Ignoring the siren’s call of her mouth, he pulled his fingers through her disheveled hair, freeing the pins that had held it into place. They tumbled to the ground near her short heels. “Sit with me a while?”
She gave him an unsteady nod.
Caradoc tucked her hand into his then escorted her to the east side of the ledge where the outcrop butted against the mountainside, forming a place they could rest their backs whilst they looked over the western horizon and the descending sun. He urged her to sit at his side.
Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars Page 19