“I never would have hurt Cara.”
“Oh, no? Who do you think screamed?”
Blake’s gaze jerked to her and he spied a reddening mark on her cheekbone. “Tell me I didn’t—”
“It’s nothing. Just a bump.” Her dark eyes were unable to lie.
He reached out to her face, recalling that his elbow hit something when he’d swung it around. Now he realized she’d taken the blow. “Please forgive me,” he whispered. “You must think I’m a monster.”
“No . . . never.”
Keoni rose to his full height. “I betta get somethin’ for my eye, eh? We talk tomorrow. Maybe you explain. Maybe not. Make no difference. I go. Leave you two.”
Cara smiled up at him. “Mahalo nui loa, kaikunāne,” she said, thanking her new big brother. Blake echoed her sentiments, offering his hand.
Keoni leaned down, grabbed the hand, and hauled Blake up for a big Kānaka embrace. In his Island language, he spoke a private message, much of it in words unfamiliar to Cara. “You my brother for life. Nothing change that. Fighting don’t change that. Women don’t change that. But you have something very special in her, more special than you know. Don’t lose her from your pigheadedness. It is time to make her your wife.”
“She is already my wife.”
“Not in your heart. You make love. You let her in. She is your destiny, little brother.”
Without words to speak his emotions, Blake could only nod. Then he embraced his friend and bid him good night. Keoni turned to Cara, who had stood up, and kissed her on the cheek. “One hell of a welcome into our little family, eh, little sister?”
As she smiled a sad smile, he went out the door laughing at his sense of humor. After he’d closed the door, the room fell silent for a few minutes.
She asked, “Do you want to talk?”
“No.” The pain of the memory was too new, too raw and too mortifying. To recall his past had been bad enough, but to do so aloud for another to know of the violation compounded his shame. “Don’t hover, Cara. I am through breaking furniture.”
She reached out to him. He stepped back, closing his eyes against the hurt he saw in her eyes. Hating himself for putting her through more anguish, he couldn’t help the way he felt right now.
“Blake,” she begged.
“Please don’t touch me. It is when you touch me that I remember. I don’t understand it, but I have to believe it because I experienced it. And it hurts too much. I cannot take any more memories. Not tonight.”
Turning his back on her, he fought to make sense of a past so dark that he’d buried it for years. He needed to do so alone.
As she walked over to the bed, his heart followed her. He thought of what Keoni had just said to him. His Kanaka brother possessed a deeper knowledge of spirits and such, of which Blake knew only through his limited education from the Island elders. Perhaps Keoni knew more about Cara, understood more about the mystical woman. When told of Cara’s gift of insight, he’d seemed almost indifferent, accepting the stories as if there was no question of their credibility. Despite his friend’s example of embracing the unknown, Blake remained leery, unable to drop his guard, unwilling to let anyone in.
And now he knew why. Or, at the very least, he might have stumbled upon the beginning of some answers. But for the time being, the memory of his horrid past was not something he wanted to think about. Tomorrow, maybe.
Bud moved in the corner, drawing Blake’s attention to his dog’s bewildered expression. He went over and gave the Lab a comforting pat on the head, yearning for someone to give him similar reassurance.
You have Cara.
No, he told himself. She was more the cause of this turmoil than the cure. His life had been content until she had arrived and pushed him to remember his past.
Refusing to believe that she was anything but trouble for him, Blake sat down in one of the remaining chairs and removed his shoes and stockings. Methodically undressing, as in his regular nightly ritual, he failed to remember that he could not crawl under the blankets in his usual state of undress. Not while she was there. He pulled his long shirt over his head, sufficiently covering himself.
After extinguishing the lantern, he walked through the dark to the berth. Hesitating, he considered sleeping on the floor, then thought of the unforgiving hardness of the wood. Unwilling to waken to stiff joints and sore muscles in the morning, he mildly chided himself for the irrational notion of suffering another sleepless night when there was a mattress large enough for two to share. Quietly, he slipped beneath the covers, trying not to touch his wife.
Cara felt Blake pull away, though the warmth of his body still caressed her back. She held back a sigh, wanting to do something to ease his torment. But she was the last person in the world he would trust right now. Nothing she could say or do would allay his fear of her. And she couldn’t blame him.
She’d been through this before. She should be used to it. But every time it happened, her heart ached from the pain of being rejected for something she couldn’t change any more than she could change the color of her eyes or the pigment of her skin. She was different. She was psychic. It was not a disease of the mind that was somehow contagious. Yet she was a pariah to those who didn’t understand or could not accept the evidence of a supernatural world around them.
None of the previous hurts had affected her as much as this one from Blake. His rejection was the hardest of all. But it wasn’t his fault. Sometimes even she didn’t know how to handle the psychic phenomena that could crop up. After the strange vision in the cave, he’d looked at her as if she were a two-headed monster. God, how it hurt to see that distrust in his eyes. She balled her fist and pressed it to her mouth, holding back the sadness.
Love him, Cara. Give him your heart. The voice was not her own, but held the soft, Spanish cadence of her great-aunt Gabriella.
But I can’t, she silently argued. He won’t let me even touch him, Aunt Gaby.
Do not judge him by what you see or hear. He needs you.
He doesn’t want me! He said so! Do you know how much it hurts to hear him say that?
Look beyond the fear in his mind and search for the love in his heart. It is there, Cara. So deep, so hidden, that Blake cannot find it.
I’m not the one to help him, Aunt Gaby. I thought I was, but I’m not. I was wrong.
Touch him, Cara. Heal him.
No, I can’t.
Trying to block out the disembodied voice of Gabriella, Cara covered her eyes with the palms of her hands. She refused to go through with the request that had been made of her. She couldn’t risk putting herself out there on a limb only to have Blake shove her away. He had made it perfectly clear—he didn’t want her.
A small twinge of pain came from her belly. It was the same feeling she always got when she didn’t want to do something she’d been prompted to do.
No, she couldn’t listen to her gut this time, preferring the pain of a little stomach acid over another, deeper kind of pain. She couldn’t afford to create more complications by consummating their phony marriage. If she managed to reach past the barrier around his heart, then went back to her own time with Andrew, where would that leave Blake? Where would it leave her? Both of them would be worse off than if she’d left well enough alone.
She shifted to her back, but the discomfort in her abdomen only increased. She rolled to her other side, facing Blake’s back. Her stomach clenched tighter.
You’re not playing fair, Aunt Gaby.
Love him, Cara, repeated the gentle voice.
I want to love him, but . . . what if he won’t love me back? What if he can’t?
Cara tentatively reached out to Blake. Her hand paused over his shoulder blade, not quite touching him.
With a silent prayer for guidance, she splayed her fingers across the soft cotton yoke of his shirt.
“Don’t.” The threatening tone gave her a start, but she kept her hand in place.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she whispered.
“I’m not sorry I made you remember everything. Now that you’ve faced the horrible truth about your past, I want to help you put it to rest.”
“Go to sleep, Cara.”
Her hand moved up his chest.
“No sex,” he reminded her adamantly.
“This isn’t about sex, Blake. I want to make love to you.”
“Sex. Love. What’s the difference?” he murmured as her cheek rested against his back. “Whatever you want, I can’t give it.”
“I’m not asking for anything from you. Nothing at all. Just let me love you.”
Her palm slowly skimmed down the front of his shirt to his waist, then curved around his pelvic bone and over his hip without touching him intimately. Her intention was to allow the rest of his body to feel the tenderness in her caress. Her short fingernails lightly grazed the length of his leg to his ankle, then came back up the inside of his other leg, stopping at the edge of his shirt.
He said not a word. But she felt his muscles relax and sensed his resistance weakening. Inch by inch, she kneaded the muscles in his right leg, then his left. Shifting her body, she moved her hands to his back, stroking the heel of her palm up his spine, then circling down to his buttocks and to his shoulders again.
Expect nothing in return, Cara. Give of yourself.
Silently, she massaged his upper arm, his lower arm, his hand, his fingers. With a gentle tug, she coaxed him to lie on his back, which he did without comment or hesitation. She reached for his other arm. As she kneaded the muscles of his biceps, she sensed his pleasure and wanted to give him more.
You have the power to heal him.
Her hand traveled to the ends of his fingers, caressing them one at a time between her thumb and forefinger. Leaning over his chest, she brought his hand to her lips and kissed the back of his knuckles.
His other hand slowly moved from his side, reaching up in the darkness and touching her cheek. She felt her heart catch. He guided her head down to his. She held her breath. His lips brushed hers, a tentative touch at first. A question without words.
His bewildered thoughts came through to her—Should we do this? Should he risk his lucid mind?
Her lips parted, inviting him, giving entrance to him. His tongue skimmed her teeth, then delved deeper as her mind filled with the sound of his inner voice.
Dear God, I want her. I need her.
His mouth moved over hers as she slipped her hand beneath the hem of his shirt and brought it to his waist. In a slow yet fluid movement, she slid her leg over his hips and lowered herself down onto his rigid shaft, sheathing him in the hot core of her body.
He inhaled sharply. She tightened her feminine muscles around him, eliciting his moan of pleasure.
Take me, Blake. Take all I have. All the love. All the joy. All the happiness.
Oh, Cara . . .
She rose up and came down in a gentle rhythm that he met with his own hips.
Let go of your pain, Blake. Give it to me. Let me take away all the hurt that’s been locked up inside you.
As their pace quickened, she felt his sadness well up inside her, filling her with a poignant grief that arrowed into her heart. The loss of his parents, the loss of his childhood, the loss of his innocence. His mournful sorrow burrowed down into the depths of her soul.
With an anguished cry, he reached out for her, drawing her to him, clutching her body to his. He buried his face in the curve of her neck at the moment of his climax, yet she could still hear the soft sounds of his quiet weeping.
She kissed his temple and tasted the salt of his tears.
“I love you, Blake. I think I have loved you from the first moment I saw you on that ship.”
“No, Cara.” His raspy voice was barely audible. “You don’t need to say these things to me.”
He tried to lift her off of him, but she tightened her knees at his hips, unwilling to let him get away so easily. He tensed, still sheathed inside her. Her feminine muscles flexed around his manhood, then released.
“What are you doing to me?”
“Keeping you interested until I finish what I have to say.”
“You’ve said enough already. And I know you hoped I would be able to repeat the same words to you, but I can’t.”
“I didn’t ask you to. I don’t expect you to.” She kissed his mouth, his cheek, his chin. “But I’m going to keep loving you, even if you can’t love me back. And I’m going to keep showing you.”
Her secret sensual squeezes continued until she felt his arousal growing, hardening, fitting snug against the feminine walls of her womanhood.
“I thought we had an agreement,” he reminded her halfheartedly. “No sex.”
Wordlessly, she sat back, reveling in the thickness of him filling her, pressing the entrance of her womb. Lifting the edge of her nightgown, she peeled it over her head and let it drop to the floor. Then she unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it open so she could explore the muscles of his chest. As his hands cupped her breasts, she leaned into his palms.
“No sex,” she agreed, her breathing escalating as her own passion grew. “Just pure, unadulterated love.”
Chapter 16
The following morning before dawn, Cara awoke to a kiss on her bare shoulder. She smiled and stretched like a contented kitten, purring with pleasure as Blake nuzzled the soft spot behind her ear. He had changed during their long night of passion, despite a few moments of fitful sleep from dreams of his past. Everything had changed between them. The tiny ache between her thighs reminded her of the daunting stamina of the man she had married.
His light kisses drifted over her breast to her belly. As his head moved lower, he spoke lovingly in the language of the Islands. Softly, she asked him to teach her to say the words for fantastic lovemaking.
“Hoʻokela o ka hoʻoipoipo.” His intimate kiss sent a spiral of tingling heat to her nerve endings. “And you are an ipo ahi—an ardent lover.”
“Ipo . . . ahi.” She moaned, relishing the personal tutoring technique of his amazing tongue as her body trembled under his touch.
A half hour later, the warm sun angled into the larboard windows of the cabin as the two of them lay together on their sides, legs and arms entwined.
Blake slowly stroked his thumbnail down her spine, marveling at a strange new feeling of peace. “I must get dressed, lauaʻe,” calling her “beloved” in the language of the islands.
“Never.”
“You want more?” He kissed the top of her head, smiling to himself. “If we keep this pace, I will fill your belly with many babies.”
Recalling the concern of the woman at San Juan, he wondered once more if she were already carrying another man’s child.
“Blake . . .” Her serious tone braced his mind for the worst. “I am not pregnant.”
Thank God. “Then you soon will be,” he vowed, imagining their little brown keiki toddling about the beach of Hanalei. “Perhaps after last night—”
“No,” she said softly, tilting her face up to gaze at him with apology in her eyes. “I am unable to bear children, Blake. I’m sorry. It never occurred to me to tell you until now.”
“But how can you be so certain?”
“I’ve had tests. They all came back negative.”
“Tests? There are tests for these things?”
“Yes, where I come from.” She touched her fingers to the downturned corners of his mouth. “Babies mean a great deal to you, don’t they?”
“No.” He lied to spare her his disappointment. Though he’d always thought someday he would return to Kaua‘i to raise sons and daughters with the woman he loved.
“You deserve to have those children.” Her dark eyes reflected his thoughts. “When the time comes for me to return home with Andrew, we will have our marriage a
nnulled so you will be free to find a fertile wife.”
“I don’t want that,” he snapped. “I want you. If we cannot have our own children, we can find others who need a home.”
Her eyes became moist, glistening with emotion, but she said not a word. She lifted up and kissed him. He murmured his enjoyment, wrapping his arms around her.
When a knock came at the door, he answered impatiently,
“Yes?”
“Sir,” answered Jimmy, “I’ve come to ask if you’d be wantin’ yer breakfast or should I just be bringin’ the noon meal, sir?”
“Breakfast.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
The retreating footsteps prompted Cara to snuggle her face into Blake’s chest. “Where were we?” came her muffled voice before she nipped lightly on his nipple.
“As much as I would like to indulge us one more time, I mustn’t.”
He brought her face up to his, kissing her soundly. With a moan of frustration, he broke away and dropped his legs over the edge of the berth. As he leaned over to snatch his shirt from the floor, her fingertips traced the narrow tattooed ribbon of designs along his left thigh, similar to the band around his arm.
“What are the symbols?” she asked.
“ʻAumakua—family deity.” Glancing down, he touched the tattoos with reverence. “When Keoni’s parents adopted me, I earned the right to wear the mark of their ʻaumakua— their ancestors who come back in different form than human. Since I had no knowledge of my own ancestry, my adoptive father took me to a nīnau kupapa’u, who gave me my own ʻaumakua.”
“A nīnau kupapa’u?”
“A person who consults the dead or familiar spirits.” He smiled at the irony. “When I was young I didn’t believe in such things, mind you. It was the tradition of my new family, and I wanted to belong, be a part of their lives. But it was impossible to accept that there was anything godlike that would protect me, especially after what I had gone through. I understand so much now.”
“Do the Kānaka have people like me?”
He nodded. “Mea punihei i nā mea āiwaiwa —a mystic. Literally, it means a person entranced in the mysterious ways.”
Mystic Memories Page 22