Pleasured (31 page)

Picking up one of the oars they had laid aside on the rocks, she squatted down, ready to use the oar to draw the dory to them as soon as Damon pulled it within reach. Damon let go of the anchoring rock so that he could haul at the rope with both hands. The dory moved toward them, and Meg stretched out the oar, hooking it inside the boat and tugging. She pulled as hard as she could from her awkward position, and after a moment the dory eased toward her. Then everything went wrong.

The wind suddenly swirled, shooting the boat toward Meg and on past the entrance, knocking the oar from her grasp. She grabbed at the wooden paddle, and a gust of wind shoved her in the back as she twisted. Feeling herself overbalancing, Meg let out a shriek and grabbed frantically at the
rock beside her, but her hand slipped across the slick stone, and she fell. She heard Damon’s shout, and his arm locked around her waist, but the momentum and the force of the wind were too strong. The two of them tumbled together into the churning, dark water.

28

T
he sea covered her head,
but Meg kicked up with all her strength. Damon’s arm was still tight around her, and his strength helped propel her upward. As they broke the surface of the water, the waves slammed them against the cliff face, knocking the breath from her. Miraculously, Damon had retained his grip on the rope with his other hand, so that they had not moved from the entrance to the cave, but the storm tossed them about, threatening his hold on their anchor.

Meg clawed at the side of the cliff and grabbed the lip of the entrance. The thick of the storm was upon them now. The rain shot down, stinging their faces, but at least the fierce wind helped plaster them against the rock. Holding on with all her strength, Meg climbed up the cliff beneath the surface of the water, her feet slipping and sliding but always moving upward. When another strong wave lifted them up, she was able to stretch out her arm and wrap it around a large rock. She pulled herself upward until her upper body was mostly
in the cave. She felt Damon’s arm leave her waist, sending a surge of panic through her, but his hand went under her and gave her a hearty shove upward.

She scrambled into the cave and whirled around, terrified she would find that Damon had disappeared under the water. But she saw that he had grabbed the rope with his free hand as well, giving him a more secure purchase. However, she knew that his hold could not last long in the cold force of the storm. Meg crawled forward and grasped his jacket with both hands, tugging at him. He swung one foot up onto the ledge, and she clamped her hands around his leg and pulled with all her strength. He reached out to the rock anchoring the rope, and then, with another sweep of a wave, he was inside the cave.

They sat up, panting. The last surge of the ocean had finally torn the dory’s rope from Damon’s hand, and the little boat whipped away, slamming against the rocks. Rain slanted in upon them, pushed by the wind, and they crawled away from the entrance. Damon lurched to his feet, wrapping his arms around Meg’s waist and hauling her up with him. They staggered to the back of the cave and collapsed on the floor beside the lantern.

Damon leaned back against the wall of the cave. “I am never,
ever
going into the caves with you again.”

Meg began to giggle. He cast a jaundiced glance at her, then he began to laugh as well. Unable to stop, they guffawed until their sides hurt. Finally, their laughter died away, and Damon reached out to curl his arm around Meg’s shoulders and pull her close. She leaned against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, steady and comforting beneath her ear.

A shiver ran through her, and Damon rubbed his hand
up and down her arms in an attempt to warm her. Meg sighed and sat up, turning to look at him. “What are we to do now? The tide will start rising soon.”

He looked out over the cave, now underwater at the entrance, with a shallow stream creeping up the slight hollow in the middle of the cavern, then up at the watermark over their heads. “You might try praying,” he suggested drily. He stood and picked up the lantern. “I think our best course is to trust that your ancestor was not foolish enough to leave her messages in a waterlogged cave and that this hole leads us to some place higher where we can wait out the tide.”

Damon carried the lantern to the entrance of the low, dark hole and got down on all fours. Picking up the lantern, he started forward. Meg crouched down and followed him.

The noises of the storm receded behind them, and the tunnel was silent save for the shuffling sounds of their progress. The lantern light cast flickering shadows on the narrow walls of rock, adding to the eerie atmosphere. Meg could see nothing of what lay before them, as her only view was of Damon’s legs and muscled buttocks. It was, she reflected, rather a nice view. That showed exactly how foolish she had become, that she should be thinking of such a thing at a time like this. Or perhaps it was simply the mind’s nature when death was looming—turning with fervor to the essence of life.

The ground began to slope upward sharply, but alarmingly the ceiling did not have the same tilt, so that the passage grew more and more narrow. Just as Meg began to fear they would have to turn back, Damon let out a low cry of
triumph, and in another few steps he was on his feet as the cave ballooned out around him. Reaching down, he pulled Meg up and wrapped his arms around her.

“Meg, Meg.” He rained kisses over her hair and face. “I was so bloody frightened. I thought I was going to lose you.”

She let out a little laugh. “That is what scared you? You would have died, too.”

“That made it slightly less unbearable.”

“Damon . . .” Tears welled in her eyes and began to spill down her cheek. “Don’t say that.”

“No, no, don’t cry,” he said tenderly, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “You will unman me entirely.” He kissed her lips, and in a flash the gentle touch turned scorching. “I want you,” he growled, breaking their kiss. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I know this isn’t the time . . .”

“It is. It’s exactly the time.” Meg’s hands went to the lapels of his jacket, gripping them and pushing the garment off his shoulders. “All through that tunnel, I kept thinking of this. Wanting this.” She dropped his jacket on the ground and ran her hands down the length of his back. “I was watching . . . this.” Her hands curved over his buttocks, and she smiled wickedly up at him.

He made a low, inarticulate noise, fire flashing in the depths of his black eyes.

“And thinking about doing this.” Her fingertips dug into the hard, muscled mounds of flesh. “Touching you.”

She went to his breeches, busily working at his buttons, and whatever control he still had broke. He dug his hands into her hair and tilted up her face to kiss her deeply. They
tore at their clothes, pausing in their rapid disrobing only to touch and kiss, unable to keep their hands or mouths off the other for long. It took too much time, it seemed, to divest themselves of all their clothing, so they came together still trailing bits of half-discarded clothes. Damon lowered Meg to the ground, his arms beneath her back to shield her from the stone and grit of the cave’s floor, and he plunged deep within her.

His movement wrenched a soft cry from her lips as Meg convulsed against him, immediately brought to her peak. Light flared in his eyes at the sight of her pleasure, and Damon bent to take her mouth with his as he began to thrust inside her. His lovemaking was as wild and fierce as the wind and rain they had escaped, and Meg clung to him, riding the storm. Her fingers raked down his back as another wave of pleasure washed through her, slow and piercingly sweet.

Damon stared into her eyes, his mouth tight and his eyes alight with some deep, primitive need, as he continued to stroke in and out. “Again,” he grated out. “I want to see it take you again.”

Her breath shuddered out in something almost like a sob as he reached his hand down between them and found the small, sensitive nub of flesh between her legs. Meg arched up against him, her hips grinding in a mindless, breathless race to fulfillment. Finally, it took her, and she let out a groan as the heat poured, engulfing her. Damon’s voice mingled with hers as he erupted within her, his body shuddering. At last they went still, their labored breathing the only sound in the utter silence.

Meg buried her face in the crook of his neck, filled with
such completion, such bittersweet pleasure, such love, that she began to cry, tears spilling from her eyes as she shook with silent sobs.

“Meg, Meg . . . are you crying? Did I hurt you?” Damon rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him, and his hands roamed over her anxiously. “I’m sorry. I was out of my mind. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

She shook her head, sucking in her breath and struggling against the tears. “No, no, you didn’t hurt me. I’m fine. I’m just . . . happy.” She began to cry again.

“Happy!” His taut body relaxed, and he laughed weakly. “You’re crying because you’re happy?”

“I love you.” She kissed his skin. “I know you will not want to hear it, but I have to tell you. I love you so very much.”

His laugh turned deep and rich, and he skimmed his hands over her. “Not want to hear it? I love to hear it.” He kissed her ear. “Say it again.”

“I love you, blast it.” Meg pushed away, sitting up astride him and wiping the tears from her cheeks.

Damon crossed his arms behind his head and grinned up at her. “I love you, too, blast it.”

He reached up to tug at a sleeve of her dress that draped down low on her arm. Her bodice was unbuttoned, and the other side of her dress had fallen completely off. Her chemise was untied and shoved down so that both wide straps hung around her elbows and the neckline cupped her breasts.

“I like this fashion.” He covered one of her breasts with his hand.

“Of course you do.” Meg snorted and shoved his hand
aside, rising lithely to her feet. Her wet dress slid down to plop onto the stone. “As if you look any better.”

“I am sure I look decidedly worse.” He languidly lay there and watched her as she pulled off the remainder of her garments and began to wring them out. “But since I get to look at you rather than myself, I am quite enjoying it.”

His eyes widened suddenly and he grabbed up his jacket to paw at the inside of it, then relaxed visibly.

“What’s wrong?” Meg eyed him curiously.

“Nothing. Just thought I’d lost something.” He, too, began to pull off his remaining garments and wring them out. “What the devil shall we do with these?”

Meg shrugged and spread her dress out on one of the rocks. “Let them dry, I guess. They won’t dry out completely, but perhaps they won’t be entirely soaked.”

“It’s fortunate that I’m feeling quite warm at the moment.” He grinned suggestively, laying out his breeches and shirt. “No doubt we’ll need to repeat that several times to keep from catching cold.”

Meg rolled her eyes, then glanced speculatively around the room. “Do you think this was ‘their place’? Where Faye left . . . whatever it was?”

“Not to criticize, but your grandmother might have been a bit less cryptic.” Damon walked around, inspecting the walls of the cavern.

It was much like the one they had left, albeit rounder, but there seemed to be even fewer places to hide anything. Along one wall a small ledge jutted out, almost like a seat, and Damon knelt to look under it, but saw nothing.

“If anything was here, I think it’s safe to say that it’s dis
appeared.” He reached out and encircled her wrist. “Come, let’s rest.”

He went to the low rock ledge and sat down upon it, stretching his legs out in front of him and pulling Meg into his lap, his arms around her. Meg rested her head against his chest, his warmth all around her.

Damon stroked his hand down her arm. “We’ve plenty of time to talk now. I have something to tell you.”

“No.” Meg sat up, turning her face away. “I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. Not now. Please.” She stood up.

“I see.” Damon’s voice turned distant, and he let her go.

She turned and saw his face. His eyes were cool, his face blank, his lips pressed firmly together in the haughty mask that was his customary retreat from emotion. From hurt, she had grown to realize. Why should he be hurt? she thought resentfully. She was the one to be left behind. Crossing her arms, she walked away, feeling supremely vulnerable, to pick up her dress. Even wet, it would be preferable to this intimacy while he sliced her heart in two.

Suddenly Damon surged to his feet. “Damn it! What is it that is so displeasing to you about me? You seemed to like me well enough there.” He gestured toward the floor where they had lain only moments earlier. “Why do you run from me at every chance?”

“What?” Meg whirled, astonished, then angry herself. “Me? You hold me at fault?”

“And how the devil do you already know?” He scowled. “Did Coll tell you?” He frowned. “No—how could he have—”

“Coll! You told Coll? You let
him
know before you talked to me?” Her eyes blazed. “You told my brother you were leaving? That you were casting me aside?”

She had, she saw, stunned him. He stared at her in a frozen way, then started to speak, but only a strangled croak came out. He cleared his throat and said tightly, “You think I am casting you off? Is that what Coll told you?” His face turned grim. “I’ll tear that bloody bastard limb from limb.”

“Coll has told me nothing!” Meg’s voice rose to a shout. “I’m not stupid. I’m not blind. I know you must return to London. I know this is all”—she waved her arm around vaguely, her voice rough with unshed tears—“temporary.”

“
That
is what you think I wanted to talk to you about? Of all the single-minded, pigheaded—” He broke off, stalking over to his jacket and scooping it up off the floor. He dug into an inner pocket. “If I were not trying to woo you, I would point out that you are indeed stupid and blind.”

“Woo me? You have an odd notion of wooing, I must say.”

“And you have an odd notion of me.” He flung the sodden jacket back on the floor with a splat and turned to her, jaw set and eyes flashing, holding out a box.

Meg eyed the box suspiciously. Her insides were in a turmoil, dread and hurt and hope and astonishment all swirling around in her like a hive of bees. “I don’t . . . what is that?”

“Well, it bloody well isn’t a parting gift, I assure you.” Since she made no move toward him, he went to her and took her hand, plopping the small box into her palm firmly. “Open it.”

Her fingers closed around it, shaking, and Meg shot another wide-eyed glance at him. She opened the lid and stared at the glittering ring inside, a large, clear, yellowish stone with small green gems on either side of it. “Damon . . .” She raised her eyes to his, huge tears welling in them. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Yes. All you have to say is yes, Meg.” The irritation of a moment before was gone from his voice, replaced by something warm and gentle and a trifle uncertain. “Tell me you will marry me.” He plucked the ring from the box and slid it over her finger, holding her hand up to admire it. “Doesn’t it look splendid there?” He folded her fingers down, as if to prevent her from removing it, and brought her hand up to kiss the knuckle below the ring. “Say yes, Meg, and end my misery,” he murmured, his voice slightly unsteady.