she didn’t want to, but she knew that she would survive somehow, though her life had been irrevocably changed by the time she had spent with him, quiet days punctuated by moments of sheer terror.
She changed into her sleek black bathing suit and Kell put on his denim shorts, and after grabbing a couple of towels, they walked through the pines down to the beach. Joe followed them and lay down in the scant shade of a clump of sea oats. Rachel dropped the towels on the sand and pointed out to the bay, where the water was rising and breaking over the submerged rocks. “See the line where the water breaks? That’s where the rocks are. I’m pretty sure you hit your head on one of them that night. The tide was just starting to come in, so the water was low.” She pointed again. “I dragged you out here.”
Kell looked at the beach, then turned and stared up the slope, where the pines were standing tall and straight, a thicket of wooden sentinels. She had somehow dragged him up that slope and gotten him into the house, a feat that he couldn’t imagine when he looked at her slender body. “You damn near killed yourself getting me up there, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.
She didn’t want to think about that night, or what it had cost her physically. Part of it had already been blocked from her brain; she remembered that she’d been in pain, but the exact nature of the pain escaped her. Perhaps adrenaline was responsible for both her strength that night and the selective amnesia that followed. She looked at him for a long moment, then turned and walked into the sea. He watched until the water reached her knees, then pulled the pistol out of his waistband and carefully laid it on a towel, covering it with the other to keep the blowing sand out of it. Then he dropped his shorts and walked naked into the water after her.
Rachel was a strong swimmer, having spent most of her life living on the Gulf, but Kell stayed even with her despite his stiff shoulder. At first, when she realized he was in the water, she had started to protest that he shouldn’t get his wounds wet, but she swallowed the words. After all, he had swum with open wounds, and the exercise would be good therapy. They swam in the bay for half an hour before he decided that he’d had enough, and Rachel returned to the beach with him. It wasn’t until the water reached his waist that she realized he was nude, and the familiar quiver shook her insides as she watched him wade out of the water. He was so lean and hard and perfect, darkly tanned and roped with muscle, even his tight buttocks. She watched as he moved the pistol and lay down on one of the towels, his glistening body offered to the sun.
She left the water, too, bending over to wring out her hair. When she straightened again she found him watching her. “Take off the bathing suit,” he said softly.
She looked out to sea, but there were no boats in sight. Then she looked at him again, lying there like a bronzed, naked statue, except that she’d never seen a statue in a state of arousal. Slowly she reached up for the straps on her shoulders and drew them down, and immediately she felt the heat of the hot sun kissing her wet breasts. A slight breeze suddenly kicked up, whispering across her nipples and making them pucker. Sabin’s breath caught in his chest, and he held his hand out to her. “Come here.”
She pushed the bathing suit down and off, then walked to the towels. He sat up and reached for her, drawing her down beside him and stretching her out. Amusement was twinkling in his dark eyes as he looked down at her. “Guess what I forgot to bring.”
She began to laugh, the sound pure and deep in this world where only the two of them existed.
“Ah, well, you’re too sore for that, anyway,” he murmured, sliding his hand over her breasts and bringing her nipples to tingling awareness. “I’ll just have to…improvise.”
He leaned over her, his shoulders so broad that they blocked out the sun, and his mouth burned on hers, then down on her body.
He was very good with improvisations. He lingered over her as if she were a willing, sun-kissed sacrifice offered up for his delectation, until her body finally arched to his rapacious mouth and she cried out in intolerable pleasure, her cry rising to the white inferno of the sun.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RACHEL DIDN’T LET herself think about time, though she knew they had only a few more days at the most, however long it took this Sullivan to make his arrangements and travel down to meet Kell. She lived completely in the present, reveling in his company whatever they were doing. He began helping her gather the vegetables from the garden, and he worked some with Joe, gaining more of the dog’s trust and showing Rachel how highly trained Joe was. After the first swim they also spent a lot of time down at the bay; they swam every morning and again in the afternoon, after the worst of the heat was over. It was marvelous therapy, and every day he got stronger, his shoulder more flexible and his limp improving. He also did other exercises, continually working to bring his body back up to par, and she could only watch in amazement. She was athletic and strong herself, but her endurance was nothing compared to his. He was often in pain; she sensed it, even though he never said anything, but he ignored it as if it weren’t there. Ten days after she’d found him he was gingerly jogging around the house, his thigh tightly wrapped to brace the injured muscle. After a moment of anger Rachel joined him and jogged along beside him, ready to catch him if his leg gave out and he fell. It wouldn’t have done any good to yell at him, because it was important for him to be able to meet whatever demands might be placed on him when he left.
And whatever they did, they talked. He was reticent about himself, both naturally and as a result of his training, but he did have a lot of fascinating inside details about the political and economic considerations of governments around the world. He probably also knew more than anyone would want him to know about military forces and capabilities, but he didn’t talk about those. Rachel learned as much about him from his omissions as she did from the subjects he would talk about.
No matter what they did, whether weeding the garden, jogging around the house, cooking a meal or arguing politics, desire ran between them like an invisible current, linking them together in a state of heightened awareness. Her senses were filled with him; she knew his taste, his smell, his touch, every nuance of his deep voice. Because he was normally so expressionless she watched him closely for each small movement of his brows or twitch of his lips. Even though he was relaxed with her and smiled more often, sometimes teasing her, his laughter was rare, and therefore doubly treasured, the occasions pressed into her memory. Their desire couldn’t be quenched by lovemaking, because it was more than a physical need. She immersed herself in him, knowing that she had only the present.
Still, physical desire couldn’t be denied. Rachel had never been so thoroughly enjoyed before, even in the early days of marriage. Kell had a strong sexual appetite, and the more he made love to her, the more they both wanted it again. He was exquisitely careful with her until she became more accustomed to him, his lovemaking both sophisticated and earthy. There were times when they lingered, savoring each sensation like sexual gourmets until the tension was so strong that they exploded together. There were also the times when their loving was fast and hard, when there was no foreplay because their need to be together was too urgent.
The third day after he’d called Sullivan, Kell made love to her with barely controlled violence, and she knew that he was thinking this might be the last day they had together. She clung to him, her arms tight around his neck when he lay on her in heavy, damp exhaustion. A lump lodged in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut in an effort to deny the march of time. She couldn’t bear to let him go.
“Take me with you,” she said thickly, unable to let it lie, to simply let him walk away from her. Rachel was too much of a fighter to let him go without trying to change his mind.
He stiffened, then withdrew from her to lie on his back beside her, his forearm thrown up to cover his eyes. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, wafting a cool breeze across their overheated skin and making her feel a little chilled without the heat of his body pressed over her. She opened her eyes to stare at him, her gaze burning with desperation.
“No,” he finally said, and left it at that, the single word filled with a finality that almost broke her heart.
“Something could be worked out,” she pressed. “At worst we could see each other occasionally. I’m mobile. I can work anywhere—”
“Rachel,” he interrupted tiredly. “No. Leave it.” He took his forearm down from his eyes and looked at her. Though his expression changed very little, she could tell that he was annoyed by her persistence.
She was too desperate to stop. “How can I leave it? I love you! This isn’t a game I’m playing, that I can just pick up my marbles and go home when I get tired of it!”
“Damn it, I’m not playing games, either!” he roared, bolting upright in the bed and seizing her arm to shake her, finally goaded past his limits. His eyes were hot and narrowed, his teeth clenched. “You could be killed because of me! Didn’t it teach you anything when your husband died?”
She went pale, staring at him. “I could be killed driving into town,” she finally said shakily. “Would that make me any less dead? Would you grieve any less?” Suddenly she stopped, wrenching her arm free and rubbing it where his fingers had bitten into her flesh. She was so white that her eyes burned darkly in her colorless face. Finally she said with an attempt at lightness, “Or would you grieve at all? I’m being rather presumptuous, aren’t I? Maybe I’m the only one involved here. If so, just forget everything I’ve said.”
Silence stretched between them as they faced each other on the bed; her face was strained, his grim. He wasn’t going to say anything. Rachel inhaled sharply at the pain squeezing her insides. Well, she’d asked for it. She’d pushed him, fighting to change his mind, to get a commitment from him, and she had lost…everything. She had thought that he cared for her, loved her, even though he’d never said anything about love. She had put it down to his natural reticence. Now she had to face the unpleasant truth that it was his brutal honesty that had kept him from saying he loved her. He wouldn’t spout pretty words that he didn’t mean just to soothe her feelings. He liked her. She was a reasonably attractive woman, and she was convenient; he was highly sexed. The reason for his attentions was obvious, and she’d made a complete fool of herself.
The worst of it was that even facing the hard, unpalatable reality didn’t stop her from loving him. That was another reality, and she couldn’t wish it away.
/> “Sorry,” she mumbled, scrambling off the bed and reaching for her clothes, suddenly embarrassed by her nudity. It was different now.
Sabin watched her, every muscle coiled tightly. The look on her face ate at him, the abrupt embarrassment, the sudden extinguishing of the light in her eyes as she fumbled with her clothing in an attempt to cover herself. He could let her go. She might get over him more easily if she thought he had just used her sexually, without returning any of her emotion. Emotion made Sabin uneasy; he wasn’t accustomed to it. But damned if he could stand that look on her face! Maybe he couldn’t give her much, but he couldn’t leave with her thinking she’d been nothing more than a sexual convenience.