But I would see Craig, Blair thought, finally making the positive admission. Not steadily. And I still don’t think I could ever marry him. I wouldn’t want to know when he was coming or going.
How ridiculous, she chastised herself. Neither of them could ever abide such a relationship. Which put her back to square one. Or did it? Oh, God, if she loved him enough, maybe she could bear anything, learn to control the fear.
Except that I’ll probably not see him again. It’s been three months. He didn’t try to call me. He’s probably already involved with someone new.
Suddenly she was angry. Here she was, three months after their parting and thousands of miles away, still pining for a glimpse of him. And he might very probably be in the arms of another woman at the very moment.
She simply wasn’t going to do it anymore, she simply wasn’t. I will get over him, she promised herself, and then she mentally repeated the words over and over again, as if she were counting sheep. Allowing her mind to shout was the only way to protect herself from the terrible, gut-wrenching pain of a picture of him being even touched by another.
Anger somewhat eased pain. And when she repeated the sentence long enough, she did eventually sleep. Physical exhaustion and the jet lag that was still catching up with her both took a toll and she found the release she sought.
Her anger was her first emotion as she began to wake in what seemed just seconds after she had finally fallen asleep. Who would disturb her? she wondered furiously, after all she had gone through to sleep. Her eyes opened, desperately trying to focus, and then she blinked furiously. There was a movement in her tent, a whispered rustling of sound, which was what had woken her. She opened her mouth to demand to know who was there, when a hand clamped firmly over it.
Now her eyes flew wide open with alarm and she began to struggle in a pure panic. “Will you please stop struggling!” a voice hissed. “I’ll tell you, woman, sometimes I think you are more trouble than you’re worth.”
Blair froze for a second in stark amazement. She knew the voice, she knew the clean scent that seemed to wash over her, she knew the strength and the comfort of the arms that held her.
But it was impossible!
Before she could struggle again or attempt to talk, she was lifted effortlessly from her cot and carried smoothly from her tent. By the dim light of the dying compound fire she looked up incredulously to see the angled profile of the man who carried her swiftly by the other canvas tents and straight to the pathway to the stream.
Impossible or not, her senses had not betrayed her. It was Craig. A Craig not looking down to her, but walking with purpose, his strides long and sure, his face set, the expression unyielding and determined.
She started to struggle again, but the action was futile. She was no more bother than a fly to him. What was he doing here? she wondered desperately. Was something wrong again? What was it this time? She would not be kept in the dark again; she would not be manhandled like so much meat merely because she was an assignment.
But, oh, it was torture. She was stunned, she was furious, but she was glad of the feel of his arms, glad of the sight of his relentlessly determined features. Damn it, no, she told herself. She was just getting over him. She needed the anger, Lord, how she needed the anger, because she wanted to curl into his arms and yet she must demand that he let her go.
But her thoughts didn’t matter because her struggles were futile. Her angry demands were nothing more than mumbled gibberish that was barely audible even to her own ears since he was able to carry her easily with one large hand still spanning her mouth.
He didn’t stop until they reached the stream, and once there he still didn’t release her, but sat carefully, still cradling her in his arms, although he did remove the hand over her mouth.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded heatedly, fighting the part of her that cried it didn’t matter; it was simply a miracle that should be taken as such. The hands that struggled against him wanted nothing more than to touch him, to devour him, to drink their fill of him with touch.
“That, princess, is a foolish question. I’m abducting you.”
“Why? What happened?” Blair demanded sharply. She pushed furiously against his chest and received frustration for her answers. “Will you let go of me! Whose orders are you under now?”
“Whoa, please!” he chuckled, squeezing her more tightly. The moonbeams from the water were reflected in his eyes, making them appear more devilishly golden than ever, literally gleaming with satiric amusement. “Let’s go back a step. Now, I can abduct you, or make a citizen’s arrest for grand theft auto! I’ll take abduction, I think. For grand theft auto, they could lock you up for years, and I’m not a patient man. Or perhaps I was, but my patience has been greatly strained lately. Not that I’m forgetting about the grand theft auto! Oh, my dear, you are going to pay for that one. I was snickered at! Actually snickered at! You entertained an entire department. A top agent, and my own car disappears under my nose! Oh, well, we’ll get back to that. What were your questions? Let’s see. Why? Why am I abducting you, that is. Because I want to. What happened? Nothing that I know of. I think there was a ‘Will you let go of me?’ in there. No. Never. And let me see, what was the last? Ah! Whose orders am I on? My own. Completely my own.”
“What? Oh, Taylor! You scared me half to death. Of all the damn nerve …”
“Yes, ma’am. Of all the nerve. I told you I was full of nerve.”
She must be going crazy, Blair decided, or else she was hallucinating. Maybe jungle fever had sneaked up upon her. She couldn’t believe he was here, couldn’t believe she was touching him. And she was terrified that she would forget everything in a minute and meld deliriously into his heat with no further explanation demanded, as if he were indeed an incredibly sweet dream.
“Then what are you doing here?” she snapped acidly. “You must have gotten directions wrong somewhere along the line. This spot on the globe is pretty quiet now. No wars, no volatile diplomatic problems to settle.”
“Well, now, honey, I wouldn’t say that. You’re the most volatile problem I’ve come across in a long, long career,” Craig drawled gravely, securing both her hands with one of his to free the other to tenderly trace the curve of her cheek. “You always seemed so insulted that I’d kidnapped you on orders,” he explained softly. “I decided I had best come and kidnap you again, entirely on my own. I didn’t read a single directive. Oh, but I will do my best to see that you stay in very good condition. I intend to make your welfare my highest priority.”
“You’re a crazy man, Taylor,” Blair hissed.
“You always did have a wise mouth for a hostage,” he admonished serenely, smiling down into her face as his fingers continued to roam its contours, reading the delicate lines by touch. “But then,” he added huskily, “I suppose you know you can push the line almost as far as you like. You know damned well that I’m the hostage—I was captured for life in this very spot.”
“Taylor,” Blair murmured warily, afraid to trust what she was seeing, what she was hearing and feeling. He hadn’t bothered to pick up a phone in Washington, but suddenly he was here. She forced herself to fight the urge to lean more closely against him. She had to have a guarantee that he was real, and not just an illusion induced by longing. And if he was real, she had to make some sense of all the gibberish he was talking. “You’re crazy,” she accused him again, torn between a desire to escape and run as far as she could and to hold on to whatever he had to give.
“Really, Blair,” he said with mock annoyance, “you’re going to have to stop pegging me in categories when we’re married. Husbands deserve respect. I can’t allow you to run around accusing me of insanity all of the time.”
“Married?” Blair queried faintly, stalling for time. She had seen the diamond. She had known he would demand all. Nothing less. “I can’t marry you, Taylor,” she said harshly, “and you know it.”
“You have to marry me,” he corrected. “The
y still frown heavily upon … shall we say, living in sin, in diplomatic circles. I mean, suppose we meet the queen one day? How would I introduce you? I don’t think I could look the lady in the eye and say, ‘Meet Blair, my roommate and lover.’ No, better not to struggle with the problem. Marriage is far more simple. Same name, et cetera. Besides, I’m a very possessive captor, and a bit of a romantic at heart. I like the idea of the vows. ‘Love, honor, and cherish till death do us part.’ It has a certain ring, don’t you think.”
“Craig—”
“You are the most contrary person I have met, princess. You insist upon arguing with me when I can feel you shiver.” His finger touched upon her lip, stilling any comment she might try to make. Then that finger slowly drew a line around her lips, nudging them apart to touch the moistness inside and retrace them.
“Craig,” she protested miserably, “you know that I love you, you know that …” She let that trail away. Yes, he knew she wanted him, but she wouldn’t voice it aloud. There was still too much unsolvable between them. Unless he understood her terms, unless she could understand what he was really doing there, appearing out of the night like a cat to claim his prey. “But—”
He wasn’t a man in a mood to hear buts. “Lord, Blair,” he muttered harshly, “it’s been three months.” Before she could utter another word his mouth descended over hers with that same commanding harshness, a reminder that her need should have been as great as his own. He became persuasive only when her stunned stillness became a wealth of reciprocated warmth and sensual demand. Only when her muffled protests became moans, whimpered capitulations to all that was between them that couldn’t be denied by logic or reason. Blair sought to move before she drowned in the sensations, before he swept her away without reason or thought. But his teeth caught her lower lip, holding her still. No matter. She had to give in to her own desires if only for the moment. She had wanted him so desperately. Admittedly she had been willing to give all for just such a chance. It was a long time before the kiss ended; held or freed, her lips couldn’t part because of the erotic movement from his, nor could she stop her wildly sensitized fingertips from touching and touching again the thick hair that curled over his collar, the shoulder blades that were rippling with vibrant life beneath her caress. He was real; he wasn’t a dream. No dream could possibly feel so enticing and delicious.
But it was an almost unendurable reality, because she couldn’t bear the possibility of it ending. She finally managed to pull herself away, no longer thinking it possible to deny the shattering impact he could create at will upon her body, yet still determined that they come to an understanding.
“Craig,” she gasped, aware that he did not release her at her whim, but simply because they both needed to draw breath, “you know that it can’t be marriage.”
“It will be marriage,” he informed her, the stern cast of voice and eyes reminding her with quiet civility that he was a dangerous, authoritative man. She could be sure the aura of power he created was a guarantee that any order he gave in his work was carried out to a perfect T. But she didn’t work for Craig Taylor.
“We’ve been through this!” she exclaimed irritably, wondering how it was possible to be touching someone and feeling as if she were clay to be molded while still wishing she could regain control and bat sense into his head. “Dear God, you idiot. Ray stumbled into a bad situation accidentally. You don’t even walk into situations like that blindly; you run into them purposefully.”
“Your faith,” he told her chillingly, “is overwhelming. I was never suicidal, Mrs. Teile, merely well trained, and if I do say so myself, highly intelligent.” For a moment his anger overwhelmed him. He had so much to say, so much to tell her. And above all that, he simply wanted her so desperately. It had been a long three months for him; he hadn’t even thought of seeking the company of another woman. Three months in which he had learned to pray fervent prayers every night, just to get back to her, just to hold her, possesses her, love her, lose himself in her sheer, passionate beauty again.
“Craig,” she was objecting, her voice faltering, but her determination coming through. “You never go on simple business trips. They are always classified missions. And someday something isn’t going to go right diplomatically, something will become explosive, literally, with you there.”
Blair stopped speaking suddenly, because of all things he seemed to have lost his anger and was laughing. His eyes were riddled with tender amusement. He knew the outcome of their discussion no matter what she had to say. But perversely he was once again willing to corner her, to force her hand.
“What is so funny now, Taylor?” she snapped, her frazzled nerves reaching a point of their own combustion. “I told you once I don’t care to create your amusement for you.”
“And what was my answer?” he chuckled, undaunted by her anger. She had a temper, but he could deal with that. “Something profound, I’m sure. Something like, ‘Don’t amuse me, then.’ Love me, babe. Make me quiver, make me shake,” he added huskily. “Burn me up, princess. Wildfire. It’s so easy for you to create.” His voice went low, intense. The laughter was gone as quickly as the anger. He was simply relentlessly determined. His hands became erratically entangled in the white cotton gown, growing more clumsy as the warmth of her firm silken breasts fell fully to his touch. He muttered a fierce “Oh, hell!” as he struggled with the tiny buttons. “Throw this damn thing away after tonight, will you?” he suggested.
“Taylor!” Blair grabbed feebly at the gown that was leaving her body despite her frenzied efforts to remain clothed. “Will you stop? You can’t do this to me! You can’t even bother to let me know when you come back alive. Then you show up when I’ve got my life in order!” She felt the roughness of his palms massaging her breasts as fabric left them, coursing her nipples to erect peaks on contact. “You can’t do this to me!” she repeated, her fingers clawing into the fabric of his shirt with a torn tension.
“I’m doing it, aren’t I?” he queried with satanically raised brows. He met her eyes for a second and then smiled as a quick jerk stole the gown entirely from her form. “No one’s orders,” he assured her with teasing consolation. “I shall always be able to say with a clear conscience that I seduced my wife purely on my own!” He half-set, half-pushed Blair aside and made quick work shedding his own attire while she looked on, unable to drop her eyes, unable to deny to herself that a bolt of desire as strong as lightning rippled through her simply at the sight of his splendid, muscled body.
Too late she stuttered out her confused protests. “Taylor, this isn’t what you call a seduction. This is a—”
He was quick at stripping. Before she could finish her accusation, he had tossed his briefs aside, swung her into his arms, and heaved her into the water, managing to be at her side as she emerged sputtering.
“Hush up!” he charged her, pulling her back into his arms where his water-slick body crushed to hers, drawing a gasp of instant pleasure. “Lord,” he groaned, complaining into the curve of her neck. “I’m marrying a shrew. Oh, well, some things can’t be helped.”
“You hush up!” Blair groaned. “And pay attention.” It was difficult to concentrate with the vital warmth of his body seeping into hers, seeming to spark electric life to her flesh, her blood, her being. “I’m not marrying a spy.”
“That’s right,” Craig agreed amicably, nibbling at her ear and unperturbedly running his lips down the length of her neck to graze her shoulder.
“All right,” she panted, fighting for the reason that was fast becoming lost to her. “Call yourself whatever you like. I’m not marrying a Special Services diplomat!”
“That’s right,” he repeated, his voice growing deeper and more husky still as his lips continued their erotic movement without hesitation, spreading moist fire over the firm slope of her breasts, fastening with provocative motion over a nipple that was already hard and erect, tantalized to his pleasure by his touch. He stood back then, his hands fondling her breasts, his
eyes upon them, his grip half crushing as if his hands really wallowed in silk. “God, babe, it’s been so long …” Then his lips were on her again; he had been hungry too long, he desired a feast.
“Oh, stop!” Blair gasped. “No, don’t stop …” she wailed in consternation. “You’re too good at this diplomacy,” she charged breathlessly, digging her fingers into his hair and almost crying out with want of him.
His words, spoken with bare coherence as he continued to mouth the flesh of her breasts, her throat, her shoulders, her arms with his lips, nipping, nuzzling gently, were still quellingly firm. “Tell me that you love me, Blair. Tell me that you want me, tell me that you will always be mine.”
Tears formed in her eyes. They were partially of joy, partially of need, partially of the sorrow to come. His hands moved in the water beneath their waists. His fingers brushed along her upper thighs, hypnotizing her to sobs as they taunted ever closer to the center of her delirious heat and need.
“I love you,” she murmured with a catch, arching against him. Why not vocalize the evident? “And I want you.” Strong fingers coursed into her and she gasped, then she was sighing her pleasure, saying all that she had been trying to deny to herself. “I will always be yours, I will always be waiting, I want you so badly, I’ll be anything you want, anywhere you want.”
His lips came back to hers, but he didn’t crush them. He was mumbling with as much gentle tenderness as he could summon while feeling he had really gone crazy with his urgency, raging out of control, and with the sweet, wonderful gratification of her words. “I’m a very good diplomat, darling, and I’ll need to be, because, ahhhhhh …”
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