A Candle in the Dark (44 page)

So he said nothing. Instead, he bent and kissed her, kissed her until her resistance melted and she curled her arms around his neck, kissed her until he heard her soft sob of surrender.

“I don’t care what you say,” he whispered then against her mouth. “I don’t care what you do. I love you, Ana. That will never change.”

And he showed her with his body just what he meant.

She woke before he did. She was nestled against his body, cradled back to chest. His arms curled around her, one hand cupping her breast, the other lax against her stomach, and she felt his warm breath against the curve of her neck, stirring tiny tendrils of hair so they bobbed against her throat. She felt warm and protected there, held so tightly against him, as if he was loathe to let her go even in sleep.

Ana opened her eyes, staring into the pale dawn dimness. His fingers twitched against her stomach as if he felt her movement, and he pulled her closer, murmuring against her skin. His body hair was soft against her back and buttocks, coarse where her legs twined with his.

She had never lain with a man like this. Not through the night, not in the soft glow of morning. The men who used her body were always gone within the hour, leaving her alone to watch the sunrise. Sometimes she lay awake and stared at the light spreading across the cheap plaster walls of her room, feeling the warmth of morning move over her—her own private celebration.

Alone. It was how she wanted to be, how she always imagined her life. Not once had she dreamed about lying tangled with a man in the morning, or feeling his warm, possessive hands cradling her body. Not once.

She liked the feeling.

And that frightened her.

Ana closed her eyes again, blocking out the light, letting the darkness creep over her, and with it the panic that had assailed her last night. The panic that she’d let him kiss away. She was amazed at how easily he’d done it. One touch, and she melted. One kiss banished the fear. She had wanted his touch, needed it, because when he touched her there was no emptiness, no loneliness. No darkness.

She was no longer herself, but some stranger. Someone who craved his touch, who believed him when he said “I love you.” Someone who believed that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t hurt her the way she expected to be hurt.

She was someone like her mother.

The words jumped into her mind, unavoidable, undeniable, and Ana tried to blink back the tears behind her eyes. God, she was more afraid than she’d ever been in her life. Afraid because she was weakening, because she felt him touching her, holding her, and the touch was filled with caring even in sleep. Because she was losing control and she didn’t know what to do about it. With Cain, there was no thought, no control. His touch had her aching for more, begging for more. The Duchess—the woman men had been trying to warm for years—had melted, puddled at his feet like an icicle in the sun. Even now, the heat of his fingers on her skin sent an excited tingle racing through her.

Oh, God, what had she done?

She wanted to clear her mind, to think about what to do, how to make this all go away, but she couldn’t stop thinking about last night. Couldn’t stop thinking about the way he made her feel. Heard over and over again the words
I love you. That will never change
.

He was so persuasive, and she was so weak where he was concerned. He loved her, and she knew he would stop at nothing to make her admit she loved him too. But she didn’t know how to love someone back. She didn’t want him to love her, didn’t want him to expect so much from her. The sight of her mother flashed into Ana’s mind; she saw again the excited smile that lit her mother’s face whenever they received a letter from her father, and then the way the light in Mama’s eyes dimmed the moment she read the words: “Not yet, my love. Soon, but not yet…”

How many times had Ana heard those words? How many times had her mother explained them away? Too many times, enough that soon Mama even believed the lies, had gone mad believing them. But Ana never had. She had never believed. All she had seen was pain, insanity—and destruction.

And that was all she believed in now. Cain had said the words. He had told her he loved her, and she believed him. He did love her now, and maybe he would forever. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt her. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t eventually destroy her the way her mother had been destroyed. He might not mean to, but he would.

She knew how much hurt was in “I love you,” even if he didn’t. Love stole from a person, a little at a time, insidiously whittling away, piece by piece until there was nothing left. Love wouldn’t stop—Cain wouldn’t stop—until he consumed her completely.

It was too much to give, even if she’d known how to give it. So she couldn’t give him a chance to ask. She didn’t trust herself anymore to refuse him. Last night had been proof enough of her lack of willpower. She had been swept away by passion and desire, had wanted him so badly she couldn’t think or breathe. She was horribly afraid that if he touched her, it would happen again.

There was only one solution. She had to leave before he had a chance to touch her again.

The thought sank into her stomach like lead. Ana’s throat tightened until she couldn’t swallow. It would be best, she told herself. She already had a life mapped out, a future. San Francisco. Her own house. Independence. The things she had always wanted. The sooner she had them, the sooner she could put this journey and her feelings for Cain D’Alessandro behind her, the sooner she could get on with the life she had always expected for herself.

The life you want.

Yes, she wanted it. A safe, comfortable life without pain or confusion. Without Cain.

It would be best for both of them. He would forget her, and go on, and eventually realize that she wasn’t the right woman for him. He would find someone who could love him the way he deserved to be loved.

Yes, it was better this way. Much better.

Ana blinked back her tears and began to plan.

Cain woke at her movement and lay there while she disentangled herself from his arms. He felt her rise from the bed, heard the light pad of her footsteps across the bamboo mat floor. He opened his eyes and watched her. It was morning already, and she was dimly lit by the sunlight breaking through the crack between the roof and the wall. Her back was to him, her movements graceful as she tossed back the long, thick curtain of her hair and reached for the dress he’d eased past her hips for the second time last night. She shook it out, holding it in front of her for a moment, studying the small tear in the bodice. Then, with a sigh, she stepped into it.

He said nothing as she dressed, liking how relaxed she was when she thought he was asleep, finding a certain voyeuristic pleasure in watching smooth hips disappear beneath cotton pantalets, round shoulders disguised by a lifted sleeve. Christ, she was beautiful. The most beautiful thing in his life. The only beautiful thing.

He wished she hadn’t left the bed so quickly this morning. The slow awakening, feeling her buttocks wiggle into his groin, the slide of her feet past his leg, had brought him into a sleepy, lazy arousal. He wanted to make love to her again. Again and again. Like last night, before they’d fallen into exhausted sleep. He felt as if he could spend his whole life making love to her, hearing her soft moans of excitement, feeling the hot, slick depths of her pulsing around him… Hell, the memories made him instantly hard.

He rose to one elbow, raking a hand through his hair. “Ana,” he said softly.

She tensed and turned to face him, wariness on her face. “Oh,” she said, a small, breathless sound of surprise. “Good morning.”

“Come here.”

She smiled then, a shy, shaking-head sort of smile that made him smile in return. “It’s morning.”

“The best time of day,” he said. “Come here and let me show you.”

“No.” She motioned to the door with a sigh and a limp-wristed wave. “They’re all awake.”

He heard them then, the noises of morning outside the room. Enzo’s childish whining, the low, hurried voices of Juan and Amado and Jiméne preparing to go into the fields, the clank of pottery and the hiss of fire. He heard them, and he didn’t care. “To hell with them,” he said. “I’ll just kiss you quiet.”

She almost laughed, he saw the twitching of her mouth. But then she was somber again. She shook her head, the movement sent her hair flying, made the tear at the neckline of her dress gape a little wider. “It’s late,” she said. “And I promised Dolores I would help with the washing.” She reached back and grabbed the mass of her hair, twisting it with smooth efficiency, searching the room for the leather thong that tied it.

Cain felt a swift stab of regret. She was disappearing already, the passionate woman he had held in his arms all night. The lustrous hair was pulled back, the dress hid her delicate curves, and her eyes were… Cain looked closer, disconcerted. There was something about her eyes, something strange. Suddenly he remembered her fear last night. She’d been frightened and unsure, and though he thought he’d kissed her fears away, he’d been wrong before. Perhaps he hadn’t done enough. Perhaps she was still afraid.

He frowned. “Is something wrong, Ana?”

“Wrong?” She lifted her brow in question. “No, of course not. What could be wrong?”

“I don’t know. Last night you seemed upset. I was just wondering—”

“I’m fine.” She cut him off with swift finality. “You should probably get up too, before Enzo rousts you out.”

Something
was
wrong, but Cain couldn’t put his finger on what. There was no anger in her voice, she wasn’t avoiding him exactly, but there was something about her manner and her words that was different. She was Ana, yet she wasn’t.

He watched her thoughtfully. “We should talk.”

She froze for an instant—so briefly he wasn’t sure he’d even seen it—and then relaxed, spotting the leather tie laying on the table by the bed and reaching for it with studied casualness. “We can talk later if you like,” she said. When he said nothing, she looked at him. “All right?”

He knew he should say no, should insist on talking to her right now, find out what lent the edge to her movements. But it was so elusive, and he knew it might be nothing at all, merely her own confusion. Even he was unsettled after last night. Perhaps she only needed time.

God knew, time was something he had plenty of.

He nodded reluctantly. “We’ll talk later.”

She was visibly relieved. “Good. I”—she motioned to the doorway—“I think I’ll go, then.” She turned, walking across the room, so quickly she was almost to the door before he found his voice.

“Ana.”

She turned, one hand poised on the jamb. “Yes?”

“Don’t I get a kiss good-bye?”

She looked confused for a moment. “A kiss,” she repeated slowly, and Cain could have sworn he saw fear cross her face, though she recovered quickly. “A kiss. Of course.”

She took a deep breath and crossed the room again, stopping just beside the bed. Cain had the feeling she was steeling herself. But just when he decided to pull her down and ask her why, she sat on the edge of the mattress and leaned forward, and he smelled her scent and felt her warmth, saw the gentle jiggling of her breasts against the fabric of her dress and the soft fullness of her lips. The hunger rose in him again, so sharply he could taste it, and he didn’t care anymore about her strange reticence. All he wanted was the kiss.

So he took it. He put his hands on her waist, dragging her forward until she was almost on top of him, and brushed her lips with his. She started to pull away at the light touch, but he tightened his hold. He brought her as close as he could, pressing her lips apart, stroking the sweet warmth of her mouth with his tongue, tasting her, wanting her. Ah, Christ, how badly he wanted her, even now, when they’d made love all through the night. Wanted her just as badly as the first time—more, even, since he knew now what sweetness to expect—

She wrenched away from him, dodging his hands, and Cain opened his eyes in surprise, staring at her. She was shaking; she held her fingers to her mouth as if he’d hurt her, or as if she was startled that he had kissed her at all. He reached out to touch her, but she backed away, moving from the bed, forcing a smile that quivered at the corners of her lips.

“Ana,” he whispered.

She blinked, shook her head slightly. “I have to go,” she said, and spun around, hurrying from the room and him, disappearing into the shadows beyond the doorway.

Damn it, she was trembling.
Trembling
. Ana stopped just outside the door, leaning against the wall so he couldn’t see her, and fought for control. She had not expected him to ask for a kiss, though she should have. He was never content to leave well enough alone; there was always something more he wanted, always something.

She closed her eyes and swallowed, clenching her fists. The problem was, the more he wanted, the more she wanted to give. A light peck she could have managed, but the kiss he’d given her—open-mouthed and erotic—left her shaken and confused, longing for more and hating herself for it. If only he’d simply brushed her lips, the way she thought he was going to.

But Ana suddenly knew with searing certainty that even that wouldn’t have mattered. Even a light kiss would have the same effect. Her senses were tuned to his, her body was no longer her own.

It only made it more imperative that she leave soon. Today, if possible. She would wait until he left the room, take the steamer tickets and go. The only way to escape him was to run, fast and far away, so far away he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t even think about her—

“
Carina
, are you ill?” Jiméne’s voice cut into her thoughts. Ana looked up, realizing she stood in the main room. Dolores, Serafina, and Amado sat at the table, staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. Which wasn’t far from the truth. It wasn’t like her to so totally lose control, and certainly not in front of other people.

It was only another indication of how disconcerting her life had become since Cain came into it.