Katherine O’Neal (45 page)

Eventually, he moved to her breasts. Instead
of crushing them in his palms, he fluttered his fingers over
lightly, kissing them, licking them, sucking on them, nibbling the
nipples. Holding both breasts in his hands, he brought the nipples
together and ran his tongue along them, rapidly flicking back and
forth. The sensation was so erotic, she thought she’d lose
consciousness. She began to rotate her hips into his, seeking
something hard to rub against.

He sensed that she was ready. Rising up, he
took her slender waist in his hands and, with one powerful lunge,
sat her atop the wide rim of the wicker basket. Suddenly, her heart
began to pound, fear converging with arousal to create tremors in
her such as she’d never known. It was useless to argue. Disoriented
as she was by dread and desire, he had her at his mercy as
effectively as the night he’d tied her to the bed. She clutched at
the ropes above, obeying some destructive impulse to look over her
shoulder at the patchwork of green and brown fields.

She jerked her head away. He was wasting no
time, bringing one leg up and around the basket, weaving the ropes
to hold her fast. He extended the other likewise, so she was
helplessly pinned open. Perched so, she felt as if she could easily
fall backward. She was forced to grip tight with her hands and wrap
her feet as best she could around the nearest ropes.

“Mace—”

He towered over her. Taking her face in his
hands, he forced her to look at him. “Just remember this the next
time you’re tempted to pretend.”

She was gulping for breath. “I can’t stay up
here. I swear to you, I shall die.”

His look was unrelenting. “Then, my deceitful
little harpy, I shall make you one promise, and only one.”

“You’ll let me down?”

“Not on your life. But if you
do
die,
I promise you’ll at least go with a smile on your lying lips.”

“I didn’t lie, exactly. Anyway, aren’t you
the one who said my truth is different than yours?”

He came close and leaned over, his breath
brushing her lips. “Not about this. Not about something as precious
as this.”

“Please let me down. I swear I shall love you
with everything I have to give, only—”

“Not yet, love. But look on the bright side.
The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you can come down. Now...
shall we discuss it?”

“No! Damn you for the wretch you are.”

He grinned and bent to put his mouth to her
thigh. “That’s it, love. Talk to me. Tell me what this does to
you.”

She blasted him with words of fire. But soon
his mouth began to work its magic. Soon her concentration was
centered at the juncture between her thighs. He touched her with
questing fingers. She wasn’t as dry but was still by no means
begging to be touched.

He licked his fingers, then circled them
along her inner lips, avoiding the bud of her desire, moving right,
then left, until he slipped a finger inside and she felt the walls
of her inner cavern, juicy and willing, convulse at his invasion.
Her excitement was heightened by her awareness of danger. Even as
she shifted herself, begging him now to touch her honeyed gem, even
as she felt herself losing her will to fight, even as she welcomed
the undulating sensations that heralded her climax, she knew too
well the jeopardy. Losing control at such a height, in such a
position, could be fatal.

At last he found her with his tongue. It was
so heavenly, so wildly pleasurable after being denied so long, that
she cried out her relief. She was throbbing, her hunger building,
devouring her, burning away all thoughts of safety except one.

“Mace,” she panted. “If I come like this, I
shall fall. Please—”

He slid up her body and kissed her deeply. “I
thought you couldn’t come at all. I thought even Casanova—”

“Shut up. I want you so, only— Let me come
with you inside me. Please. I swear to you, I shall never, ever,
ever, try and fake it again.”

“Are you asking me to trust you?” he
teased.

Her body was throbbing, desperate for him. “I
was a fool. To think a man like you couldn’t excite me. Couldn’t
make me want you so badly, I’d suffer anything to have you. How
could I know that even thousands of feet above the earth, you could
turn me into an inferno aching only to be consumed by you? If we
were to crash now, I’d first want you inside me.”

“How do I know you’re not flamming me?”

“You have only to feel me to see for
yourself.”

He did, and she cried out at his touch.

“Besides which, if you don’t get me down, I
shall foil you. I swear I’ll grit my teeth and do everything—do you
hear me?—
everything
in my power not to come. I’d rather fall
to my death than give you the satisfaction.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Come inside me,” she coaxed. And told him
what she wanted.

He let her down. Her legs were so sore from
being stretched that she could barely stand. It didn’t matter.
Lifting her legs to lock around his waist, he eased inside. As he
moved, filling her with unbelievable might, her mouth dropped open.
His fingers found her in front, and she lost control completely.
Her senses swirled, and she bucked with him to a shattering climax.
She slumped against him, kissing his chest, murmuring her
gratitude.

“I shall never doubt you again,” she
promised.

“Then do something for me now.”

He was still hard in her. Withdrawing, he
turned her so she faced the open sky. Entering from behind, he bent
her so she was forced to look over the side of the balloon and down
to the farmlands below. His hands found her breasts, and he resumed
his rhythm.

“Just once, look down and see what I
see.”

She did. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t
comfortable. But the sensation of fright, combined with the sweet
agony of his thrusts, aroused her unexpectedly. She reached back
and caressed him as he rammed himself into her.

“Isn’t it incredible?” he asked against her
ear.

“Incredible,” she gasped as she began to lose
herself once again.

The rest of the day was like a dream. Once
she began to look around, Saranda lost much of her agitation. She
found, with her eyes open, that floating high above the earth as
she was, there was no sensation of movement. It was as if they were
suspended in space and time. As if the earth below moved, and not
they. With the burner turned low, there was an eerie stillness, a
silence such as they’d never heard before. As she relaxed, they put
their arms about each other and savored the tranquility.

They spent the afternoon following their
progress on the map, pinpointing cities and landmarks and checking
them off. The wind favored them. Below, cities drifted by to be
replaced by lush green farmland, and miniature forests thick with
leafy spring trees. Winding roads looked like lengths of twine.
When she was feeling confident, Mace moderated the flame, and they
meandered down to take a closer look. Once, in a playful mood, he
swooped down on a field of cows, herding them with the balloon
before the farmer came running and fired his rifle at them. Turning
up the flame to expand the gas, they soared once again, waving
good-bye. The more proficient Mace became in the operation of the
balloon, the more he enjoyed himself.

That night, Mace brought the balloon down,
unwound the rope, and threw out the anchor to effectively lasso a
tree. The anchor was little more than a huge, four-pronged hook,
which gripped a thick limb and held the balloon hovering above.
Then he scrambled down the rope, wrapped it around the limb several
more times until the basket was flush with it, and helped Saranda
out, lowering her by her hands to the ground.

“Just my luck,” she muttered, “to fall for a
man whose greatest thrill is cavorting in the air.”

He took her waist in his hands and hoisted
her high above so that she was forced to grasp his shoulders for
balance. Then, spinning her joyously, he said, “But just think,
love. We may be the first people in history to make love in the
skies.”

“Some consolation,” she teased. But she was
cheered by his buoyant mood—and by the feel of the ground beneath
her feet when he finally put her down.

They ate a supper of the food they’d brought
along— bread, fruit, and chocolates, washing it down with a bottle
of wine. There was a blanket rolled up and fastened to the side of
the basket, which Mace climbed the tree to retrieve. Then, as the
sky darkened and the stars began to appear, they leaned back
against the tree, huddled beneath the blanket for warmth, and gazed
at the night sky.

“Hard to believe we were up there,” Saranda
sighed, appreciating her accomplishment more now that she was on
the ground.

“Aren’t you proud of yourself?”

“Actually, I am. Not that I have much reason
to be. I only went because you forced me.”

“Tomorrow it will be easier.”

“I’m not so sure. I may panic again and
refuse to get back inside. I find the feel of good earth beneath my
feet is a comfort. I’ve never been much for digging in the dirt,
but I may become a farmer yet, after my adventures with you.”

“That I should like to see.”

They were silent for a few minutes, holding
each other close.

After a while, he commented, “I should
imagine the thought of tomorrow should hasten you into the balloon
with enthusiasm.”

“Tomorrow,” she repeated softly.

“Tomorrow we shall be in New York.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Sensing it, he
added, “Not afraid, are you?”

“A little. I’ve lived in terror of jail cells
my entire life. I can’t say I fancy even a short stay. There’s no
telling what a jury might do.”

“Don’t forget, I have some pull in that town
as well as McLeod. I’m hoping the judge, on seeing my evidence,
will dismiss the charges.”

She bolted upright. “The evidence! It didn’t
get destroyed in the tornado—”

“Hush, love. I sent it with the paper you
signed back to New York.”

Relieved, she settled back into the haven of
his arms. “No matter what happens, I shall protect you,” he
promised. “No harm will come to you. Do you believe that?”

She nodded. She could feel the excitement
surging through his veins.

“We shall make the
Globe-Journal
what
it once was,” he murmured softly, looking up at the stars. “A force
for good, a champion of the downtrodden. This country’s changing,
Princess. More and more immigrants are pouring onto its shores.
They’re going to come seeking a better life, and what will they
find? Men like Sander McLeod who will exploit them to line his own
pockets. Men like me, flimflam artists and grifters, who will take
advantage of their ignorance. They look at the new world with a
sense of hope and promise. A good con man—”

“—or woman—”

“—or woman—can use that, by making them
believe what they want to believe. Cities pass laws to keep them
from working. Well, it’s not going to happen easily. Not while I’m
alive. Not while it’s in my power to prevent it.”

“Nor I,” she vowed, feeling truly a part of
his dream for the first time.

“We’ll do it together, you and I. You’ll
report the news; I’ll write the editorials and steer the paper in
the right direction. Make certain Jackson didn’t die in vain.”

“I’ll go undercover and expose corruption on
a more personal level.”

He stilled. “We haven’t decided that.”

“No. But we shall.”

“Saranda—”

“Mace Blackwood, if you honestly think I’d be
content working under your thumb, you’re out of your mind. Having
you tell me whom and what I can report on. Handing out assignments
to me like some novice reporter—I may not have much experience in
writing, but I
own
that newspaper. At least I did before I
signed it over to you.”

“Then marry me.”

She sat up and looked at him. His eyes were
like moonlight on a dark river.

“Marry me, Saranda. Be my partner, in work
and in life. Let’s put an end to this bloody feud once and for all.
For three hundred years, the Blackwoods and the Sherwins have been
at one another’s throats. Isn’t it enough? Isn’t it time our
families came together for good? For a purpose worthy of our
talents?”

“If only it were possible...”

“It is possible,” he insisted.

“There’s still Lance.”

“Lance won’t be a problem. He’ll do as I
say.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

He couldn’t answer. Instead, he said, “I want
our children to be the first Blackwoods who don’t have to be
ashamed. Ashamed of where they come from or who they are. Just
think of the children we could bring into the world, you and I.
With the Blackwood and Sherwin blood mixing together to make them
strong. With the paper as their environment. If we pool our
resources, our talents, the instincts that have been passed down
through our families for generations—if we channel all that for
good— nothing can stop us!”

She pulled away from him. “Stop it! How can
you torture me like this?”

“Torture you?”

“You know how I feel about having children,”
she cried, tears tumbling down her cheeks. “You know the very
thought of it terrifies me. Mace, I was a failure as a mother. I’m
not capable of giving a child the love he needs. I’m not—”

“
Were
not. Of course you weren’t. You
were fourteen bloody years old. And raped, to boot. What did you
expect? Anyone in your situation would—”

“But it didn’t happen to just anyone. It
happened to my child. And I’m afraid of what I might do to
others.”

“You were afraid to ride in a balloon, but
I’d say you survived it rather well.”

“You don’t understand. I won’t destroy any
more children with my cold heart.”

He leaned his head back against the trunk of
the tree. “Princess... if you had a cold heart, I couldn’t love you
the way I do. The only way to transcend your past is to accept what
you are.”