Phantom of the Wind (11 page)

Munchkin yawned.

* * * * *

Kendall fell lightly into the dream. The tenerse had lulled her and given her a sense of peace as she found herself in the cottage in the Highlands. Rain was drumming against the tin roof and it was a pleasant sound though the cracks of lightning and the low rumble of the thunder made her a bit edgy.

He was soaking wet when he came walking across the yard from the barn. She was watching him at the window and hurried to open the door. The wind blew in a gust of cold spray as he scraped the soles of his boots on the porch step.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

Quinn leaned against the porch railing and tugged off his muddy boots, tossing them aside before crossing his arms in front of him, taking the tail of his shirt and peeling it over his head.

Kendall drew in a breath for the sight of his naked chest always did aching things to her lower body. With the wide expanse of shoulders, chiseled pecs set in a wiry thatch of curly black hair and rigidly defined abs, Rory Quinn was a prime specimen of maleness.

“The river is rising,” he said as his hands went to the buckle of his belt. “It will wash over the banks before morning.”

She licked her lips for he was unbuttoning the fly of his black jeans and pulling down the zipper. “Are we in any danger of being flooded?” she asked, her eyes on the dark tiger line of fine hair that delved from his deep bellybutton to the V of his pelvic bush.

“We’re too far up the slope,” he said, pushing the jeans down his corded thighs.

Heart pounding so loudly she could hear it in her ears, Kendall was filling with a need that had started the juices flowing between her legs. Quinn never wore underwear so what she saw when he kicked off his jeans was a cock that was half erect.

She lifted her gaze to his and found him staring at her with such vibrant passion, she took a step back.

“Come here, wench,” he said. He was standing there with his legs spread, the evidence of his need growing larger and harder as he reached a hand down to stroke it.

His hair was dripping water on the floor and there were beads of moisture all over his flesh. She went to him and knelt at his feet, putting her hands on his lean hips to lap at a droplet that was easing down his thigh.

She felt his hands in her hair and his touch was rougher than usual, more possessive. His fingers were tangled in her long red gold strands, massaging her scalp as she traced another drop down the inside of his thigh. If this were to be the last time for six months she would be with him, she wanted him to remember their lovemaking and dream of it until they could be together again.

Lightning flared outside the window as she took him into her mouth, swirling her tongue over the thick head of his rigid member. She traced the slit of the opening, stabbing down into the moistness and then suckled him deep into her throat until she heard him draw in a quick, excited breath. His fingers tensed in her hair as she slid her hands from his hips to cup his sac. She kneaded him gently with one hand while she used the other to search for that small indention between his anus and balls. Pressing firmly against that spot, she felt his cock jump as she mouthed him.

“Damn it, wench. Enough!” he said, and grabbed her upper arms to drag her away from him. His hands hard on her flesh, he pulled her brutally against him until he could slant his mouth across hers, his tongue thrusting deep. He took possession of her mouth with a kiss that was filled with such longing, such unbridled desire, Kendall could feel her blood singing in her veins. He lifted one leg and slammed it between her thighs so she was riding him, her feet leaving the floor, and tore his mouth from hers.

“I want you, Kendall,” he said through clenched teeth. “The gods help me but I have to have you!”

In the blink of an eye the dream changed and they were lying entangled on the floor, his body covering hers, his staff buried deep in her silken folds, her clothing vanished. Her legs were around his hips, her arms around his shoulders, her fingers digging into his back. He was thrusting into her with such savage strength she knew she’d be bruised come morning. His hands were beneath her ass, lifting her up so the penetration could be as deep and as hard as he could make it. There was no gentleness in his lovemaking, no soothing, knightly manners in his actions. He was a warrior filled with lust and his grunts as he pistoned each thrust into her softness gave evidence of his need to possess her completely, thoroughly, so that no other male would ever satisfy her.

She clung to him, sensing more than just the passion riding him. She could feel tremors in his body that—when she finally realized what they were—shocked her to her core. He was pumping into her violently and crying at the same time. When his climax came, he roared with the release and she looked up to see tears falling down his cheeks.

“Quinn?” she questioned.

He was gasping for breath, his cock still deep in her body. Slowly he lowered his head and when their eyes met she saw the terrible hurt, the sorrow that had been dredged up from his very soul.

“Baby, what is it?” she asked.

“Did you come?” he countered, his chest heaving. “Did you come, wench?”

She hated to tell him that she hadn’t so she nodded. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

One moment he was inside her, the next he was across the room, sitting on the floor, his back to the wall, his knees drawn up. “Your horse is saddled,” he said. “You’d best leave before it gets dark.”

Kendall sat up, her forehead crinkled with confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I want you gone, wench!” he yelled at her. “As quickly as you can get your clothes on.”

“But why?”

“Because I’m tired of you,” he said in a hateful voice she had never heard him use before. His dark sapphire eyes were almost black with anger. “You’re nothing but a millstone around my neck, wench. I’m sick of you moaning about how we don’t spend enough time together.” He plowed a deeply tanned hand through his black curls. “Hell, I’ve a job to do. I don’t have time to play lift-the-skirts with you every day I get off from this fucking mission that never seems to end!”

She could do nothing but stare at him as lightning cracked, thunder rolled and the rain pounded relentlessly against the roof. Unable to believe he would send her out in weather such as that was more than she could comprehend.

“You don’t mean that,” she said, coming to her knees. She reached for her blouse, bringing it to her bare breasts.

“What part of I don’t want you here do you not understand, bitch?” he shouted.

Kendall was trembling so violently she could barely stand. He was glaring at her with such hatred, such anger, she felt it like a slap in the face.

As dreams went, it became a living nightmare in the flash of a fiery stitching down from the heavens. In slow motion, Kendall relived it—as she would over and over again for many years. She watched him shoot to his feet and stalk over to her, grabbing her upper arm in a cruel, vicious grip that made her cry out.

“Get your ass out of here, woman!” he shouted into her face. “I’ve no more use for you!”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. She was dragging in hitches of breath, her hands trembling with emotion. She held a hand out to him. “Quinn, why?”

He knocked her hand away. “Because I’ve found a new woman and she’s twice the whore you are in bed,” he said viciously, shoving her away from him. “Now get the hell out!”

Once more the dream changed and she was on her horse, the rain pouring down upon her as she lashed her mount, racing him recklessly through the forest and down the mountainside. She didn’t care about the lightning zapping to the ground around her. A part of her wanted it to hit her, to wipe away the agony of spirit that was mixing her tears with the pummeling rain.

Chapter Four

1220 CMT

“You’re a son of a bitch,” Kendall told Quinn.

He opened his eyes to look at her. “You’re just now discovering that, wench?” he asked.

“You were crying in your sleep, you bastard,” she threw at him. “Did you know that?”

His face shut down. “My knees were hurting. Did you know that?”

“Your knees are mended, Phantom,” she told him. “There shouldn’t be any pain now.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Were you dreaming about that last day at the cottage in the Highlands?”

He didn’t answer, just stared at her.

“I think you were. I think you were dreaming about throwing me away like an old pair of worn-out boots so you could slide into another, tighter pair!”

“Why are you bringing that up now, wench?” he asked.

“I belong to you,” she said. “Isn’t that what you said?”

“Aye, you do,” he said through clenched teeth.

“You know for a man who is looking at a very horrific death, you seem awfully composed to me,” she said. “Doesn’t he to you, Parks?”

Parks shrugged, obviously not wanting to get involved in the discussion.

“And you seem very anxious to get back over to the
Borstal
.” Kendall tilted her head to one side. “Are you really that restless wanting to be slapped into a cell?”

“You don’t think I’m in a cell right now, wench?” the Phantom countered. “I’m strapped to this hellish thing to where I can’t move. I’m getting claustrophobic here!”

“Uh-huh,” she said then turned her attention to Parks. “Is the TAOS gearing down?”

“It’s doing one last diagnostic scan of Captain Quinn to make sure everything is all right,” Parks replied.

“Okey-dokey then. When the machine’s done with its evaluation, unstrap him and make sure he stays here at least another hour or two before you alert the Amazeen to come fetch him. He may want something to eat before she comes to get him,” she said, heading for the door.

“Where the hell are you going?” Quinn snapped.

“I’ve a late luncheon engagement,” she said, not even looking around or missing a step. “Tell Parks what you’d like to eat and he’ll supply it.”

“I’ve got questions for you, wench!” the Phantom yelled after her.

“Parks can answer them.”

Quinn was so frustrated he was breathing heavily. He had things he wanted to talk with her about. He glared up at Parks as the med tech lifted the dome of the TAOS and began unbuckling the restraints on Quinn’s right arm.

“How the hell often does she eat with Innis?” he demanded, snatching his arm up and flexing his fingers. He was on a fishing expedition and held his breath waiting for the reply.

Parks signed wearily. “Milord, I told you I can’t answer any questions about Doc’s private life. She doesn’t make me privy to such information. What she and Counselor Innis do—”

“Gods-be-damned warthog son of a diseased bitch!” Quinn seethed. “They washed him out of the Academy then some idjut had the bright idea to send him over to the Fleet Metaphysical Division.”

Parks’ lips twitched as he unbuckled the restraint on his patient’s right leg. “Milord, please lie still until I get all the restraints undone.”

Quinn was flexing his fingers, balling them into a fist and releasing them. “Innis is about as qualified to help someone with their mental problems as I am to knit a sweater. All he knows how to do is help himself to another man’s woman!”

Andrews looked up from the med cart he was restocking and met Parks’ gaze. Andrews cocked a brow then bit his lips to keep from laughing.

“I ought to carve my initials on that asshole’s forehead,” Quinn murmured.

Parks was unbuckling the Phantom’s right leg. “When I get the restraints undone, Milord, just lie there for a few moments before you try to sit up.”

Totally ignoring the med tech as soon as his left hand was free, Quinn sat up and swung his legs off the sled. When he did, his eyes widened and Parks had to grab him before he could tumble face first from the sled. Parks helped him to lie back down.

“You’ve been lying down approximately twenty-four hours, Milord,” Parks reminded him, “in complete restraint. Just lie quietly until your body adjusts.”

“Where are her quarters?” Quinn demanded. “On what deck?”

“Three,” Parks answered then frowned. “Why, Milord?”

“I’m hungry,” the Phantom stated. “Didn’t she say I could eat?”

“What would you like, Milord?” Andrews inquired.

“To walk to the galley and pick out what I want,” Quinn growled.

“Ain’t going to happen, Sir,” Andrews denied. “I don’t think the ‘bots would allow it even if I did.”

Quinn turned his head and looked at the cybots then let out a string of curses in Cengusian. He pivoted his right ankle and winced. “Damned knee still hurts,” he complained.

Parks frowned. “It shouldn’t.” He checked the final diagnostic but everything appeared normal. “Maybe it’s just the muscle complaining from being in a rigid position for so long, Milord.”

The Phantom grunted. He was lying there mentally twiddling his thumbs, his eyes narrowed, a muscle working in his jaw. “Roast bovine,” he said. “Rice with gravy. Green beans with potatoes, a carafe of Chrystallusian tea and bread.”

“I’ll get right on it, Milord,” Andrews declared.

“What about Breen?” Quinn asked.

Parks glanced over at him. “What about him, Milord?”