Make Mine a Marine (46 page)

That name sounded familiar, but in the midst of remembering her manners, keeping a nervous eye on Hawk, worrying about getting the girls a regular meal and a full night's rest, and trying to judge the level of sincerity in Rafe's flirtations, she couldn't place him. She filed the information away to consider later and found herself able to answer Rafe with a genuine smile. "Then I take it you're not the serious one."

"Not if I can help it."

She laughed at the severe face he made. The buoyant release tapped into the capped well of repressed emotions buried inside her. Rafe joined her laughter, eliminating any self-consciousness she felt. His gift of humor lightened the burden of shyness she carried on her shoulders.

But her laughter dissipated at the abrupt end to Hawk's conversation with Kel. He swung around to look at her, his heated focus pinning her across the heavy air as clearly as the urgent stroke of his hand on her skin. She saw a flicker of light in his shadowy midnight eyes, read the question crinkling around the corners of his mouth.

She curled her lips into a silent O. "What…?"

But he blinked and the light vanished. He turned back to Kel. "Do you think we can do that?"

Kel nodded, his face a grim mask. "I'll make the arrangements. Give me a day to get it done."

Get what done? What dreadful secret was Hawk hiding from her now? For a brief instant, when she had laughed, it was as if he had awakened from the spell of the seasoned warrior and become the gentle spirit-healer she had fallen in love with. But in the blink of an eye that man had vanished, and the silent mercenary had replaced him.

Kel whispered something else to Hawk, who eyed him for a moment before giving a single nod. Then Kel raised his voice for all to hear and snapped an order to Rafe. "Break out the canteens and let's get some water to these kids."

"You bet."

The girls and Raul eagerly traipsed after Rafe to the back of the Hummer. Kel retrieved a map from beneath the front seat and spread it open across the hood. "Hawk?"

The two men leaned over the map and fell into a deep, hushed conversation, pointing out geographic positions and plotting some sort of strategy. Sarah crossed her arms and rubbed at the sudden chill spreading through her. Abandonment. She recognized the symptoms. She was an old hand at dealing with the overwhelming loneliness that could attack a person unaware. She'd lost the important people in her life, or been betrayed by them. And now, with Hawk… maybe she'd already lost him two hours ago. If he'd ever been hers to lose.

Before the numbing paralysis of self-pity could overtake her, Sarah moved to the back of the truck and began to rearrange the crates that had been moved to accommodate the kids. She climbed inside, stepping over backpacks to continue her work.

Busy hands
, her aunts had often advised her, after losing her parents.
Busy hands will heal your heart
. It was Millie and Doris's own platitude. Sarah didn't know if she believed in the healing part of it, but she knew that staying busy provided a practical distraction from debilitating thoughts. She could wear herself out until she was too tired to think one way or the other about her pain.

She leaned her shoulder into a crate and pushed it into the center to balance the load of the truck. Weary from her brain to her toes, she sighed as she straightened, then reached for the next crate. An iron hand cinched her around the waist from behind. Startled, she had no chance to protest when Hawk lifted her from the back of the truck.

Still holding her, he pulled her back flush to his chest and circled his other arm around the front of her shoulders. He dipped his lips to the crown of her hair and rocked her back and forth, holding her tight.

"I've never heard you laugh before." His lips brushed against her ear. She felt a trembling in his powerful arms, heard the hesitancy in his soft voice. "You sounded so free, so open. I'm glad you can be. We haven't beaten you yet, have we?"

"We?" she said in a shaky voice, thanking heaven for his reassuring embrace, yet questioning the underlying message he hadn't put into words.

His arms stiffened. She felt him withdraw inside himself before he pulled away. For a flashing moment, Sarah wished she had Hawk's powers of perception so she could understand what demon was torturing him so. But she had no such magic, only a rusty feminine intuition that advised her to hold her tongue about deeper matters and keep the conversation light and impersonal to give him the space and time he needed to wrestle with that demon.

She turned and faced him, trying to align her mouth into a teasing grin. "Have you two figured out your battle strategy?"

She glimpsed the regret stamped in stone across his features before he, too, forced a slight smile. "Think you can drive a little farther?"

"If the truck can make it, I can."

"Good." The strain eased around his mouth. "Kel says we're only five miles out of town. He's rented a house on the outskirts of El Espanto. There we can rest, eat, get cleaned up. We're almost home."

Sarah had never felt farther from home in her entire life. "If you say so."

He raised his hand and brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek. She understood the mute apology, but wished she understood what he was apologizing for. "Be patient with me, schoolmarm. I know you want to know about Luis and the others."

His gaze danced around her face, and she knew he was reading her aura. "I need to tell you about me. There are still some things… “He splayed his fingers, cupping her cheek before pushing them into the wispy curls behind her ear. Sarah leaned into the caress.

"What things?" she prompted, closing her eyes to savor the warmth of his rough palm on her skin.

"Just be patient. Please?" He pressed the pad of his thumb against the pout of her lower lip. He stroked it across her mouth, beseeching her. Her eyes shot open and she lifted her chin, granting him permission. He kissed her deeply, reverently, and all too quickly to satiate her wounded heart.

Then he pulled away without another word and walked around to climb into the passenger side of the truck. Sarah stood there a moment longer, nursing the sting on her lips with her tongue, and fortifying her courage. Maybe during this week with Hawk she had picked up a few of his talents for observation, after all.

She might never understand men.

But she understood fear.

And she wondered just what it took to make a man like Hawk afraid.

Chapter Twelve

"You know the unwritten rule." Sarah recognized the odd inflections of Rafe Del Rio's voice through the open doorway. "Nobody goes into Tenebrosa alone. I couldn't believe it when Brodie called and said you'd come down here. Hell, the name of the capital, El Espanto, means terror."

Terror?

Sarah tucked herself into the shadows of the deserted hallway. With the staff retired for the night, she'd encountered no one on her way to the kitchen for a glass of water. The single light shining from the library downstairs caught her attention. At first she thought someone had left it on by mistake, so she went to turn it off.

But the sound of hushed masculine voices turned her conservation effort into unintentional eavesdropping.

"What did you hope to accomplish with a bunch of kids tagging along that we couldn't do?" asked Rafe.

"I didn't come here to find Jonathan," answered Hawk. His softly modulated tones tightened with the barest hint of what Sarah thought to be his well-controlled temper.

"This place has too many ghosts for any of us. You more than most." Kel was talking now, his cultured voice laced with a touch of cynicism. A few moments of silence passed. Sarah caught her breath and inhaled the rich tang of tobacco smoke. "So why did you come here?"

"To pay an old debt."

"Nobody blames you for the colonel's disappearance."

Sarah leaned closer to the door frame to hear Hawk's response. "I do."

"Does Sarah know what you're planning?" Kel's question hung in the air like the aroma of their cigars.

"She's been through enough," said Hawk. "I'm counting on you to see her and the girls safely home.”

"You know we will," answered Rafe.

Hawk wasn't going home with them? Planning what? Sarah pressed her hand over her stomach to quell the rise of panic and impending loss inside her.
No!
she cried in her mind.
Don't abandon me. Not yet. You said you needed time. Hawk, please, just give me more time
…

The sound of chair legs scraping across the wooden floor halted her silent plea. She flattened her back against the wall, but knew, too late, that she'd been discovered.

"Sarah?"

When Hawk spoke her name from the doorway, she couldn't very well deny her presence. She didn't think she'd made a sound, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. He simply knew she was there.

She pulled the white cotton robe more tightly around her, holding it together with a fist at her neck. She stepped into the light spilling out around Hawk's silhouette. From this angle, she couldn't see the expression on his face, only the distinctive outline of his long, sleek hair falling to his broad shoulders.

Unsure if he was angry or not, she simply apologized. "I saw the light and heard voices."

"Sarah, come in." Kel issued the invitation, not Hawk. But Hawk turned politely and she brushed past him, not touching him, but close enough to inhale the damp, clean scent of his freshly washed hair and skin, close enough for every responding pore of her body to prick into a sea of goose bumps.

Rafe stood at the window, with a long-neck bottle of beer dangling between his fingers. Kel tapped his cigar into an ashtray and stood, adjusting his balance on his feet. Hawk stayed behind her.

Kel gestured to the seat across the desk from him. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks. I wanted a glass of water. I didn't mean to intrude."

"You're not." Despite her refusal, he opened a bottle of water from the bar behind his desk and handed it to her. Years of practicing good manners made her sit in the wicker chair and take a few sips.

Only then did Kel resume his seat. "Is everything to your liking? The girls are fine?"

Sarah fingered the collar of her robe. It matched the lace-trimmed cotton gown she wore beneath. Without knowing sizes or clothing tastes, Kel had arranged for nightclothes and daywear for each of his guests. This simple button-front chemise was probably the most feminine thing she'd ever worn to bed, and it fit her like a dream.

"The girls are out for the count. Even Lynnette gave up on her journal and fell asleep an hour ago. You've been more than generous."

"Kel's the master scrounger." Rafe pushed away from the window and plopped down in the seat beside her, lifting his bottle in a toast. "If you need anything, he can make it happen."

"I'd like to repay you somehow."

Kel shook his head and picked up his cigar again. "Think of it as a favor to a friend."

She followed his upward glance and discovered Hawk standing right behind her chair. He pulled the bottle from her hand and set it on the desk. Then he tugged on that same hand and pulled her to her feet. "I think I'll walk Sarah back to her room."

Tension sizzled through her hand where he touched her, like an electric current leaping from his fingers to hers. The bolt of energy zipped through her veins and lighted deep in her belly. She caught her breath, startled by the thrilling surprise of her body's reaction to his touch and the soft, firm promise in his voice. Embarrassed by the overwhelming rush of sensation that heated her cheeks, she tried to pull away and excuse herself, but Hawk tightened his fingers around hers.

"Good night, gentlemen," he said.

Both men stood, acknowledging Hawk and nodding to Sarah.

She stumbled through thanking her host and rescuer. "Good night, Rafe. Mr. Murphy."

Rafe's grin creased his mouth into a well-worn smile. "'Night, Sarah."

"It's Kel, ma'am," her host corrected, with neither a frown nor a smile. "Good night."

With her hand snared firmly in Hawk’s grasp, she padded noiselessly down the hall at his side. His gallant gesture touched her, filled her with a sense of security and importance. Unless there was a "tutoring session" or audience involved, Walter had never once walked her to her door or escorted her to her car when they parted for the evening. That Hawk would claim the right and make the effort to do so warmed the wounded part of her, and made her final good-night feel that much more precious.

Once he seemed sure of her willingness to hold on to him, he softened his grip. Sarah relaxed, too, smiling beside his shoulder. "Is there something going on I should know about? It sounded like a pretty heavy discussion when I came in."

She felt the tension crackling around him and wished she could withdraw the question. He slowed on the stairs, but squeezed her hand reassuringly, silently asking for time to work through whatever was troubling him. She'd grant him anything so long as he didn't push her away.

At the top of the staircase he spoke again. "We're negotiating with the local authorities whether to return the treasures to the tomb or donate them to the national museum."

"They have to go back to the tomb," insisted Sarah in a flash of insight that preceded her own conscious agreement.

She halted beside Hawk, confused by the surety of her decision, but knowing with absolute rightness that the treasures of Meczaquatl should be restored to their intended resting place. Hawk looked down at her, the brilliant light shining through the midnight color of his eyes evident even in the shadows on the landing.

"Yes," he whispered. With just the tip of his index finger, he traced a semicircle around her brow and cheekbone. "Are you sure there's not a little bit of psychic in you?"

He looked so proud, so relieved by her words. But just as quickly, just as profoundly, a mask shuttered his eyes and snuffed out the light. He withdrew his hand, leaving a chill where he had touched her.

"Hawk?"

With the silence of a panther, he pulled her to her room, pushed her inside and closed the door behind him. She spun around to face him, wanting to question his abrupt actions. But the air in the room seemed suddenly alive, raw with danger and unpredictability. Caged with the wild animal, Sarah clutched the front of her robe and hugged herself. She trembled with fear. Not of Hawk, but of the demon inside that he worked so hard to master.

"What is it?" she asked, sensing his desperation, not knowing how to help him or ease his torment or even to save herself.

The lamp beside her bed cast a soft glow across the room, lighting him only up to his shoulders. With his back pressed to the door, she was transfixed by the powerful rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply to regain whatever control he had lost.

"Tell me you want me to stay."

He stepped into the light, letting her see the clarity in his gaze, letting her know the raspy-throated request came from the man himself, fully aware of who and where he was, and not from a possessing spirit dulling his mind and actions.

He spread his arms to either side, opening his stance and presenting himself like an unarmed man surrendering to the authorities. "Even if it's just to talk, or hold you. I promise I won't do anything you don't want—"

"I want you to stay."

She cut him off, making her point perfectly clear, understanding with equal clarity how much she wanted him and how desperately he needed her. She remembered his struggle with Prini's crown and understood how she had pulled him from its spell. He needed that kind of salvation from her now.

And she needed whatever he would offer. "I want you to stay," she repeated.

His nostrils flared in a ragged intake of breath. He pursed his lips and breathed out on one long, languid whisper of air. But though his body relaxed, the coiled tension never left his eyes. She fell into the darkness there, struggled to catch her breath in the clear black pools of night. Like a hunter, he had snared her, and she was powerless to escape.

She didn't want to try.

Frightened of what would happen next, and even more frightened that it wouldn't happen, Sarah couldn't speak. Her chin quivered as she searched for the right words to ask him to be with her, to love her, to complete the promise of what he had shown her the night before.

This last night in Tenebrosa might be
their
last night. Her last chance… her
only
chance to be with the man she loved. Her only chance to create a memory more precious than any other. This one night when the man she loved wanted to be with her. Wanted her.

This time, he saw her request. Reaching out, he cupped her face gently between his hands and tilted her mouth up to his. "I want it, too," he whispered in the instant before his lips touched hers.

Rising on tiptoe, Sarah leaned into the kiss, curling her fingers around his forearms for balance. He tunneled his fingers into her hair and cradled the back of her head, pulling her beneath the volatile exploration of his tongue. He traced the seam of her lips and then plunged inside, staking a claim she'd waited her whole life to surrender.

He tasted of something dark and dangerous, warmed with the sweet tang of finely aged rum. She stroked her tongue along his, and a feral call rumbled deep in his throat. The sound vibrated down along her spine and spread along the fraying tendrils of her nerve endings. It took her a few moments to recognize the soft, mewling sounds answering in her own throat.

Even with her limited experience, she understood the chained beast in him fighting to free himself. She breathed in through her nose, willing her mind to catch up to the primitive staccato of her heartbeat. He wanted something from her, needed something more… if she only knew what to give him. He slid his hands down her neck, the rough pads of his fingers soothing the pulse point at the base of her throat.

And then his healing lips were there, and she forgot all her thoughts. It was all she could do to feel, to keep up with the web of sensations unraveling deep inside her. He slid his hands up and over the delicate ridge of her collarbone, beneath her robe to her shoulders. Her fingers scurried along his sleeve, not knowing where to hold on, where to touch him.

Turning her, he slipped the robe off her arms and backed her against the door. She dug her fingers into his wrists for balance as he pinned her there, his mouth finding hers again and driving her into the smooth, unyielding wood at her back. His lips followed the path of his hand, tasting her neck, sipping at the pounding warmth of her pulse, pushing aside the nightgown and supping at the smooth, round strength of her shoulder.

Sarah angled her body to urge him to explore further, to learn where else he might place his lips. As she turned, her hips brushed his, catching the robe between them where it fell. The hard, solid column of his thighs yielded as little to her soft curves as the door at her back.

A spark of an unpleasant memory flared in her mind, but she quickly snuffed it out. This was Hawk loving her, wanting her, and she knew she couldn't bear to stop him.

But beyond conscious thought, she twisted her hips, squirming away from the sensation of being trapped. She brushed against the masculine evidence of his desire, heard him moan a sweet native word against her skin. She tried to think of the things he had said, the words of praise she wanted to believe.

Her hands, which had clung to him for support, now flattened across his shoulders. He reclaimed her lips, and she focused on the sleek power of his addictive mouth, losing herself in the magical beauty of his kiss. But then he shifted his body closer and rubbed his denim-clad leg against the juncture of her thighs.