This Side of Heaven tp-1

by Beverly Barton

  Nate stood up. When he tried to touch her, she shoved against his chest. "Of course I don't think you—"

  "Maybe what we shared didn't mean anything to you. Maybe you can just send me away and go on with your life." Cyn sucked in the soft inner flesh of her mouth, closing her teeth downward in an effort to keep herself from crying. "I hate your damned knife collection." She jabbed her index finger into his chest. "I despise the fact that you spent twenty years in the SEALs, doing God only knows what." She jabbed him again. "You're a man who uses violence to settle his disputes. I've seen you in action. You're a deadly weapon."

  Her words wounded Nate more surely than any knife in his extensive collection could have. Her every accusation was right on target. How could he defend himself to a woman as loving as Cyn? Why should he even try?

  He grabbed her by the shoulders so quickly that she didn't have time to evade his capture. She struggled momentarily, then stopped trying to pull away from him.

  She met his fierce stare head-on. "Loving a man like you goes against everything I've ever believed in, and yet I can't change the way I feel. Something inside me tells me that you need me, and yet you keep trying to send me away. I think I have a right to know why."

  Tightening his hold on her shoulders, he pulled her closer, so close her breasts brushed his naked chest. She trembled with desire from the intimate contact. Heat spread through his body. "I don't need you, Brown Eyes. Not the way you think.'' Hell, he knew he was lying to her, but he couldn't lie to himself. He needed Cyn Porter as surely as he needed air to breathe, but the last thing she needed was him—a man who could bring danger and death into her life.

  Cyn took in quick, ragged breaths as she stared at Nate, love and longing in her eyes. "Am I making a fool of my­self?" she asked, her voice trembly with tears.

  "We're both fools," he told her, his own voice deliber­ately hard and controlled. He dropped his hands from her shoulders. "We've allowed our hormones to get us into a dangerous situation."

  "There's more between us than overactive hormones." Stepping away from him, she tilted her head slightly, then stuck out her chin, a defiant, determined look on her face. "What we shared went beyond good sex."

  Nate fought the urge to take her in his arms, the over­whelming desire to admit to Cyn that what he felt for her went beyond anything he'd ever experienced, even in his dreams. "The sex was good, wasn't it?"

  "Don't do this, Nate. Don't try to alienate me by playing the chauvinist male.''

  "But that's exactly what I am. I'm no Prince Charming, no answer to a maiden's prayers. You said yourself that loving me goes against everything you've ever believed in."

  "What kind of trouble are you in?" she asked, taking a tentative step toward him, knowing that he was deliberately trying to be insulting enough to make her run.

  He held out a restraining hand, a visible reminder that he didn't want her to touch him. "There's a man I knew years ago. In Nam." Nate walked across the room, wanting to put physical space between him and the woman who was so de­termined to help him. Dear God, how much he wanted to accept what she was offering. But he couldn't.

  "A part of your violent past?" Somehow she knew that whatever danger he faced, he intended to confront it by calling upon his skills as a warrior. Live by the sword, die by the sword flashed through Cyn's mind.

  "Yeah," Nate said, hating the look of condemnation he saw in her eyes. "Something happened between me and this man, something you don't need to know about." How could he ever tell Cyn the whole story and expect her to under­stand? Without knowing any specific details of his past, she was already repulsed. If she knew the bloody facts, she would hate herself for loving him.

  "You can tell me anything. I'll understand." She went up behind him, wanting to put her arms around him, longing to ease the pain she heard in his voice, saw in his slumped shoulders. If only she could help him put his violent past behind him, and teach him how to live in peace. Surely he could change. All he needed was for her to show him how. Violence didn't solve anything; it only destroyed life.

  "The less you know, the better," he said.

  "Then tell me what I need to know." She reached out, allowing her hand to hover in mid-air, almost touching his tense back.

  "This man, Ryker, swore he'd kill me someday, swore revenge. For the past five years, I've thought he was dead, that I didn't have to be constantly looking over my shoul­der, waiting for the day of reckoning." Nate turned, facing her. "He's alive. He's, on his way to St. Augustine, and when he finds me, he's going to try to kill me."

  She touched him then, unable to stop herself. He grabbed her hand where it caressed his cheek, and buried his mouth in her open palm.

  "Oh, Nate. Nate..." Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks.

  Suddenly he pulled her into his arms, nuzzling her neck, whispering her name. "If you were my woman, you'd be in danger. I can't let that happen." He wouldn't allow any­thing to happen to Cyn. He knew as surely as he knew the sun rose in the east that this woman was his soul. If she died because of him, he would be eternally lost.

  "I think it's too late, Nathan Hodges. I'm already your woman, and we both know it." She held on to him with the fierce protectiveness of a mother lion safeguarding her cubs, of a strong female willing to go the limit to take care of her mate.

  "But Ryker doesn't know it. He must never know. You have to get out of my life and stay out. For both our sakes." Nate remembered that Ramon Carranza had found out. How could he hope to keep her safe from Ryker when he had such powerful and ruthless friends? Nate released her, and when she refused to let him go, he pulled away.

  "Can't the police help you? Surely they won't allow a man to just hunt another man down like an animal."

  "Brown Eyes, you don't understand, you couldn't even begin to imagine. We're talking about jungle warfare here. We're talking about two trained killers who are evenly matched. This has nothing to do with any kind of civilized law you know."

  The blood ran cold in her veins. No, she had never known anything about that kind of world, those kind of men, and yet, somewhere deep inside of her, she understood. "Two warriors who will fight to the death."

  The look in her eyes ripped into his gut. He wanted to take her back into his arms, to reassure her that if he came out of this alive, he'd come for her. But he knew better than to promise anything. "What do I have to say or do to make you understand that if Ryker finds out about you, he'll use you to get to me?" A kaleidoscope of images flashed quickly through Nate's mind. Ryker's icy blue eye. His tri­umphant grin. Cyn's lifeless body in Ryker's arms.

  "Nate..." She reached out for him.

  "I'm sorry, Brown Eyes, sorrier than you'll ever know."

  Although she longed to touch him, to reassure him with her embrace, she realized he wanted her to stay at arm's length, that he was fighting the desire to keep her with him.

  "You're approaching this problem the wrong way," she said. "Violence can't be the only solution. This man, this Ryker, can't fight you if you're not willing. If what he's seeking is a confrontation, then don't give it to him."

  "Dammit, woman, do you think all I've got to do is tell him I don't want to fight? When a man is intent on killing you, you have only one choice, and that's to defend your­self."

  "Let the police take care of Ryker. That's their job. Pro­tecting law-abiding citizens from criminals." She clenched her fists at her sides in an effort to keep from touching him.

  "The way they protected your husband?" Nate asked, knowing full well that his words would hurt her, but deter­mined to make her realize the naivete of her thinking. "And what about the boy who killed Evan? There are times when a man has to take care of himself."

  A knot of unshed tears lodged in her throat. Her hands jerked. She balled her fingers tightly against her palms, her nails cutting into the soft flesh. "Damn you, Nate Hodges. You know Evan was nothing like you. His situation and yours have nothing in common. He didn't seek
out vio­lence, it was thrust upon him."

  Didn't she realize, Nate wondered, that despite his brutal past, he wasn't seeking danger; it was seeking him. "Your husband chose to try to help a boy addicted to drugs. He put himself and you in danger by doing that."

  "No." She placed her hands over her ears and turned from Nate as tears escaped her eyes, falling in thin, warm streams down her cheeks. As quickly as she had shunned the sight of him, Cyn spun around, her damp eyes glaring. "Evan was the most gentle man I've ever known, the most caring. He always put the needs of others before his own. He... he was as opposed to violence as I am. He didn't re­alize he was in danger, that he was putting me... Darren Kilbrew brought violence into our lives. His whole life had been filled with it, just like yours has been."

  "I didn't spend twenty years as a criminal, killing inno­cent people. I was one of the good guys, dammit. I worked for the government, defending this country. Just like the police, my job was protecting others, the people of this country." He saw the look of disbelief in her eyes, the lack of understanding. Could he ever make her realize that countries, as well as individuals, often had little choice in choosing violence over peace. "When danger threatens, when violence is thrust upon you, then you have to fight in order to survive. Ian Ryker will give me no choice."

  "I don't think you want one," Cyn told him.

  "That's not true."

  "Then let me help you." She watched him carefully, praying for some sign of agreement. "Together we can find a way. You don't have to meet him on a field of battle. You don't have to fight a duel to the death."

  "You don't understand," Nate said. Cyn, in her inno­cence, had no knowledge of a man like Ryker. Despite the fact that her husband had been brutally murdered, she didn't know anything about professional killers. "Darren Kilbrew was a kid half out of his mind on drugs. The drug was as much Evan's murderer as that boy was. Ian Ryker is different. He kills for the sheer pleasure of it, and the longer he can make his victim suffer, the better he likes it."

  "What about Nick Romero?" Cyn asked. "He's some sort of government agent, isn't he? Let him or whatever agency he works for take care of Ryker."

  "Romero is already involved, but that's not going to solve my problem. Ryker wants me. I can't let someone else fight my battle."

  "You don't want to."

  "All right," he admitted, "I don't want someone to fight for me, to die for me. This is between Ryker and me. I don't want any innocent bystanders getting in the way."

  "Is that what I am, an innocent bystander?"

  Hell, how did he answer that question? he wondered. Of course she was more than a bystander. She was his woman, and more than anyone else, she was in danger. "Yeah, Brown Eyes, that's exactly what you are."

  She tried to see beyond the words, past the cool, unemo­tional statement, but his expression gave away nothing. He seemed totally unmoved by her tears, her offer of help and her profession of love.

  "I have a ten-thirty appointment this morning," she said as she walked past him, not giving in to the impulse to take one final look at him in the hopes that some emotion would show on his face.

  By the time she reached the front door, she realized he wasn't following her. And she was glad, she told herself. She had fallen in love with a man incapable of loving her in re­turn. Not once, not even when they had shared the most passionate intimacies, had Nate told her he loved her. She had allowed her own sexual desire and the fantasy spell of an ancient legend to overrule her common sense.

  Nate was right. She should get out of his life and stay out. For both their sakes.

  Cyn opened the front door. Just as she stepped outside, she heard him coming up behind her. Hesitating momen­tarily, she waited for him to touch her or to say something to her. He did neither. Turning her head, she caught a glimpse of him in the doorway. Their gazes met for one brief instant before he closed the door. * * *

  Cyn jumped out of her van, glanced down at her watch and groaned. She was fifteen minutes late for her brunch date with Ramon Carranza. She hoped the wealthy Cuban was lenient with tardy guests.

  Standing on the stone walkway, she scrutinized the Span­ish-style mansion. It was exactly what she had expected. A two-story cream stucco house with a red tile roof, arched windows and doors, and a lawn filled with palm trees.

  Stepping up, she hesitated briefly as she studied the beautifully carved wooden door. She had to make a good impression. She had to convince this man to help Tomor­row House. Of course, he wasn't her last hope, but he was her best chance. A man with enough money to donate ten thousand dollars a year to a small shelter for runaway teens had enough money to solve her problems, at least tempo­rarily.

  Cyn rang the doorbell. Instantly, a young woman opened the door and smiled a friendly greeting.

  "Señora Porter?"

  "Yes." Cyn walked inside the enormous foyer. If she hadn't been raised in her father's ancestral home in Savannah, she would have been awestruck by the grandeur of Ramon Carranza's home. But Cyn was quite accustomed to fine antiques, impeccable decorating, homes with mu­seum-style quality.

  "Please follow me," the maid said in slightly accented English as she led Cyn down the hallway and out onto a back patio.

  Spring flowers, in large concrete pots, surrounded the wide expanse of open courtyard just beyond the patio. A glass table had been set with pristine white linen, sparkling china and heavy crystal.

  "Please be seated," the maid said. "Señor Carranza re­ceived an important telephone call only moments ago. He will join you shortly."

  "Thank you." Cyn sat down when the maid went back into the house.

  She was grateful to the person who had called Ramon Carranza. Perhaps he wouldn't even be aware that she had arrived late.

  The day was beautiful, she decided, looking up at the clear blue sky. Everything was fresh and crisp and caressed with Florida sunshine. The day should be perfect, but it wasn't. Not for her. She was in love with a man who didn't love her, a man totally unsuitable for her.

  She remembered the first time she had awakened this morning. Nate had been awake and lying beside her, propped on his elbow while he watched her. He had kissed her, held her, and made slow, sweet love to her. How could a man give of himself to a woman the way Nate had given to her and not love her?

  "Señora Porter," a deep, throaty voice said. "I hope you don't mind eating outside. I know it is only the first day of May, but after last night's rain, the world is so clean and fresh and bathed in the sun's warmth."

  Cyn glanced up at the tall, elegantly dressed man who had just stepped out onto the patio.

  He took her hand, kissing it with Continental flair. "You are even more beautiful than I had imagined."

  "Why, thank you, Señor Carranza. I'm flattered." Cyn felt awed at the sight of the elderly gentleman. She wasn't quite sure what she had expected, but it certainly hadn't been this handsome man, so tall, so broad-shouldered, so incredibly suave with his mane of white hair and his thick white mustache. His black eyes sparkled with intelligence and curiosity.

  "You must call me Ramon, as all my friends do." He sat, taking the chair opposite her. "And you and I are going to be good friends, si?"

  "Yes, I hope so." Cyn thought there was something fa­miliar about this man. Perhaps she had seen his picture in the paper.

  "I hope you like seafood, Señora Porter." Ramon waved his hand, and as if on cue, a plump, dark-haired woman appeared carrying a huge serving tray.

  "I love seafood." Cyn's mouth watered at the sight of the scrumptious shrimp cocktail the woman set before her. "And please call me Cyn."

  When he widened his eyes in surprise, an amused look on his face, Cyn laughed, then said, "My name is Cynthia, but all my friends call me Cyn."

  "What a perfectly delightful nickname."

  All through brunch, they discussed a variety of things. Everything from music to wine, but somehow the discus­sion kept coming back around to the fact that Cyn was liv­ing alone in Sweet Haven
with only one close neighbor. It seemed of great interest to Ramon Carranza that Nate Hodges was a man Cyn could count on for protection. She simply didn't understand Señor Carranza's interest in her personal life.

  "I came here to ask you for money, and yet we seem to have discussed everything except Tomorrow House." Cyn had enjoyed her meal and the charming old man's com­pany, but there was something in his persistent questions about Nate that bothered her. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

  "Ah, but it is a foregone conclusion that I will give you the money you need. I will give you a check to cover the expenses of your shelter for the next six months." Ramon sipped his wine, eyeing Cyn over the rim of his crystal glass.

  "You will?" Cyn gasped. "But...but how did you know that I needed enough money for six months' expenses?"

  With a toss of his hand, indicating that it was nothing for him to know the closest, most-guarded secrets of others, he smiled at Cyn. "I am sure you are aware of the fact that not only am I a very rich man, I am a powerful man with many powerful friends. My friends know many things, and what I want to know, they find out for me."

  A cold chill raced along Cyn's spine, reminding her that no matter how charming Ramon Carranza was now at nearly eighty, it was reputed that he had once been a part of the Cuban mafia.

  "Why does my shelter interest you so much, Señor Car...Ramon?"

  He took another sip of his wine. "May I be perfectly honest with you, Cyn?" His wide smile displayed his spar­kling teeth against the background of his white mustache and leathery brown skin.

  Uncertain how to reply, she simply nodded as she re­turned his smile. A tight knot formed in the pit of Cyn's stomach, as niggling little doubts wafted through her mind.

  "I could say that it is because I consider myself a philan­thropist, but I am not. I could say that I was once a boy without a home who needed a place like Tomorrow House, but it would be a lie." His smile widened. "You have heard rumors about me, have you not?"

  How was she supposed to answer a question like that? she wondered. "People always like to gossip about the wealthy."