Morgan's Rescue

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Stop it!” he snarled aloud. He turned, hoping no one had heard him, but the breezeway was empty. An old, limping dog approached him, wagging its tail. Angry at himself for allowing the vault of memories to spill out from beneath his steel control, Culver leaned over and patted the dog’s head absently.

  He had no time to waste. He had to let her know he was here. It was the last thing Culver wanted to do—face the sight of rejection in her eyes. He’d never really cared what anyone thought of him until Pilar came along. She was different, exotic—like the heady fragrance of the orchids that laced the jungle trees. And when she’d opened to him, he’d believed he’d met the woman who could fulfill him on every conceivable level. Like an orchid stretched fully into bloom, she had given herself to him, allowing him to inhale her dizzying fragrance.

  To this day, Pilar haunted his dreams. He still had torrid, sensual dreams about her touch, the way she looked at him, that caressing smile that shot through him like hot sunlight, letting him know he was the center of her world. Well, it wasn’t so. He’d stupidly made the assumption that Pilar felt about him the way he did about her. Culver had never fallen in love with anyone before Pilar—or since. Maybe that’s why she was always in his heated, humid, jungle-like dreams like some ethereal fog that would reach out, tease him, and yet as he tried to grab it and embrace it, would dissolve upon his contact. Or, maybe the silent, dangerous jaguar who owned the jungle.

  Anxiety riffled through him. Humiliation. Desire. He felt all those things as he decided to step from his hiding place and walk to the pipe fence where Pilar could see him. How would she look at him? Hector had said she knew he’d been assigned as her partner for this highly dangerous mission.

  As he pushed away from the beam and straightened, Culver felt the weight of worry press down on his broad shoulders. A terrible anxiety was building in his chest. No matter how angry or hurt he was about how Pilar had treated him, he didn’t want her placed in a situation where she could be killed. As he stepped out of the breezeway into the sunlight, Culver knew in the depths of his aching heart that he would still step between her and an oncoming bullet—as he had once before. He walked slowly toward the arena.

  He felt a certain satisfaction in knowing she didn’t realize he was here. Pilar was at the other end of the arena, having just finished a series of jumps. She had brought the thoroughbred from a canter to a walk. As Culver placed one booted foot on the fence’s lowest railing, he saw her dismount. Frowning, he watched her intently. At five foot three, she was short next to the giant horse she rode. He laughed to himself, remembering their height difference. The first time Pilar had seen him, her dark eyes had widened enormously and she’d said in Spanish, “You must be a giant from a special place on earth.”

  Her low, breathless voice had sent tingles through him. Pilar had never met someone from Scotland, and the awe combined with curiosity in her gaze had made him feel special and powerful. At the time, Culver had been expecting to work with a hardened veteran woman agent. Instead, he’d found this wild, exotic orchid bud preparing to burst open to the world at large, and he’d wanted to be the one to watch each of her beautiful petals unfold, to reveal the honeyed depths of her womanhood.

  Culver shook his head. In the eight years since, he’d waited for the memory of Pilar to disappear. But as he stood at the fence, watching her pat the thoroughbred, he realized with a terrible, sinking feeling that every emotion he’d had eight years ago was just as brilliantly alive within him today, burning fiercely and without apology. Running his fingers through his short dark hair, he wondered what he would say to her. Blazing anger paralleled an aching need.

  Something happened. Culver felt it before he actually saw Pilar react. She had been petting the horse, praising it, when suddenly she turned on her booted heel and looked down the length of the arena—toward him. His heart thudded once in his chest to underscore, even at this distance, the intensity of her gaze. How he wished he could see her expression. Culver shook his head. To hell with it; the time had come. Bending down, he climbed between the rails. Sand and sawdust covered the arena, and his roughout boots sank into the mixture as he straightened to his full height and squared his shoulders.

  Pilar gasped, her hand contracting on the reins. She had to be seeing things! But she wasn’t. Her eyes widened as she realized Culver Lachlan was walking down the arena—toward her. Her heart skipped a beat as panic set in. Her breathing became ragged. Culver! The word shot through her like an arrow—striking straight to her soul. An ache began to pool in her lower body with memories of Culver’s strength and incredible tenderness as he moved deeply within her, branding her his for all time.

  Tears raced into her eyes, but just as quickly, Pilar forced them away. Culver must not see her cry. He must not know how she really felt. Her hands grew sweaty as she stood by the horse, rigid with an unsettling mix of anticipation, fear and need. As he walked slowly toward her, so much came careening back to her. The sound of his laugh, low and deep, like the reverberation of a medicine drum. His pale, sky blue gaze, which sent heat jagging through her like bolts of lightning teasing the jungle canopy above her village during a storm.

  The color photo of Culver she’d studied was no match for the real thing. He was still a giant to her, built sturdily, of good strong bone, as he used to say. How many times had she lain against him? Felt the weight of him upon her like a warm, secure blanket? No feeling in the world matched that of Culver on top of her, his body a shield. He always felt more stable, more solid than she. Pilar gulped as each step brought him closer. What was she going to say to him? What could she say? He’d never understand nor forgive her for what she’d done. Worse, if he knew the whole truth, he might try to take from her the one thing that mattered most in the world.

  Culver was not conventionally handsome. He’d once said that his face was carved from the rugged granite cliffs of his Scottish home. But Pilar adored those craggy features. Now crow’s-feet marked the corners of his eyes, and slashes on either side of his mouth gave new depth to his face. His cheekbones were high, like her own, but his face was square, with a hawklike nose that reminded her of the harpy eagle, a huge aggressive white eagle that plummeted like a dive-bomber through the Peruvian jungle to snatch a monkey for its dinner.

  Pilar tried to steady herself, but it was impossible. Already she could feel strength ebbing from her with each wild heartbeat. Culver’s eyes looked merciless. Pilar knew from experience that a deep, dark blue meant he was angry, while they became lighter with happiness. Right now they were a stormy cobalt, and the set of his mouth frightened her. How warm, exploring yet powerful that his mouth had once been against hers. As big as he was, when Culver kissed her, he’d taken her gently, inviting her to surrender herself to him. Then his kiss would deepen, becoming hotter and more frantic, until their mouths clung together with passion.

  Shakily, Pilar removed her hard hat, and the black hair she’d coiled on top of her head spilled in a cascade about her shoulders. It was nowhere near the length it had been when she’d been Culver’s lover. But right now, it seemed as if the eight long years between then and now had not occurred at all. Pilar felt pinned by his gaze as he moved ever closer. She trembled inwardly with a violence that frightened her. Oh, to be touched by him in that special way once more! How many nights over the years had she tossed and turned, aching to feel his strong hands caressing her damp skin as if she were a high-strung thoroughbred in need of a gentle touch to soothe her fractiousness?

  Pilar’s mouth grew very dry as Culver closed the distance. Only belatedly did she realize he was wearing Levi’s, roughout boots and a short-sleeved, white cotton shirt that outlined his magnificent chest and shoulders. There was nothing weak about Culver. He was macho in a way few men would ever be, in Pilar’s opinion. As always, his skin was darkly bronzed, a tough shield, seemingly capable of challenging any harshness the world had to offer. A lock of dark hair tumbled across his lined brow, which was covered by a light sheen
of perspiration in the summer heat.

  One of the many things Pilar had come to love about Culver was his loose, elastic gait. His athletic build was his heritage, he’d told her. He came from a line of warriors who’d repeatedly challenged the kings of England. So many nuances from past conversations jammed Pilar’s spinning senses as Culver came to a halt no more than six feet away. She felt the hot, angry rake of his gaze, like a wildfire burning from her black leather boots up across her thighs and abdomen, over the gentle curves of her breasts. Then his eyes locked with hers, and Pilar felt her lips part as she stared back at him, seeing the good and the bad, his weaknesses and strengths. Culver wasn’t perfect by any means, and he had a nasty temper when things didn’t go his way. She strove to shield herself from that anger now, fairly boiling in his dangerously darkened eyes.

  “You’re early,” Pilar heard herself say faintly. Honey moved restively, as if sensing her confusion and anxiety, and she turned and placed her gloved hand on the mare’s sweaty neck to soothe her.

  Culver stared at Pilar, struggling to hold on to his anger. When she’d removed her hard hat, her delicious hair had showered around her, blue black as a raven’s wing. The straight, shining strands framed her small, oval face to perfection, while Pilar’s dark eyebrows reminded him of the thin crescent of the waning moon, accenting her luminous eyes framed by thick lashes. Her nose was fine and thin, and he knew it came from her father’s side of the family—the Castilian aristocracy. But her slightly parted mouth was his undoing. Without a speck of lipstick, it was like a ripe, exquisite fruit begging to be picked.

  Culver gathered his raging feelings. “I wanted our meeting to be private,” he growled. How he ached to step forward, reach out and caress her highly flushed cheek. Pilar’s skin had a golden, dusky tone, heightened by the blush in her cheeks, which gave her an endearingly helpless look. But she was far from helpless, as he knew all too well. She was a government agent and a damn good one. If not for her quick thinking, tough mind and ability to focus, he wouldn’t be standing here today. Pilar’s face appeared soft and vulnerable on the surface, every expression there for the reading, but he knew she was hard beneath that exterior. Hard and cruel. Selfish. Self-serving.

  The short-sleeved white blouse she wore outlined her curves to perfection. Culver wondered just how many lovers Pilar had had since he’d taken her virginity. Plenty, he told himself angrily. She was petite, slender and even more graceful in her movements than he remembered. Instead of being an equestrian, she should have been a ballet dancer, though her height might have been a detriment to that career.

  Nervously, Pilar pulled off her leather gloves. “I was to meet you at seven,” she protested weakly. Inwardly, she cringed. If she didn’t do something, she feared she would burst into tears—or throw herself into his arms. And the expression on his face spoke not of forgiveness, but of bitterness and anger.

  Culver deliberately placed his hands on his hips and slowly looked around. “Yeah, I know.” Dammit, why did she have to look at him like that? He could see hurt reflected in her eyes—hurt and…desire? Yes, desire of all things. After what she’d done to him. “You might as well know up front, Pilar, I didn’t want to work with you.”

  Hiding the pain his words caused, she tucked the gloves beneath the brown belt that circled her waist. “I expected that. I asked Hector if he was sure you knew I was going to be the other agent.” Pilar forced herself to look up at him. “I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

  “No.”

  She gave a slight, pained shrug. “Well, what’s important is Morgan.”

  “Is that why you volunteered for this? Did you have an affair with him, too?”

  Stunned, Pilar stared at him. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Pain gripped her heart. “I—uh, no, I had no affair with Morgan.”

  “Given the circumstances,” Culver continued, “the thought crossed my mind. I know why I’m here. The man saved my life, and I owe him. But I wonder just what the hell you owe him to get you to agree to take a mission with me.”

  Anger erased Pilar’s hurt. She glared at him. “You haven’t changed at all, Culver. Not at all! You are the same pigheaded person I knew eight years ago!” She tugged gently on the reins, turning Honey to head her toward the barn.

  “Hold on,” Culver rasped, reaching out and grabbing Pilar’s upper arm. Though careful not to hurt her, he put enough pressure in his grip to bring her to a halt. Her head snapped up, her eyes going black with fury.

  “Don’t touch me!” Pilar cried, jerking out of his grasp. Dios, why did he have to touch her? She backed away, breathing raggedly, and raised her fingers to the place his massive hand had covered. “Don’t ever touch me again, do you hear me?” she rattled, her voice off-key. Tears stung her eyes, and Pilar forced them back. She saw contriteness come into Culver’s eyes, but it never reached his rugged features or the set slash of his mouth. “Don’t do that again,” she whispered brokenly. “Not ever…”

  Culver stood, breathing hard, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “Stop acting like I hurt you, Pilar. I didn’t, and you know it.”

  Pilar tried to focus her spinning senses. Culver’s contact had been completely unexpected—the only thing that could make her drop the shield she hid behind. He didn’t realize how evocative his touch was, or that it made her want to surrender to him—all over again. Instead, he was taking her response just the opposite—as an indication that she couldn’t stand his touch out of hatred or disgust.

  Her heart swelled with anguish at that knowledge, and Pilar drew herself up to her full height. She allowed her hand to drop from the arm Culver had touched, but she was unable to keep her voice from trembling as she said, “We have to work together. I accept that. What I don’t accept is you thinking you own me. You don’t. And don’t you dare touch me again. My reasons for helping Morgan are my own. Truth never needs a defense, Culver, and I don’t have to spill my heart to you any longer.” Pilar saw her words hit him like bullets ripping into his flesh. The pain showed in his eyes, no matter how impassive his face remained.

  What they had shared long ago, she was discovering, was still just as vibrant as ever. A miraculous thing had occurred after they’d made love that first time on a luxurious carpet of grass near that pond. From that moment on, Culver had not been able to veil his true feelings from her.

  Now Pilar read the pain in his eyes and regretted her words. The last person she wanted to hurt was Culver. She’d already hurt him more than anyone in her life, and she could barely live with that knowledge even to this day. Pain was something she’d known a great deal about, and she’d promised herself to avoid causing it to others, yet the very person she loved most in the world was the one she’d hurt the most. Pilar ached for Culver, wanting to take back her words but knowing she didn’t dare. If she didn’t erect some kind of barrier now, she would be lost.

  “Fine,” Culver growled. “Let’s get out of this sun and into the barn. We have a lot to discuss before I go to the hotel tonight.”

  Nodding jerkily, Pilar brought her mare along with her. So much remained unsaid, yet she could say nothing. It was obvious Culver hated her for what she’d done. If he could not forgive her for that, he would never forgive her for the far worse transgression she’d made. She’d been so young then—and a product of the culture that raised her, despite her Harvard education. But how could Culver be expected to understand that—to know the full extent of the pressures brought to bear on her then?

  Looking back now from her more-mature perspective, Pilar could see that the decision she’d made eight years ago might have been wrong—and in making that decision, she might innocently have committed a transgression far worse than the one that had originally caused her to flee from Culver’s bedside on that awful night.

  Chapter 3

  Culver tried like hell to ignore the gentle sway of Pilar’s hips as they made their way back to the barn’s breezeway. He stood back and watc
hed as she put the sweaty mare into cross ties and unsaddled her. Such anxiety showed in Pilar’s dark, beautiful eyes. Still, he couldn’t keep his gaze from dropping to her mouth—and couldn’t prevent the heated memories of taking that soft, luscious mouth from rushing back to taunt him.

  “Why didn’t you wait and meet me at the hotel?” Pilar demanded breathlessly as they made their way to her office, a small house near the barn, after the horse had been put away. The sun was lower in the west now, the trees beginning to cast long shadows across the property. She pushed several errant strands of hair from her eyes.

  Culver kept his gaze on her as she opened the door to the tiny white stucco house with its red tile roof. “I don’t trust the Peruvian government. I flew in early, just in case.”

  Glancing up at him, unable to stop her inner trembling, Pilar moved quickly into the coolness of her sumptuous, yet homey office. Culver looked out of place in it—clumsily large compared to the delicate furniture the owners had installed for her. “Hector is someone you can trust,” she said, hesitating at the kitchen entrance.

  “I had my luggage sent on to the hotel,” he said. “And I contacted Hector.”

  Her stomach wouldn’t settle down. “I have things I must do.”

  Lowering himself to a Queen Anne couch, Culver shrugged. “Go ahead, then. I’ll wait.”

  Pilar hesitated. His rugged features were unreadable as he surveyed his surroundings. She needed to think, but his presence made it nearly impossible. She got herself a glass of water from the apartment-size kitchen and took it into the bathroom with her. First, a cooling shower to wash away the grime of the day’s riding. Then she’d be ready to head to her apartment in Lima.

  Culver ordered his body to relax, with little success. He’d never dreamed he’d see Pilar again, and he knew he was still emotionally in shock. She hadn’t changed at all—except to become more beautiful, more confident and more desirable, dammit. The college girl had grown into a stunning woman. Frowning, he thought of the anguish in Pilar’s voice when he’d pulled her to a stop. And it had been anguish—real pain. My God, how much did she hate him, to flinch from his touch like that?