The Novels of Nora Roberts Volume 1

by Nora Roberts

  “Get dressed.” His voice had thickened like a drunk’s. “Get out. Don’t you have any pride?”

  “Oh, I’ve got plenty of that.” And it swelled as she saw the helpless desire in his eyes. “What I seem to be lacking at the moment is shame.” The silk whispered against her flesh as she walked to him. “At the moment,” she murmured, winding her arms around his neck, “I don’t seem to have an ounce of shame.” Tilting her head she nipped at his bottom lip. His groan had her letting loose one low laugh. “Tell me again you’re not interested.” Her lips parted, full of demands against his. “Tell me again.”

  “Damn you, Rox.” His hands were in her hair again, fisted. “Is that what you want?” He swung her around so that she rammed into the dresser as his mouth plundered hers. “You want to see what I can do to you, what I can make you do?” The part of him that still hoped to survive grasped on to heartlessness to push her away. “You want to be used up and tossed aside?”

  She threw her head back. “Try it.”

  He cursed her, he berated them both, every time he dragged his mouth from hers. The war raged in him even as he pulled her to the bed and tumbled onto the mattress with her. Without care, without compassion, he took his hands over her, ripping the silk, bruising flesh, hating himself for the thrill of excitement that wracked him each time she whimpered or moaned.

  He’d send them both to hell, he thought. But, by God, they’d take a fast, hot ride through heaven first.

  Through a maze of needs and fears she recognized his anger. And his greed. He’d lied, she thought, crying out when his mouth closed hungrily over her breast.

  Oh, how he’d lied.

  She twined her fingers through his hair and shuddered. This was truth, this desperate, clawing chaos of sensation was truth. All the rest was illusion, pretense, deception.

  He was breathless when he lifted his head to stare at her. Breathless and beaten. But somehow the anger had vanished, like a conjurer in a puff of smoke.

  Beneath him her body was vibrating, like a finely tuned engine revving to race. He could drive her, that he understood, but he was afraid, horribly afraid that he would lose control until they crashed and burned.

  Knowing he was lost, he lowered his forehead to hers. “Oh, Rox,” he murmured and stroked his fingers gently over her shoulders.

  With no hesitation she wrapped her arms around him. “Listen to me, Callahan, if you stop now, I’ll have to kill you.”

  The laugh was a relief, though it didn’t begin to ease the tension balled in his gut. “Roxy, the only way I could stop now is if I were already dead.” He lifted his head. She recognized the concentration on his face, the same as she’d seen dozens of times as he prepared for a complicated illusion or a dangerous escape. “We crossed the line, Roxanne. I can’t let you go tonight.”

  Her smile bloomed slowly. “Thank God.”

  He shook his head. “You’d do better to pray,” he warned her, and lowered his mouth to hers.

  19

  At last. It was the final coherent thought that passed through Roxanne’s mind as Luke’s mouth fixed hot and open on hers. At long last.

  Another woman might have wanted soft words, slow hands, gentle persuasion. She had no need for that now. Every wish she’d ever held close, every fantasy she’d ever woven in secret was granted by the wild, willful demands of his hands and lips.

  She gave him the most coveted and elusive gift a woman can grant a man. Complete surrender.

  That was her power, and her triumph.

  Needs that had budded slyly inside her flashed into full bloom. Fears tangled with them, creating an ache so fierce she shook from it. She hadn’t known, not even in her most secret imaginings had she known it was possible to feel like this.

  Helpless and strong. Dizzy and sane.

  She laughed again, from the sheer glory of it, that reckless, rushing roller coaster ride, speeding uphill, plunging down whippy turns, flashing through dark, dark tunnels of secret desires. She clung, not for support, but to be sure, very sure, he joined her in that same thrilling race.

  Every sigh, every gasp intensified his greed. It was Roxanne beneath him, her slim, agile body trembling at his touch, her eager mouth meeting his, her scent crowding reason from his brain.

  He didn’t need to think—no longer had the faculties to think. Later he would remember Max talking of the animal taking over. But for now, Luke was no more than that, taking what his body so violently craved.

  The light still burned brightly, far from loverlike. The spread they’d neglected to turn down was stiff and nubby against flesh. The narrow bed swayed with the roll of the ship. But she arched against him and there was nothing but her, and what she so recklessly offered.

  He wanted more, needed more, and tore the tattered remains of her chemise aside to find all of her.

  Impatient, urgent, his hand streaked down and found her already hot and wet and waiting. With one rough stroke he drove her hard to a first towering climax.

  She felt as though she’d been ripped in two as easily as the ivory silk. Her body jerked, convulsed, exploded before her mind had a chance to catch up. Even as she reared forward, shocked and dazzled, he was shoving her back roughly again, devouring damp, trembling flesh.

  She wanted to tell him to wait, to give her a moment to catch her breath and her reason. But he dragged her ruthlessly up again until the breath was sobbing in her lungs and reason was impossible.

  Ravenous, he feasted on her breasts, one, then the other, using teeth and tongue and lips so that the answering ache deep in her center spread until even her bones throbbed with it.

  “Please.” Her hands searched for purchase, fingers gripping urgently in the tousled spread. “Please,” she moaned again without shame.

  Breath heaving, he dragged the loose sweats over his hips. The blood was pounding in his head, beating mercilessly in his loins. He was quivering like a stallion when he mounted her, then cupped her hips to lift them and plunged deep.

  She cried out, arching like a bow when the pain tore through her, a white flash, icy against the heat. Her hips jerked as she sought escape and ripped a moan from him.

  “Oh, Jesus, Roxanne.” Sweat pearled on his brow as he fought every instinct to remain still, not to hurt her again. “Sweet God.”

  A virgin. He shook his head in a desperate attempt to clear it even as his body vibrated on the razor’s edge between frustration and completion. She’d been a virgin, and he’d slammed into her like a fucking Mack truck.

  “I’m sorry. Baby, I’m sorry.” Useless words, he thought as he watched the first tears spill over onto her cheeks. He levered his arms, the muscles trembling, and braced himself to slip out of her as gently as possible. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Her breath shuddered through her lips. There was pain yet, radiating pain, and a softer, deeper ache. Mixing through both was a sense of glory not yet reached. She arched her hips instinctively when she felt him retreat from her.

  “Don’t move.” His stomach twisted into slippery knots as she drew him back in. “For God’s sake don’t . . .” The rippling pleasure almost drove him mad. “I’m going to stop.”

  She opened her eyes and locked them on his. “The hell you are.” Braced for the next slash of pain, she gripped his hips. She thought she heard him swear. But she couldn’t be sure. For there was no pain at all, just a deep, grinding, glorious pleasure. She hurled herself into it, felt it spin and shudder through her system so that there was nothing else, nothing but the wild delight of finding a mate.

  He couldn’t resist. His body betrayed him, and he thanked God for it. He buried his face in her hair and let her take him.

  Her body felt as delicate as glass. She was afraid to move for fear that she would break apart into thousands of glittery pieces. So this was what the poets wept for, she thought. Her lips curved, smugly. It had certainly been nice, though she doubted she’d compose sonnets about the event.

  But this part. She s
ighed and risked moving her hand to stroke Luke’s back. This part was lovely, lying here feeling her lover’s heart thud fast and hard against hers. She could happily stay just so for days.

  But he moved. Roxanne winced as the bed shifted. She was more than a little sore where Luke had invaded her. Not wanting to lose the close, warm feelings, she curled against him as he rolled onto his back.

  There weren’t names foul enough to call himself, he thought as he stared up at the ceiling. He’d taken her like an animal, without care, without finesse. He shut his eyes. If the guilt didn’t kill him, Max would.

  Until then, he had to do something to fix what he’d so heedlessly destroyed.

  “Rox.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “I’m responsible.”

  Dreaming, she nestled her head more comfortably on his shoulder. “ ’Kay.”

  “I don’t want you to worry about it, or feel guilty.”

  “About what?”

  “This.” Impatience shimmering in his voice. Did she have to sound so sleepy, so sexy, so damned satisfied? “It was a mistake, but it doesn’t have to ruin anything.”

  Roxanne opened one eye, then the other. The smile that had curved her lips turned into a frown. “A mistake? You’re telling me what just happened here was a mistake?”

  “Of course it was.” He rolled off the bed, searching for his sweats before his body lured him into repeating it. “In dozens of ways.” He looked back at her, setting his teeth. She was sitting up now, her tousled hair falling over her shoulders, curling seductively over her breasts. The stain of blood on the rumpled spread knocked the worst of his mounting desire out of him.

  “Really?” The lovely, dreamy feeling had vanished. If Luke hadn’t been so involved with cursing himself, he would have recognized the light of battle in her eyes. “Why don’t you tell me some of those ways?”

  “For Christ’s sake, you’re practically my sister.”

  “Ah.” She folded her arms, stiffened her shoulders. It would have been a tough stance if she hadn’t been buck naked. “I think the operative word there is practically. There’s no blood between us, Callahan.”

  “Max took me in.” To help him keep his sanity, Luke yanked open a drawer and found a shirt. He tossed it to Roxanne. “He gave me a home, a life. I’ve betrayed that.”

  “Bullshit.” She heaved the shirt back at him. “Yes, he took you in and gave you a home. But what happened here was between us, just us. It has nothing to do with Max or betrayal.”

  “He trusted me.” Grimly, Luke stepped over and shoved the shirt over Roxanne’s head. She slapped his hands away and sprang to her feet.

  “Do you think Max would be shocked and angry because we want each other?” Furious, she yanked the shirt off her shoulders and sent it sailing. “You’re not my brother, damn it, and if you’re going to stand there and tell me you thought of me as your sister a few minutes ago, you’re a goddamn liar.”

  “No, I didn’t think of you as my sister.” He gripped her shoulders and shook. “I didn’t think at all, that’s the problem. I wanted you. I’ve wanted you for years. It’s eaten me from the inside out.”

  She tossed her head back. The gesture was a challenge, but a soft warmth was kindling inside her. For years. He’d wanted her for years. “So you’ve been playing games with me, running hot then cold since I was sixteen. All because you wanted me and had it twisted around in your tiny brain that acting on it would be some sort of what—emotional incest?”

  He opened his mouth, shut it again. Why did it suddenly sound so ridiculous? “Close enough.”

  He didn’t know what response he expected from her, but it certainly wasn’t laughter. She shouted with it until tears sprang to her eyes. Holding her sides, she sat on the side of the bed. “Oh, you jerk.”

  His pride was at stake. Damned if he’d admit that a naked woman, bowled over with laughter at his expense, could arouse him until he was ready to whimper and beg.

  “I don’t see that this is a laughing matter.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s a riot.” She pushed her hair out of her face and beamed at him. “And terribly sweet, too. Were you protecting my honor, Luke?”

  “Shut up.”

  She only chuckled and scrubbed amused tears from her cheeks. “Think about it, Callahan. Really think for a minute. You’re standing there, riddled with guilt over the idea of making love to a woman who used every means available to seduce you, a woman you’ve known most of your life—one who is not, I repeat, is not in any way, shape or form related to you. A single woman, over the age of consent. You don’t think that’s funny?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. “Not particularly.”

  “You’re losing your sense of humor.” She rose then and wound her arms around him. Her naked breasts brushed his chest and she had the satisfaction of feeling his muscles quiver. But he didn’t return the embrace. “I guess if you feel this way, I’ll have to seduce you every time. I suppose I’m up to it.” She nibbled lightly at his lips, smiling when she glanced down between them. “And it appears you are, as well.”

  “Cut it out.” But the order lacked conviction. “Even if I’ve been off base about that, there are other things.”

  “Okay.” She trailed her fingers down his back, played light kisses over his throat. “Let’s hear them.”

  “Damn it, you were a virgin.” He took her arms, pulled her back so he could escape.

  “That bothers you?” She pouted a moment, thinking it through. “I always thought men got a charge out of that. You know, the Star Trek syndrome.”

  “What?”

  “To boldly go where no man has gone before.”

  He strangled back a laugh. “Christ.” He wished he had a beer—hell, he wished he had a frigging six-pack, but settled on a warm bottle of mineral water. “Look, Roxanne, the point is I didn’t do it right.”

  “You didn’t?” She tilted her head, curious. “I can’t imagine there are that many ways to do it.”

  He choked, cautiously set the bottle down again. Not only a virgin, God help him, but impossibly, and yes, damn it, erotically innocent. “What the hell was wrong with all those college boys? Didn’t they know what to do with you?”

  “I imagine they did—if I’d wanted them to do anything.” She smiled again, secure in her power. When she spoke again, her voice was soft. “I wanted you to be the first.” She saw the raw emotion in his eyes as she stepped to him again. “I only wanted you.”

  No one and nothing had ever moved him more. Gently, he touched a hand to her hair. “I hurt you. If you stay with me I’ll probably hurt you again. What I said before about what’s inside me, it’s the truth. There are things you don’t know. If you did—”

  “I do know.” She slid a hand to his back, running fingers over scars. “I’ve known for years, since the day you told Max. I listened to you. I cried for you. Don’t.” She wrapped her arms tight around him before he could turn away. “Do you really believe that I’d think less of you because of what was done to you as a child?”

  “I’m not good with pity,” he said tightly.

  “I’m not giving you any.” Her eyes were dark and fierce when she tilted back her head. “But understanding, the kind you’ll have to take, the kind you can only get from someone who’s known you, and loved you all of her life.”

  Drained, he rested his brow on hers. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

  “Don’t say anything. Just be with me.”

  There was little time to enjoy the sensation of awakening in Luke’s arms, and none at all for lazing through the morning. Roxanne took only a moment to cuddle closer as she listened to the announcements from the passageway intercom listing disembarkation structures. One long, sleepy kiss, a few groans of frustration and she was up, tugging on Luke’s sweats and the T-shirt she’d rejected the night before. Holding the sweats up to her slim waist with one hand, she cracked open the cabin door and scanned the passageway. Because
Luke was laughing behind her, she shot a look over her shoulder.

  Her hair was tousled, her face flushed, her eyes heavy and dreamy. She looked, he thought as his breath caught, exactly like what she was. A woman who’d spent the night with her lover.

  And he was her lover. Her first. Her only.

  “All hands on deck, Callahan.” Her voice was morning husky. “See you in fifteen minutes.”

  “Aye, aye.”

  Gripping the sweats securely, Roxanne dashed to her own cabin. A stickler for promptness, she reported to the Lido Deck within a quarter hour. Passengers were gathered in the lounges, carry-on and shopping bags pooled around them while they yawned, chatted and waited for their turn to leave the ship. Every few moments the announcement would be made in English, then in French, inviting passengers holding certain colored baggage tags to disembark. They went through red, blue, white, yellow, red with white stripes, white with green stripes. Roxanne shook hands, had her cheek kissed and exchanged hugs while the noise level gradually decreased.

  By ten only crew and the small percentage of passengers cruising back to New York were on board. New passengers wouldn’t trickle on board until one o’clock. Max took advantage of the lull to call a rehearsal.

  It was good to see Max back in stride, she thought. A slower stride than she was used to, but without the hesitation and hitches that had worried her.

  She thought she did very well, moving through card tricks, rope tricks and bigger illusions without giving away what was in her mind and heart. Images of Luke tumbling her onto the bed, flashes of memory that brought heat and pleasure were held very strictly under control. She was satisfied that no one knew the dramatic turn her life had taken but herself, and the man who had taken it with her.

  But of course love is blind.

  Lily sighed every time she glanced in their direction. Her romantic heart wept happy tears. LeClerc’s lips twitched. Even Mouse, who’d spent most of his life oblivious to the subtle exchanges between men and women, flushed and grinned.