Mystic Memories (25 page)

“No sex,” he reminded her adamantly.

“This isn’t about sex, Blake. I want to make love to you.”

“Sex. Love. What’s the difference?” he murmured as her cheek rested against his back. “Whatever you want, I can’t give it.”

“I’m not asking for anything from you. Nothing at all. Just let me love you.”

Her palm slowly skimmed down the front of his shirt to his waist, then curved around his pelvic bone and over his hip without touching him intimately. Her intention was to allow the rest of his body to feel the tenderness in her caress. Her short fingernails lightly grazed the length of his leg to his ankle, then came back up the inside of his other leg, stopping at the edge of his shirt.

He said not a word. But she felt his muscles relax and sensed his resistance weakening. Inch by inch, she kneaded the muscles in his right leg, then his left. Shifting her body, she moved her hands to his back, stroking the heel of her palm up his spine, then circling down to his buttocks and to his shoulders again.

Expect nothing in return, Cara. Give of yourself.

Silently, she massaged his upper arm, his lower arm, his hand, his fingers. With a gentle tug, she coaxed him to lie on his back, which he did without comment or hesitation. She reached for his other arm. As she kneaded the muscles of his biceps, she sensed his pleasure and wanted to give him more.

You have the power to heal him.

Her hand traveled to the ends of his fingers, caressing them one at a time between her thumb and forefinger. Leaning over his chest, she brought his hand to her lips and kissed the back of his knuckles.

His other hand slowly moved from his side, reaching up in the darkness and touching her cheek. She felt her heart catch. He guided her head down to his. She held her breath. His lips brushed hers, a tentative touch at first. A question without words.

His bewildered thoughts came through to her—Should we do this? Should he risk his lucid mind?

Her lips parted, inviting him, giving entrance to him. His tongue skimmed her teeth, then delved deeper as her mind filled with the sound of his inner voice.

Dear God, I want her. I need her.

His mouth moved over hers as she slipped her hand beneath the hem of his shirt and brought it to his waist. In a slow yet fluid movement, she slid her leg over his hips and lowered herself down onto his rigid shaft, sheathing him in the hot core of her body.

He inhaled sharply. She tightened her feminine muscles around him, eliciting his moan of pleasure.

Take me, Blake. Take all I have. All the love. All the joy. All the happiness.

Oh, Cara . . .

She rose up and came down in a gentle rhythm that he met with his own hips.

Let go of your pain, Blake. Give it to me. Let me take away all the hurt that’s been locked up inside you.

As their pace quickened, she felt his sadness well up inside her, filling her with a poignant grief that arrowed into her heart. The loss of his parents, the loss of his childhood, the loss of his innocence. His mournful sorrow burrowed down into the depths of her soul.

With an anguished cry, he reached out for her, drawing her to him, clutching her body to his. He buried his face in the curve of her neck at the moment of his climax, yet she could still hear the soft sounds of his quiet weeping.

She kissed his temple and tasted the salt of his tears.

“I love you, Blake. I think I have loved you from the first moment I saw you on that ship.”

“No, Cara.” His raspy voice was barely audible. “You don’t need to say these things to me.”

He tried to lift her off of him, but she tightened her knees at his hips, unwilling to let him get away so easily. He tensed, still sheathed inside her. Her feminine muscles flexed around his manhood, then released.

“What are you doing to me?”

“Keeping you interested until I finish what I have to say.”

“You’ve said enough already. And I know you hoped I would be able to repeat the same words to you, but I can’t.”

“I didn’t
ask
you to. I don’t
expect
you to.” She kissed his mouth, his cheek, his chin. “But I’m going to keep loving you, even if you can’t love me back. And I’m going to keep showing you.”

Her secret sensual squeezes continued until she felt his arousal growing, hardening, fitting snug against the feminine walls of her womanhood.

“I thought we had an agreement,” he reminded her halfheartedly. “No sex.”

Wordlessly, she sat back, reveling in the thickness of him filling her, pressing the entrance of her womb. Lifting the edge of her nightgown, she peeled it over her head and let it drop to the floor. Then she unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it open so she could explore the muscles of his chest. As his hands cupped her breasts, she leaned into his palms.

“No sex,” she agreed, her breathing escalating as her own passion grew. “Just pure, unadulterated love.”

Chapter
16

T
he following morning before dawn, Cara awoke to a kiss on her bare shoulder. She smiled and stretched like a contented kitten, purring with pleasure as Blake nuzzled the soft spot behind her ear. He had changed during their long night of passion, despite a few moments of fitful sleep from dreams of his past. Everything had changed between them. The tiny ache between her thighs reminded her of the daunting stamina of the man she had married.

His light kisses drifted over her breast to her belly. As his head moved lower, he spoke lovingly in the language of the Islands. Softly, she asked him to teach her to say the words for fantastic lovemaking.

“
Hoʻokela o ka hoʻoipoipo
.” His intimate kiss sent a spiral of tingling heat to her nerve endings. “And you are an
ipo ahi
—an ardent lover.”

“
Ipo . . . ahi
.” She moaned, relishing the personal tutoring technique of his amazing tongue as her body trembled under his touch.

A half hour later, the warm sun angled into the larboard windows of the cabin as the two of them lay together on their sides, legs and arms entwined.

Blake slowly stroked his thumbnail down her spine, marveling at a strange new feeling of peace. “I must get dressed,
lauaʻe
,” calling her “beloved” in the language of the islands.

“Never.”

“You want more?” He kissed the top of her head, smiling to himself. “If we keep this pace, I will fill your belly with many babies.”

Recalling the concern of the woman at San Juan, he wondered once more if she were already carrying another man’s child.

“Blake . . .” Her serious tone braced his mind for the worst. “I am not pregnant.”

Thank God. “Then you soon will be,” he vowed, imagining their little brown
keiki
toddling about the beach of Hanalei. “Perhaps after last night—”

“No,” she said softly, tilting her face up to gaze at him with apology in her eyes. “I am unable to bear children, Blake. I’m sorry. It never occurred to me to tell you until now.”

“But how can you be so certain?”

“I’ve had tests. They all came back negative.”

“Tests? There are tests for these things?”

“Yes, where I come from.” She touched her fingers to the downturned corners of his mouth. “Babies mean a great deal to you, don’t they?”

“No.” He lied to spare her his disappointment. Though he’d always thought someday he would return to Kaua‘i to raise sons and daughters with the woman he loved.

“You deserve to have those children.” Her dark eyes reflected his thoughts. “When the time comes for me to return home with Andrew, we will have our marriage annulled so you will be free to find a fertile wife.”

“I don’t want that,” he snapped. “I want you. If we cannot have our own children, we can find others who need a home.”

Her eyes became moist, glistening with emotion, but she said not a word. She lifted up and kissed him. He murmured his enjoyment, wrapping his arms around her.

When a knock came at the door, he answered impatiently,

“Yes?”

“Sir,” answered Jimmy, “I’ve come to ask if you’d be wantin’ yer breakfast or should I just be bringin’ the noon meal, sir?”

“Breakfast.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

The retreating footsteps prompted Cara to snuggle her face into Blake’s chest. “Where were we?” came her muffled voice before she nipped lightly on his nipple.

“As much as I would like to indulge us one more time, I mustn’t.”

He brought her face up to his, kissing her soundly. With a moan of frustration, he broke away and dropped his legs over the edge of the berth. As he leaned over to snatch his shirt from the floor, her fingertips traced the narrow tattooed ribbon of designs along his left thigh, similar to the band around his arm.

“What are the symbols?” she asked.

“
ʻAumakua
—family deity.” Glancing down, he touched the tattoos with reverence. “When Keoni’s parents adopted me, I earned the right to wear the mark of their
ʻaumakua
— their ancestors who come back in different form than human. Since I had no knowledge of my own ancestry, my adoptive father took me to a
nīnau kupapa’u
, who gave me my own
ʻaumakua
.”

“A
nīnau kupapa’u
?”

“A person who consults the dead or familiar spirits.” He smiled at the irony. “When I was young I didn’t believe in such things, mind you. It was the tradition of my new family, and I wanted to belong, be a part of their lives. But it was impossible to accept that there was anything godlike that would protect me, especially after what I had gone through. I understand so much now.”

“Do the
Kānaka
have people like me?”

He nodded. “
Mea punihei i nā mea āiwaiwa
—a mystic. Literally, it means a person entranced in the mysterious ways.”

Cara slowly repeated his pronunciation, tracing the indigo lines imprinted on his flesh. Suddenly an eerie realization dawned on her, sending a chill down her arms. “That was the name of the ship that went down in San Pedro, Blake. The
Mystic
.”

“I had forgotten until now, but it seems rather appropriate. Everything considered, I mean. There you were on that ill-fated brig, one of only a few survivors. All of the twists and turns of fate
could
be described as mystical.”

“Yeah . . . mystical.” She thought of her trip through time, as well. How could she begin to explain something so far beyond his realm of comprehension? It was hard enough convincing him of her own psychic abilities, which he hadn’t accepted until he’d seen proof for himself. How could she claim to be from the future without something to substantiate her story?

“If I had not witnessed all the mysterious events, I doubt I would believe any of it,” he said, confirming her worries. “But it would make a fascinating piece of fiction, don’t you agree? The telling of a great adventure on the uncivilized coast of California?”

“Someone
will
tell it, Blake. A young Harvard man named Richard Dana will write a book. Not about our experiences but about his own journey. He’ll expose the injustices of a sailor’s life and title it
Two Years Before the Mast
.”

He shifted sideways on the edge of the bed and stared at her for a long moment. His expression told her that his skepticism was creeping back in. Her warning bells went off. She had to take this slower, to let him adjust to her clairvoyance before dropping another bomb in his lap.

“How do you know such things?” The corner of his mouth quirked into a teasing grin of disbelief. “Did Gabriella pay you another visit?”

“No, her recent assistance is new to me.” Sidestepping his question about the book, she avoided any mention of time travel. “As for how I know things . . . I’ve been called a freak of nature because of my sixth sense. But I’m not a freak. To me, my gift is as normal as breathing. I just breathe deeper than most people.”

His black brows pinched together in a frown of confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“My intuition is stronger than most people’s,” she amended with a weak smile. Still, he continued to look perplexed. “Haven’t you ever had a gut feeling about something?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And do you pay attention to it?”

“Usually.”

“Well, I do, too. But my gut feelings also come to me in different ways. Sometimes it’s in my stomach. Sometimes I have thoughts show up as if I’ve just read them or heard them a moment earlier.”

“Are you saying you hear voices?”

“Not always.” She grinned sympathetically at his obvious bewilderment. “Let’s say, for the sake of explanation, that I get the sudden thought ‘Jimmy’s leg hurts.’ I don’t hear someone tell me. The thought is just there, in my head, in the same way that a memory is there in your head. The only difference is the memory is a recollection of a previous event, such as actually witnessing Jimmy hurt his leg and remembering it afterward. Well, I get the word or thought before it is happening in the physical sense. For lack of a better term, I dubbed it my ‘Reverse Memory.’”

Blake gazed down at her in awe, seeing the love and compassion in the depths of her dark eyes. She was a mystic, and a most beautiful one. “You amaze me.”

Clearly uncomfortable with his reverence, she averted her eyes as an endearing blush crept into her cheeks. He watched her expression change into uncertainty.

“What’s wrong,
lauaʻe
?”

“Are you sorry I came here? That I have caused you so much pain?”

“If I said no, you would read my thoughts and call me a liar. In the beginning, I was sorry, but now I see things differently. If anyone should be apologizing, I should—for my behavior, my distrust.”

“You reacted naturally. I never meant to hurt you.” Her velvet touch drew him back into her arms.

“I know that now.”

“Touching me doesn’t bring back any more bad memories?”

“No longer. Touching you has made new memories for me. Good memories. Mystic memories. Whatever you may be, you have me completely enchanted. I am at your mercy.”

“No, it is you who have weakened me with all of this lovemaking. Correction, wonderful lovemaking—
Hoʻokela ka hoʻoipoipo
.”

Unfamiliar feelings deep in his heart bewildered him, feelings that he was not quite ready to examine, not quite ready to name. His hips nestled snug against the juncture of her firm, slender thighs as his mouth came down upon hers, hungering for her as though he had not tasted her in days and weeks and months. He could never imagine having his fill of her.

The sound of scratching at the door told him Bud wanted to go out. At the same time, someone rapped twice.

“It is no use,” Blake sighed, levering himself off her sweet, enticing body. “My other duties will not allow me to dawdle the day away, my dear. Be forewarned, however. I may very well come down here at any given time to lift your skirts and have my way with you.”

“What skirts? I intend to sleep until you return.” She yawned and stretched again, arching her back with a satisfied smile. The sunlight spilled across her coppery skin, causing him more anguish at the idea of donning his clothes and leaving her here without him.

The knocking persisted.

“All right, all right,” he called out, then quickly dressed as Cara covered herself and burrowed deep beneath the bedclothes.

Though he expected it to be Jimmy on the other side of the door, he was not surprised to see Keoni had been the annoying one. As Bud slipped out, Blake glanced down at the tray of food. The delicious aroma suddenly triggered his delayed hunger.

“It’s about time,” he scolded in jest.

The
Kanaka
glanced toward the bed. “Yes, it was about time,
kaikaina
. But I think you already got plenty good stuff for a starving man, eh?”

After two weeks of fair winds and fast sail, then nearly a week of slow passage through the doldrums, the
Valiant
crossed the equator on April 23. Alone on the open seas, she was now more than two thousand miles off the northwestern coast of South America.

In the captain’s quarters, Cara stood next to Blake at the table, looking down at a map rolled out and anchored at the curled corners.

He shook his head adamantly. “The
Ballade
would not be in Callao, Cara. Peru is too far out of the way for a merchantman to stop on his way back to Boston. You can see for yourself how far off the coast the trade winds have taken our own ship.”

“But Andrew might be there,” she insisted.

“Are you sure? What about Juan Fernández?” He pointed to a small island about three hundred miles west of Valparaiso, Chile. “If there had been a need to make land for supplies, which I doubt, then it would more likely have been here.”

She slowly shook her head as she stared at the map. “I just don’t see him on an island.”