Blackwell 2 - Timeswept Rogue

by Amy J. Fetzer

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  flesh pushed him over the edge. His hands moved in a swift provocative motion down the backs of her thighs, strong fingers curling beneath her knees and lifting them higher as he thrust deep and long, exploding inside her. Sweet heaven. Nothing was ever so glorious.

  Nothing stole more of his heart.

  She clung to him, whispering his name. His broad arms swallowed her in a fierce embrace, absorbing every shattering spasm.

  Her breath dusted his chest, and after several moments she lifted her head, her lips curving in a soft wonderous smile.

  "My God, Ramsey. Hearing the piano will never be the same again."

  "Neither will playing it."

  He bent to kiss her and noticed she still cried.

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  He didn't mention her tears, yet kissed them away, slowly, the barest touch of his lips, and Penny closed her eyes tight, trembling from his tenderness.

  And fear—of him and how much he affected her guarded emotions. She could reason it away that he'd barreled into her life when she needed someone, beyond Tony or Margaret or Hank, yet that was a lie. Ramsey knew her thoughts without speaking, saw into her soul, forcing a confession she never dared say aloud, then soothed her wounds with his incredible loving. Proving his power over her, again. She swore she'd never allow any one to get that close, yet a barren decaying part of her selfishly wanted to stay lost in his seduction a little while longer. For the moment would be shattered soon enough.

  "Such a complicated creature," he whispered into her ear, as if just realizing the thought. Her lids lifted slowly and she gazed into searching cognac-brown eyes. She urged him closer, pressing her lips up the column of his throat, to the curve of his mouth.

  "And you are undeniably the most erotic man I've ever met," she murmured, then kissed him deeply and he left her body, gently, with a finesse that didn't surprise her, fastening

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  his clothes, then sweeping her into his arms and lifting her high on his chest. He was right out of an ancient fairy tale, she thought, wrapping her arms around his neck, his mouth on hers, blistering and hungry for more and only the silence of the house saw them ascend the stairs and enter his rooms.

  Ramsey went directly to the bathing chamber, backing her up against the rain chamber door, shrugging out of his night clothes and stripping the satin from her body with an urgency that excited her. He would never have enough of her, he realized as he reached past her to turn on the water, his lips grinding a delicious path over her bare shoulder, her throat. Neither spoke. Passion claimed mind and body, enfolding them in the touch, taste, and sweet Jesus, the feel of her. His hands ran the length of her arms and grasped her fingertips as he drew her beneath the steaming water.

  "I confess I've ached to share a bath with you since I first saw this contraption."

  Not want or considered, but ached he said, like pain and Penny thought she'd melt under the heat of the spray. "It's sinful,"

  "Then share your crime with me," he said, grasping a cake of soap and dragging it down between her breasts, then around the slick globes in slow maddening circles.

  She arched into his palms. "Has any woman ever said no to you?"

  She gasped as he suddenly pushed her against the cool tile.

  "None afore matters, Penelope," he murmured darkly as his soap traveled over her buttocks, then slipped around to dive between her legs. She inhaled. Suds slithered.

  "Sure, right." Sarcastic, breathless.

  "So distrusting you are, lass," he tisked, torturing her with his wet hands and warm bubbles.

  "Well, you have just popped into my life, twisted it around your finger and now look where we are."

  It hurt that she could not accept him freely.

  "Can you not see that what we share, 'tis beyond the flesh?" he said. She made a sound, of disbelief and uncertainty and he tossed aside the soap, cupping her face in his palms. He gazed

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  deeply into her eyes, his thumbs brushing across her cheek­bones. "You consume me, woman."

  "That's just wild sex talking."

  "Nay, nay," he groaned, his expression sad. "Why can you not believe I am not here to take from you?" His heart tripped at the flicker of hope in her green eyes. "By God, Penelope, were I to walk away this night—" He inhaled, his fingers tightening. ' 7 would need a part of you to survive,'' he uttered savagely and the strength of his words ripped through her, stripping away another layer of loneliness.

  "Oh Ramsey, don't. Don't say any more," she sobbed against his mouth, kissing him with a possessiveness he never dreamed she'd bestow. He felt every morsel of her lithe figure, her plush wet breasts pushing against his chest, small hands flowing slickly over his torso, the satiny inside of her thigh sliding against his skin as she hooked her leg around him, her calf slippery over his firm buttocks.

  Thick steam clouded the room, dripping with sensualit Then boldly she clasped his erection, pushing down til the tij of him entered her.

  "Again, Ramsey."

  A plea of the heart, of the body, and Ramsey surged into her, his big hands holding her steady, eyes locked. Water cascaded between, settling and flooding past sealed skin as he moved, gave, and Penny accepted, tilting her body to his, sensitive and wanting. And the eruption suddenly snapped through them, a deep bone-racking shudder, a roaring flex of muscle and flesh. He held her, suspended like a wild animal caught in amber, his huge body quaking. His eyes, dark and hooded, never left hers, even as the last liquid spasm curled through her body.

  His voice was thick with adoration when he said, "Ah love, you rob me of my pride when you give to me like this."

  And I have none left when I do, she thought, as he slowly left her body. The soap in his hand again, he worked a thick foam over her flushed skin, his touch teasingly slow and retribu­tion lit her eyes as she tried to take the cake. He held it beyond her reach, his smile blinding and Penny showed him she didn't need a handful of bubbles to torture him as they stood beneath

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  the spray, falling into a heavy soul wrenching kiss til the water cooled. Shutting off the flow, he drew her out, wrapping her first in a thick towel, then himself. He didn't let her leave him and carried her to his bed and with another towel, dried her hair, her shoulders, rubbing her warm and cozy. He sat beside her, her legs draped across his lap, the towel working beneath his strong hands. He even dried her toes. Penny fell back onto the mattress. His unselfishness continually amazed her.

  " 'Tis an old wound?"

  She glanced up, deliciously lethargic. "No. Well, I don't know. I've had it as long as I can remember." He was referring to the small purplish mark ringing below her left ankle. "I almost had it removed a while back."

  Ramsey frowned softly. "Removed?"

  "Yes. You know, plastic surgery."

  He didn't, yet caught himself afore he looked the fool and realized 'twas likely possible in this age of medical advances. And what the ruddy hell was plastic? "Vanity does not suit you, Penelope." It was a statement.

  She levered herself onto her elbows, smiling at the compli­ment. "I was doing a mystery-thriller film and the director thought it might be mistaken for a clue to the plot when the camera panned a body shot during a love scene."

  Ramsey went still as granite, his voice tight, his grip on her calf tightening. "You actually made love—" he gestured to the air, mentally indicating the tapes he'd viewed—"with a perfect stranger for the bleedin' world to see!"

  His fury was palatable and Penny wisely kept her voice calm. "Not a stranger, Ramsey, an actor, and there were twenty other people in the studio." His jealousy, the power of it, made her feel cherished.

  "But you were—intimate?" His hesitation betrayed his heart and she almost cried, for if he knew what she'd done—suddenly she dropped back onto the bed,

  "Kisses, t
ouches, yes. Actual intercourse—" her gaze col­lided with his—"No, Ramsey. Never." Public nudity and film sex scared the hell out of her; how much was necessary for the work were usually contract breakers for her.

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  He hadn't moved, as if deciding whether or not it was truth, then finally his shoulders relaxed and he shook his head ruefully. "I fear I will never comprehend the ways of your world," he murmured as he crawled onto the bed.

  The ways of your world, she caught, like he didn't belong. He didn't, she thought as he snuggled her beneath the covers, pulling the towels from their bodies, then tossing them aside as he joined her.'

  And she let him, sinking into the cocoon of warmth.

  "I really should go to my room," she murmured sleepily.

  "Do you wish to leave me?" He hovered over her, running his hand the slender length of her body, the blood freezing to his heart.

  "You do make it hard to resist." She wiggled into the curve of his body, aware that the longer she shared this intimacy with him, the harder it would be to protect herself from him.

  " Tis my intention," He pressed a whisper-soft kiss to her temple, his massive arms swallowing her in his embrace.

  "Hah. I'm shameless, Ramsey, and you are leading me down the road to ruin."

  His lips curved. "Lay the blame at my feet, love, for 'tis mine by right," he murmured into her damp hair. His voice lowered to a whisper. "Stay with me, Penelope, and I vow naught will ever wound you."

  She didn't hear and Ramsey's gaze traced her delicate fea­tures as sleep took her. Such a lonely flower, he thought, tor­menting herself with guilt. Yet her silent pain went beyond that, for 'twas the simple happiness of friends and family she denied herself, a punishment. Yet in his arms she was free and teasing and vulnerable. Patience man, he told himself. Those barriers have been in place long afore you and 'twill take time to crush them.

  And he would.

  One block at a time, if he must.

  She smelled cherries and smoke and felt safe.

  Humming, deep and comforting, and with if came the sensa-

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  tion of strong arms about her, protecting her and she knew she was happy and loved. A sparkle and a delicate touch scented with flowers. She strained to grasp more, see more, but the sensations faded, blackened into terror and pain and utter loneli­ness.

  They didn 't want you.

  Ramsey jolted awake, blinking into the darkness, his gaze rapidly circling the room, then dropping to the woman lying next to him. She wrestled against him, her fists clenched over her ears, her body drawn tight and cowering. She trembled violently and he gathered her close, gently rubbing her shoul­ders, her spine.

  "I'm here, love," he murmured close to her ear. "I'll not let anyone harm you. I promise you're safe." He spoke softly, over and over, his heart catching on her pitifully whimpered words.

  "Don't leave me!" She gripped his arm like a vise. "I'll be good."

  Ram's brows shot up. Her cries were that of a child, no more than a babe.

  "Where are you, little one?" he coaxed. "Where?"

  "Dark. Dark." Whispered fear and loneliness. "Hurts . . . Da!"

  "Shhh," he hushed and she clung to him desperately. "You are safe, sweetling, safe. None will hurt you now. Tis over."

  Yet 'twas not.

  And he feared she would never let him close enough to help

  her. *

  Sultry air clung to his skin, sticking the white shirt to his back, and he shifted his shoulders, an annoying trickle of sweat dripping down his spine. The nonstop flight was brutal and Anthony knew he was in trouble when he didn't see enough military personnel in this part of the city to make him feel

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  comfortable. Angela City, Philippines. A dozen years since he'd been here last, for Penelope.

  Bone tired, he moved down a narrow alley, his oldest pair . of boots marking the path of his friend Argarlo, strolling a few feet before him, a bit too casually for Anthony's comfort. But this was his home. The slim dark-skinned man knew everyone, everywhere. He could find anything—for a price, illegal or otherwise. Human or not. And Anthony couldn't believe he was risking arrest, his career, and maybe even Penelope's.

  They passed huts, palm thatched, wood and tar papered, some tin roofed and rusting, most of the dilapidated shanties without a door and all closely fitted like a chess board. The foul stench of raw sewage in the rain-soaked streets was nearly unbearable, though one grew accustomed to the odor after awhile. They strode around a pretty girl of about thirteen squat­ting in the alley, washing herself, the soaped cloth passing beneath her bra and panties, which was all she wore. Anthony glanced away and nearly collided with Argarlo.

  "You want a woman, too?" Argarlo asked, nodding to the girl as he slid a crushed cigarette between his lips and flicked a match. The yellow match light sparkled off the inky slickness of his shoulder length hair, the four unevenly spaced loops running up the side of the man's ear; his pale blue sarong was so transparent Anthony could see the stitching of his dirty tee shirt beneath.

  "No. But thank you for the offer." He wouldn't insult Ar­garlo by showing his distaste.

  Shrugging, Argarlo sucked on the smoke, leaning against the wall as he gestured to the cloth covered door. Anthony brushed back the faded drape and stepped inside. The scent of sweat, whiskey, and stale San Migel assaulted his nostrils. No one moved, yet several occupants tossed him a curious glance, then went back to their drinks.

  "The bartender," Argarlo murmured in heavily accented Tagalog.

  Anthony crossed the dirt floor and leaned against the bar, ordering two beers. There were no stools, nothing on the walls but a faded Coca-Cola ad. Women, girls really, were propped

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  near the end of the wood slab bar, looking more frightened than pleased with their companions.

  Argarlo saddled up beside him. Anthony spoke, his Tagalog stilted and bringing a faint smile from his comrade.

  "Papers." He didn't need to elaborate. Word traveled swiftly and Anthony didn't doubt the man knew everything about him down to shoe size by now.

  The squat bartender studied Anthony with a thin-lidded glare, then shook his head and moved away. Anthony casually slid several bills across the counter, as if paying for the drinks. The fat man stopped, his coal-black eyes widening at the American currency, his gaze shifting between the cash and the buyer. Anthony sweetened the pile and Argarlo stayed his hand before he added more, spitting words—soft and deadly, at the bar­tender. Anthony didn't see the knife Argarlo brandished beyond his line of vision.

  The bartender stared at Anthony for a second, his breathing heavy, then he slapped a hand over the cash, dragging it across the counter and into his pocket. He gestured with his head to a door beyond him, the only one Anthony had seen actually made of wood and Anthony followed.

  He had to and never considered what lay beyond.

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  Penelope stretched, like a cat content with a belly full of cream and Ram smiled, watching her in the mirror's reflection, her willowy arms twisting above her head afore she opened her eyes.

  "Good morn, love," he said, fastening his cuff, his back to her.

  It certainly was, she thought, sinking into the bed, her gaze slowly traveling over his body clad in dark pleated trousers and the crisp white shirt. The brightness of it showed off his tan, the leanness of his waist, and she already recognized the style was his preference, collarless except for a narrow band, button front.

  When she didn't comment he looked down at himself. " 'Tis not appropriate?"

  "That depends on what you have in mind." Her expression spoke volumes and his lips curved as she slowly slid from the bed, dragging a sheet about her and exposing more than she shielded. He faced her, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her up against him, kissing her heavily. His hands rode up her supple spine; her bare body, plush and
warm from sleep tempted him to join her abed again. But the house was a'stir

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  and he'd not let them be caught so deeply compromised afore the help. Reluctantly, he drew back, the question nagging him all morning tumbling out.

  ' 'What torments your dreams, lass?''

  She stiffened in his arms and tried to pull away, but he held tight, gentling his intrusion with soft kisses.

  "I don't remember," she finally said.

  Her met her gaze.

  "I never do." She shrugged. "I can't recall anything except feelings. I've been hypnotized, analyzed, and regressed and nothing helps." She avoided his probing stare. "I sort of live with it."

  Such a horror to be taunted like that, he thought.' 'You were a child, a babe really," he said softly and her gaze narrowed. " 'Twas your voice, yet light of pitch, innocent"

  "So I've been told."

  He could tell by her tone she wanted the subject dropped and he let it.

  "Going out?" She flicked imaginary lint from his shoulder.

  "I thought-to purchase a few books, mayhaps some sheet music," he whispered near her ear, then moistened a path up the curve of her throat. " 'Tis a fellow Rachmaninoff, I understand is quite the composer."

  Penny thought he was making a joke and laughed softly. "I heard that, too."

  The sweet joyous sound filled him like slow moving honey and he struggled to control his need of her, pressing his forehead to hers. "Would you care to accompany me on my outing?"

  She moaned disappointedly. "I have accounts to go over before the courier arrives." She glanced at the clock on his dresser and inhaled sharply. "Which is in two hours!" She pushed out of his arms, nearly losing the sheet as she tossed aside fallen pillows and comforter, searching for her robe. The drooping sheet offered him a delectable view of her shapely hips and tight little bottom and Ramsey couldn't stand the alluring temptation. He swept her into his arms.