The Lady and the Lion (15 page)

"Erin," he muttered hoarsely, pressing deeper inside her as his weight settled fully on her, his arms slipping under her, surrounding her. He kissed her fiercely, again and again, demanding that she know who was making love to her. And then he saw the gleam of her eyes in the darkness, heard her murmur his name and something else, something he wasn't quite sure he'd heard right, but that caused his emotions to surge so wildly he could barely contain them. Her
mouth
 
came
alive beneath
 
his
 
and her body arched, her legs lifting to wrap around his hips as her arms went around his neck tightly.

All his thoughts scattered, swept away by raw need. It was like always when he touched her, when he felt the fire of her desire match his. Nothing else mattered but this, nothing except the woman in his arms and his shattering hunger for her. He couldn't get enough of her, even when she cried out and the tight clasp of her body caressed him in pulsing ripples of pleasure, he couldn't let go, couldn't let it end even for a moment, even for now. He kept her trembling body at the very peak, his own body so tense every muscle was quivering with the strain, driven by something so far beyond desire, so primitive and deep inside him, that its only name was necessity.

Until finally the limits were reached, breath gone, burning flesh and shuddering muscle pushed past endurance, all their raw senses shattering in a burst of pleasure so intense it edged into agony. The culmination left them both so utterly drained that they slept still entwined, bodies limp and sated.

Erin woke around seven, feeling so peculiar that for a few moments she lay with her eyes closed trying to define it. She was on top of Keith, she knew that; both his arms were wrapped around her and the covers were drawn up over their bodies. She didn't remember that, but he must have awakened at some point and managed to pull up the covers.

And physically, she felt... strange, but wonderful. Her entire body seemed to be tingling, and despite her memories of an exhaustion so absolute it had left her dazed, she felt energized now, filled with vitality.

Emotionally, she felt, for the first time, just a little bit embarrassed. She'd gone crazy, she remembered that. There had been an intensely erotic dream, Keith making love to her with wild hunger, and then it hadn't been a dream because it was real. She had believed he had shown her the heights of pleasure, but that... that had been so powerful, and so strangely primitive, it had been like... mating. Like two wild creatures meeting in a fiery joining for reasons they couldn't comprehend.

She didn't think she'd be able to look him in the eye. Surely it would be visible, marking her somehow, like a brand. Something so primitive
had
to leave a sign of change, because she was different from yesterday. Yesterday, she had known she belonged to him.

Today, he knew it.

She couldn't hide from him now. Sometime during the starkly primitive joining, she had lost that ability. He had made her his so utterly that it was no longer her secret.

Erin raised her head cautiously, and felt her heart turn over when she looked at his face. He was deeply asleep, and she'd never seen him like that. It was as close as he'd come to being completely vulnerable, she thought, his strong features relaxed, enigmatic violet eyes hidden. And she loved him so much—

Had she told him that? Or was that part of the dream? Not that it mattered. If he didn't know, he would the moment he looked at her.

Carefully, she eased away from him, almost holding her breath when he made a rough sound that, even in sleep, was a little impatient. A slight frown pulled at his brows, but then smoothed away, and he didn't wake. Erin slid from the bed, making sure he was still covered up, then got her robe from the floor—it had been on the bed last night—and put it on.

Half an hour later, having left a note for him on the nightstand, she was running on the beach, trying to understand how it was possible to feel so happy and yet so scared. She hadn't found an answer for that by the time she finished her run, or when she changed into her swimsuit in one of the cabanas and claimed a lounge chair by the pool.

She swam a few laps lazily, more to cool off from her run than anything else, then climbed out and made herself comfortable in her chair. An attentive poolside waiter placed a small table beside her and went off to fetch coffee and fruit, and after she'd politely but firmly rebuffed three tanned strangers in the space of a few minutes, she was left alone to enjoy her breakfast.

People had been smiling at her all morning, and that was unusual; it was an instant, almost instinctive smile, the way people smiled at the innocent emotions of babies and young lovers. She thought her happiness was showing, that everyone saw, not just Keith, and uneasily put on sunglasses because she felt like a neon sign. It wasn't that she was ashamed of her
feelings,
it was just that it was an unnervingly naked sensation. She was accustomed to people noticing how she looked, but not how she felt.

And what about Keith?
How would he react? Last night, after talking to her father, Erin had decided that while she could accept, sadly, the distance between her and her father, she was determined to bridge the space Keith had set between them. The worry was how to accomplish that. She had fallen asleep still trying to come up with an answer.

She loved him—and today he would know that. Would it make a difference to him? Could her love, freely offered whether or not he wanted it, ease the violent conflicts she sensed in him—or only make his struggle worse? How could she find the source of his trapped rage and release it? And would he even give her the time to try once he knew?

Questions.
And no answers.

"Excuse me?"

The voice was a deep, gentle baritone, and she looked up prepared to politely refuse another offer of companionship from a stranger. But when she looked at this stranger, the automatic rebuff died in her throat.

He was a very big man with a curious aura of strength despite old age, upright and powerful though one of his elegant hands rested on a gold-headed cane. He was dressed all in white, his suit starkly formal in the casual setting, and both his thick hair and full beard were snowy, almost radiant. Dark, smiling eyes looked down at her with an oddly vivid wisdom, and his smile was... something special.

"I don't mean to intrude," he said softly. "If you'd rather, I can go away again."

Forever afterward, Erin was unable to explain the instant fascination she felt, the warm and certain trust. She had the most peculiar impulse to say:
Where have you been, I've been waiting for you!
And she had no idea why. It was almost dreamlike. She found herself gesturing toward a nearby cushioned, rattan chair, watching him pull it closer and sit down,
looking
into his face with wonder and pleasure.

"Most people don't recognize me," he said in that amazingly kind, tranquil voice. "But you do, I think."

"I—I feel I do. I can't explain it."

"There's no need. My name is Fortune, if that helps."

She tilted her head a little as she looked at him, reaching up almost unconsciously to remove her sunglasses so there'd be no barrier between them. "Fortune... Yes, of course. I've seen you before.
Long ago, when I was a child."

He nodded, smiling.

"I was lost," she remembered slowly. "I'd gone riding in the mountains, and my horse threw me. It was very cold, and I'd forgotten the way back. I was afraid. And then you were just there. You took my hand and walked with me for hours until we reached the lodge. I looked for you later, but you weren't there, and nobody seemed to know you." She paused,
then
added softly, "A blizzard came that night."

"Our lives have crossroads," he said, answering a question she couldn't put into words. "Sometimes all we need is a guiding hand to turn us in the right direction. You were meant to be here. I had to make sure you were."

Without hesitation, she said, "That's why you're here now."

"Yes, child."

"To help me."

"To help you both."

Erin half nodded, accepting. "He's so angry," she said. "I don't know how to touch him there. I think I'm afraid to touch him there."

"You must, child. You're the only one who can."

"Because I love him?"

"Yes. He needs your love."

She didn't find it at all strange to be talking this way to this man, and she wasn't even aware of the trust in her voice. "But how can I, when he won't let me?"

Gently, Fortune said, "When grief and rage fill the emptiness in a man's heart, it's a terrible thing. If he holds it inside, it feeds on itself and grows stronger until it becomes the master. Then he walks in a dark place, too far from the light to see he's lost his way."

"What can I do?"

"Love him."

"He doesn't want my love."

"Are you so sure? The love of a woman is a precious thing; few men throw it away carelessly. Child, in all matters of love, there comes a point when you must trust in the strength of what you feel. And to every man comes a moment when he must decide what it is he wants most of all. When that time comes, you'll know."

Erin understood what he was saying, and it frightened her. "What if he turns away from me?" she whispered. "What if his anger is stronger than I am?"

"Courage, child."
He reached out one elegant hand to fleetingly touch her cheek, and then rose to his feet. "The bond between you is
strong,
and rooted more deeply than his anger. Hold on to it. Trust your love for him."

She looked away from Fortune for the first time, gazing blindly at the sparkling blue water of the pool. When she looked back, he was gone.

She didn't question the strange meeting. Instead, she reached into the totebag beside her chair and drew out her sketchpad. It was half filled with sketches now, most of which she had done last night after Keith had gone, and she turned the pages steadily until she reached a blank one. She drew for a long time, and when she was finished she tore out one of the two sketches she had just completed. She put it facedown on the chair where Fortune had sat, then took one of the fresh flowers from the vase on her breakfast tray and placed it on top of the sketch. Then she put the pad away.

She rearranged her lounge chair and stretched out on her stomach, letting the sun's heat seep into her muscles. She would have sworn she didn't fall asleep, but the next time she glanced over at the chair, her offering was gone.

It was after ten when Erin heard footsteps crossing the tile toward her, and for the first time that morning she was alone at the pool. She was sitting up again, wearing her sunglasses as she gazed meditatively toward the ocean, and though her pulse speeded up she was able to respond to Keith's rather abrupt greeting calmly.

"How long have you been out here? You'll burn," Keith said, sitting down in the chair beside her.

"I never burn. Another result of good genes, I suppose. Besides, I'm wearing sunblock."

"That's about all you're wearing."

Erin looked down at her—quite modest—one-piece green
swimsuit,
then turned her gaze to Keith. Through her sunglasses, he looked brooding. If she hadn't dreamed those words of love, and he had heard them, either he didn't remember or else had no intention of bringing up the subject. She was suddenly terrified to let him see, terrified that he would take one look and walk away from what he didn't want.

"Have you eaten?" she asked, ignoring the remark about her swimsuit.

"No." He reached over and removed her sunglasses.

She immediately looked away, saying, "You should. We could have an early lunch, or—"

"Erin."

That flat voice she knew so well. But she was afraid to look at him without the shield of the glasses, because she knew her heart would be in her eyes, she could still feel the sensation of naked neon emotion beaming from her. Anything would be better than losing him.
Anything.

Hurriedly, she said, "I think you're right. I've been out here long enough." She slid from the lounge, away from him, and stood to put on the wraparound skirt that went with her suit, and step into her sandals. Before she could reach for her tote, he was there, standing squarely in front of her, his hands reaching out to hold her bare, sunwarmed shoulders with a force that stopped just short of pain.

"Erin, did I hurt you?" His voice was low now, a little rough. "Last night, when I came back, did I hurt you?"

She stared at the top button of his casual sportshirt and shook her head. "No.
No, of course not."

"Then what's wrong? Why won't you look at me?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, knowing that it was no good, she couldn't lie or evade.
"Because I broke the rules.
Your rules."
Opening her eyes, she looked up at him.

Keith was absolutely motionless for what seemed like eternity, his brilliant gaze locked with hers, and then he yanked her into his arms and held her tight. The hard angle of his jaw rubbed her temple as he muttered huskily, "I thought I was mistaken last night. But you did say it, didn't you?"

"Yes." She slipped her arms around his waist, holding on to him even though she knew all too well that in ten minutes he could still walk away. Right now, he wanted her love, and for right now that was enough. Her face was hidden against his neck, and she could feel a pulse hammering there, feel his heart beating quickly and hard in his chest.

Keith drew back just a little, his hands lifting to surround her face. His expression was taut, his eyes still blazing with
an intensity
so bright she almost wanted to look away from it.

"Say it again," he ordered in a low voice.

"I love you, Keith." She said it simply, her voice gentle and eyes steady. "I have from the beginning. Even before we really met, I think."

He made a rough sound that was almost an oath, angry, but he was kissing her and there was hunger in his kiss, and possessiveness, and a satisfaction that was fiercely male. Erin hadn't expected tender words from him, but she felt a pang anyway, because it was a bittersweet feeling to offer her love and have it accepted so ambivalently. It didn't help much to know he was torn, that a powerful conflict raged inside him; no woman wanted to know her love caused
pain, that
it hurt instead of healed.