His hair had broken loose from the thong that tied it back, framing his face.
Stretching out her hand to touch it she smiled. “Your hair is longer than mine now.”
She saw him flinch and shiver as she touched his shoulder and then his lips. He turned his head to kiss her fingers and desire flamed in her again. His greedy gaze slid over her breasts, down to her hips, to her legs. She could feel the heat in his devouring scrutiny, right through her clothing. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes.
Marco had caught her. His prisoner.
She winced at the foolishness of ever considering bartering her body for freedom. She burned with desire for this man as he did for her, and their bodies had come together at last to assuage the fire. They would do so again because she knew instinctively that the bond between would strengthen with every hour they spent together. The question was how and when.
Facing him, she trailed her hand down his chest, then farther, until it met the bulge in his trousers. She stroked the protrusion.
He closed his eyes and sucked in his breath, biting his lower lip.
A clatter of small stones tumbling down the slope halted Emma’s hand, poised above his thighs. Marco spun around and looked up.
Giovanni appeared above them and paused for the fraction of a second before leaping down beside them. Emma backed up a step, alarmed by the scowl that twisted his features.
Marco and Giovanni spoke in staccato sentences that shot from their mouths like gun fire. She read the tension and anger in their stiff shoulders and furious gestures. Impossible to follow the words, but easy to grasp the obvious hostility.
At last Giovanni took a step toward her, pushing past Marco, who tried to hold him off.
“Basta!” Marco shouted. Then, in English, “Emma, please come here.”
On shaky legs she stepped closer to him. He took her hand and spoke more calmly to Giovanni. Whatever he said seemed to reassure the other man, who nodded and gave a kind of salute, taking a step back.
Marco let out his breath and turned to Emma. “Escaping from our stronghold is very serious,” he said. “Giovanni is my second-in-command and he is justifiably angry. Looking for you has taken me away from my people at a very important time for us.”
Giovanni started to speak, but Marco silenced him with a gesture. “He is correct. In his eyes you are not to be trusted and must be watched closely. In addition, our people have to see that we deal strictly with anyone who threatens us.”
Emma stared at him. This imperious man with the somber expression bore little resemblance to the man who had just brought her to orgasm.
“I’m no threat to you.”
He took a rope from Giovanni. “I have no choice, bella donna.” He took hold of her arm.
Good God, not again! How many times had they tied her up for one reason or another? She lifted her hand, signaling him to stop. He paused, rope in hand.
“I’ll go with you,” she said. “There’s no need to truss me up again.”
Before Marco could reply, Giovanni spat out a few words, stepped forward and lifted her, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack. Enraged at the humiliating position, she struggled to kick out at him, but his arms held her legs in an iron grip. She beat her fists against his back to no avail. He climbed the small slope in three strides, then let her slide unceremoniously to the ground. A horse stood waiting, barebacked, no more than fourteen hands high, tethered to a stunted tree.
Marco followed. “Can you ride?” he asked. She looked up at him from the dirt where she’d landed.
“Of course I can bloody well ride.” She struggled to sit amid the tangle of her skirt.
“I thought that would be the case.” He reached down and hauled her to her feet, while Giovanni untied the horse. “Giovanni wants to tie you across the back of the horse, but I said you should ride upright.” He led her toward the animal.
“He doesn’t agree with me,” he added in a low voice, “so please do not try to run.”
“Aren’t you the one in charge? I won’t have him manhandle me again.”
Marco’s chin lifted. His cheekbones flushed, but with anger or embarrassment she could not tell. “Of course I am in charge, but Giovanni takes his responsibilities seriously. I must often be away and I need him. I do not wish to make the people choose between us. Especially right now.”
Again, the mysterious reference to some special circumstances. “Well, if you told me what’s going on, I might be more willing to cooperate.”
Marco sighed, and shook his head, but before he could answer, Giovanni spat on the ground at her feet and muttered angry words. Marco silenced him with a sharp retort. The other man looked ready to pick her up again, and she pulled back, repelled by the thought of his rough touch. Marco shouldered him aside, and she quickly bent over to seize the hem at the back of her skirt, pulling the material up between her legs, making rough breeches. “Give me a boost,” she ordered Marco.
He cupped his hands for her foot and she rose easily, slinging her other leg over the animal’s back. His hand lingered on her ankle, warm against her skin. She settled her behind more comfortably and looked down at the two men.
“Tie her,” Giovanni said in English. “The people must see.”
“No,” Marco said. “We will hold the reins, one on each side.”
He looked into her eyes, and she read pain and distress in his face. A muscle tightened along his jaw and his lips were clamped in a hard line. He had defended her and was still her best hope to get away. In her own interest she had to support him and not provoke strife. She held out her hands to him, wrists joined. “Do it, if it will satisfy him.” She shrugged. “I’ll break my neck if I try to get off a moving horse with my hands tied.”
The spark of gratitude in his eyes warmed her heart, and she felt a wave of satisfaction at having helped him save face. He looked down and wound the rope loosely around her wrists. When he’d finished, he kept one hand on hers and raised his eyes. His gaze held hers, seeming to want to memorize every detail of her face. The warmth of his fingers spread through her. She could recognize lustfulness when she saw it and knew he was recalling what had happened between them. The realization sent an answering thrill through her. He had shown her that he could drive her wild with pleasure and desire how and when he chose, and there was little she could do about it. In her situation she should have no room in her head for erotic fantasies, but her body had betrayed her. As it would betray her again whenever he touched her. Without a word he dropped his gaze and moved away.
She let out her breath and twined her fingers in the animal’s thick mane. Giovanni seized the halter rope.
Chapter Five
As they started off on the trail back to the caves Marco took the rear of the small procession, his mind in turmoil. Looking into Emma’s eyes, touching her, had brought back the powerful craving of the night, making him shudder, quickening his pulse. He would have no peace until he held her close again, felt her molded against him, heard her moans of desire and was free to plunge inside her. The tremor in her hand just now when he’d tied her wrists had made him pause. She had drawn in her breath, tempting him with the movement of her magnificent breasts. He knew she felt the same ache, yearned with the same craving.
Before Giovanni had come upon them, the touch of her fingers tracing the line of his lips had made him flinch as if they trailed fire, but he hadn’t pulled away. He was so enchanted, so imprisoned by her that he doubted he could have resisted her if his life depended on it. Follia. Sheer madness. What in the devil’s name had he been thinking of? His job was to carry out his mission, not entertain lustful dreams, but his mission had faded like an old photograph that has lain for years in a dusty drawer.
He was a man possessed. Like a drunkard who lives for the next mouthful of brandy, he ached to feel her breasts again, to thrust his fingers into the moist folds of her cunt, to watch a film of delight move over her face. The image of her spread out for him, of sliding h
is swollen cock inside her warm wetness flashed before him. Thank God they had dressed before Giovanni had found them. If he had seen them naked and inflamed by passion, there would be an even greater price for her to pay.
As it was, Giovanni would exact retribution for her attempted escape, and despite being the capo there was little he, Marco, could do about it. He gritted his teeth in anguish at the thought of what lay ahead. A few paces in front of the horse, Giovanni tore a whip-thin branch from a bush as they passed.
One of the horse’s back hooves slid on the pebbles of the rise, the sound bringing Marco back to the reality of the moment. He slapped the horse’s rump with the flat of his hand, making the animal pick up the pace. The curve of Emma’s leg lay temptingly close, and he burned to slide his fingers up inside the cloth of her skirt. Her legs were spread on the back of the horse and he wondered if the movement, the friction of her skirt was exciting her, arousing her as she had been aroused such a short time ago.
Although he knew that Giovanni could turn around at any moment, his hand crept under the fold of her skirt. She looked down at him as she felt his fingers steal up her leg. With a small, secretive smile she raised her eyes and fixed them on Giovanni’s stolid back, as he walked no more than six paces ahead of them.
Marco moved his hand higher on her thigh and felt a quiver go through her. Half a step to the side brought his shoulder on a level with the curve of her ass and allowed his exploring fingers to touch the silky skin of her inner thigh. A fraction higher, he fondled the damp curls at the junction of her legs. She turned a moan into a cough and raised herself very slightly to allow him more access.
His eyes fixed on her face, his fingers parted the wet folds of her cunt and caressed the nub of her clit. He saw her close her eyes and he slid two fingers into her. A frown creased her forehead and her eyes remained closed as he teased her with his fingers, his groin swelling and tightening as she swayed on the horse. Dio, but he loved her responsiveness, her readiness for him
After no more than a minute she stiffened and arched back, clenching his fingers tight inside her sheath. He held her with one arm across the horse’s rump and the other buried deep inside her as she convulsed. He felt her inner muscles shudder, grasping and releasing him in a primeval rhythm. He leaned his head against her side, filled with desire, with longing and with an emotion he had never thought to feel again. It gave him such joy to pleasure her and it caused him such a stab of pain to think of her leaving him that he had to wonder if this was the beginning of love as well as lust.
He shot a quick glance at Giovanni, who still tramped ahead, unaware of the passions being enacted behind him. Marco withdrew his hand from Emma’s body and smoothed her skirt. He felt her hand rest lightly on his head and looked up at her. She smiled down at him, and he took her hand, turning it to place a kiss on her palm. He folded her fingers over and dropped back a pace.
They were close to the cave now.
When they reached the entrance to the caves, the sun was high in the blue sky. Most of the people had gathered outside and watched in silence as the small procession approached. A ripple went through the crowd as they saw Emma perched on the horse and a low murmur rose in the air.
Giovanni came to a stop a scant three paces from the front row of spectators. Several of the women made the sign of the cross while others curved their fingers in the symbol against the evil eye, spitting on the ground. Marco’s heart sank. The mood was not good. The horse tossed its head, sensing the tension in the air, and stamped its feet. Emma leaned forward to stroke its neck, murmuring soft words to soothe it.
A young boy sprang from the crowd and Giovanni handed him the reins.
Marco saw Emma lift her jaw and straighten her back. The proud gesture pierced his heart. He longed to pull her from the horse, and wrap his arms around her, promising to keep her safe, to watch over her. Instead he stepped forward, needing to establish his authority, seriously undermined by Emma’s arrival and her flight.
He waved Giovanni aside and spoke to the assembled people. “Dear friends,” he began, “you all know how much I have sacrificed in this struggle. You all know I hold each and every one of you like a brother or a sister. I would not willingly do anything to harm you. Therefore I am asking you for mercy for this young woman.” He turned and pointed at Emma and saw the color rise in her face. “She is ignorant of our struggle. She has no understanding of what we strive to achieve. It would be wrong to punish her.”
Giovanni elbowed his way past Marco. “This man is our leader,” he said, “but he is not above our rules. His inattention allowed her to escape. If she had reached the village, we would all now be in danger of our lives. We would be preparing to make a last stand against bullets and sabers. If she can disobey our orders and remain unpunished, what will guarantee that any Blackshirt who offers a juicy bribe will not succeed in turning one of our own against us?”
A murmur of approval rose from the crowd.
“I say,” Giovanni concluded, “that the usual punishment be meted out. Unless-” he turned to Marco “-our leader refuses to follow our established code.” His eyes on Marco, he whipped the twig against his leg.
Marco glanced at Emma who sat stiff backed on the horse, her eyes flicking from one speaker to the next, trying to infer meaning from their voices and gestures. There was no real choice for him. If he let her go unscathed, he would lose his position among his people and there would be no voice of reason to keep them safe while they completed the mission they had planned. Giovanni was impetuous and vindictive, a bad combination.
He let out the breath he had been holding. “Take her down,” he ordered. “I will deal with her this evening.”
Emma knew there was a big problem. Although she hadn’t understood a word of what Marco said to the small group of people, she had recognized the strength and passion in his voice. She’d seen some of the listeners nod as he gesticulated to emphasize his points, but others had frowned and murmured in disagreement. As he fell silent she sensed danger in the air. Her heart thudded in her throat. Apprehension knifed through her, making her stomach clench.
She didn’t see the man approach her until a rough hand seized her arm and pulled her off the horse. The fellow grabbed her as she stumbled, holding her against him. She caught a waft of stale sweat and garlic and swallowed a wave of nausea.
She made herself remember all the battle-weary Houndsdales who had never acknowledged defeat. A great uncle had fought at the siege of Mafeking, a cousin had commanded a unit in the trenches in France. She lifted her head proudly.
“Get your hands off me.”
She shoved the man away and shook the loose ropes free from her wrists. Taking a deep breath she turned to face Marco. His eyes were hooded, his lips set in a stern line of disapproval, as he swiftly covered the ground between them and barked an order at the one who had manhandled her.
She touched his sleeve. “Speak to me. Tell me what’s happening.”
“Later.” He freed his arm, gave an order to a young man standing nearby, spun on his heel and walked away.
The youth took her arm.
“I can walk by myself.”
He obviously didn’t understand English because he tightened his grip and pulled her toward the cave entrance. She lengthened her stride to keep up with him rather than be dragged along.
Without a word, the young man led her inside the cave entrance and stopped at a doorway built into the rock face, opened the door with a large, metal key and thrust her through it. Emma stumbled into a cell chiseled out of the bare rock. She whirled around, but the door slammed in her face.
She beat her fist once against the solid wood, then took stock of where she was. With her back to the door, she estimated a span of about six paces to the back wall, maybe ten from side to side. A wooden bench with a coarse-looking blanket stood against the left-hand wall. Nothing else. Through the thickness of the door she could hear the hum of activity gradually pick up as people resumed their task
s.
What did this mean? How long would they keep her here? On trembling legs she moved forward and sat on the bench, which creaked and shifted under her weight. She didn’t need a translation to know that Marco was fighting to retain his leadership of the group. Whether it was only because of her, or for other reasons, some of his followers were ready to rebel. Back home they’d once hired a new footman who had ideas of advancement that put him on a collision course with the head butler. She recognized all the signs of hostility and discontent amongst this group. Where did that leave her? Right in the middle, the meat in the sandwich, as they say.
For the first time she realized there was a slot cut into the door, roughly at waist height. Getting to her feet, she crouched and put her eye to the gap.
She could see nothing but the backs of women, busy stirring pots. A faint waft of soup drifted towards her, mingled with the smell of boiling clothes. The combination was sickening.
After a moment, Marco came into view, deep in conversation with Irena. Emma’s irrational heart leaped in her chest, her breath seized up, and her knees felt weak. His hair was tied back once more and his dark head was bent low as he listened to the girl. He touched her arm. His breath must be fanning her cheek. Irena looked up into his face and Emma felt a stab of jealousy such as she’d never felt before. She couldn’t breathe. Seeing him with Irena, unable to reach him, sent raw need flooding through her. Heated memories of being in his arms last night warred within her against her anger and jealousy. Marco was a handsome man. He was powerful, strong. Did the leader have the pick of the girls? Why wouldn’t they all throw themselves at his feet, dammit?
Emma drew a deep breath and called his name. He looked up, staring at the cell door, and said something more to Irena. The girl nodded. Emma called again, more softly, and this time he came over to the door. He squatted, bringing his face close to hers, and she saw the lines of fatigue etched in his face. He’d arrived at the farmhouse at dead of night, had climbed all day and hadn’t slept last night because of her. He needed to rest. She tried putting her hand through the slot, but then couldn’t see him. She could touch him or look at him. Not both. She chose to leave her fingers for him to grasp and in a few moments she felt his hand on hers. She gripped him tight. He was her anchor.
Bella Donna Page 6