Diablo (18 page)

“Kane?” Her voice again. Tentative.

He swung around, expecting to see her dressed. She was, but only in his shirt. It hung way below her hips, and expanded seductively across her breasts. Long, shapely legs seemed to tremble slightly as she rose to stand. Her hair was tousled, a few pine needles clinging to the curls that framed her face. She was the most enchanting sight he'd ever seen.

“Get dressed,” he said in a strangled voice.

“Not until you tell me what's … wrong,” she said. “If you're so damn worried about my uncle, he won't care much for you leaving me out here.” There was anger in her voice now, as well as a plea.

“I can carry you back.”

“Like this?”

“I can dress you.”

“I'll just take it back off.”

Despite his frustration, his lips cracked slightly. She would, too. He could always tear a piece of cloth from his shirt and tie her, but he imagined she would be a wildcat on the way home. He supposed that was one of the things that he liked about her. She didn't give an inch. She hadn't the first time they met, or when she was defending her brother against Yancy. Just like tonight. She simply didn't know how to do anything halfway.

The mere thought made his blood run hot again. She would be as passionate in lovemaking as she had been in defending her brother. And then he felt that splash of ice-cold water again. He was worse than Yancy. At least Yancy had been honest about what he wanted.

“I told you,” he said finally. “I'm no good for you. I can't offer you a damn thing. Not a future. Not a day beyond tonight.”

“I didn't ask you to offer anything.”

“Your uncle would,” he said wryly. “He's not a man who would take … this lightly.”

“My uncle has nothing to do with this.”

“He has everything to do with it. He loves you, Nicky.”

“He wants you to stay. He would approve.”

“And you? Do you want to stay here forever?”

She was silent for a moment, and he knew then she had also thought of escape.

“If you were here,” she said, “I would.”

He felt humbled again. He remembered her that first day on the hill, how she had gazed toward the mountains. There had been longing in that look.

“The law's going to find this place one of these days,” he said flatly.

“Uncle Nat doesn't think so. If they do come, we can get away,” she countered. She hesitated. “There's a way out only a few know about.”

Kane's heart stopped. “Where?”

“I'll show you one day,” she said. “But no one could find us. We could go to somewhere far north. Maybe even Canada. Uncle Nat's talked about that … and California.”

“I travel light,” he said curtly.

“I can, too.”

“What about Robin?”

She paused then, bowed her head. “I can't leave Robin.”

“No,” he said softly.
And I can't leave Davy.

“He can go with us.” Hope enriched her voice.

“And be an outlaw? On the run?” He heard the weariness in his own voice. He saw her head droop slightly.

“You're not going to take Uncle Nat's offer, are you?”

He couldn't answer her truthfully. If he turned down the offer, Nat Thompson would wonder why. He had to lead Thompson on and the only way to do that was to lead Nicky on. His stomach turned at the thought.

“I have some obligations to take care of,” he said.

“A … woman?”

“Yes,” he replied and watched her face crumple. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. “The wife of a man who rode with me. I told him I would make sure she was taken care of.”

“He's dead?”

Kane didn't answer for a moment. “He's in prison,” he said gruffly. Christ, why did he say that?

“I'm sorry,” she said. “He must … mean a lot to you.”

“He's like a brother,” Kane said. “His family took me in when my father died.”

“When was that?” she asked softly.

He shrugged, not wanting to even think back to those days.

“That must have been terrible,” she said. “I remember when my father died.”

He stared down at her. “It was the best day of my life,” he said emotionlessly.

Nicky's eyes opened wide with questions.

Kane shrugged again. “He hated me from the day I was born, because my ma died, just like Robin's. He meant to name me after the Cain in the Bible, but he couldn't read or write, and the preacher who prayed over my mother wrote it wrong in the Bible. He told someone later he didn't think it right that a boy be named Cain.” He shrugged. “Diablo's not all that far from Cain, is it? So maybe my father was right all those years ago.”

She moved against his chest. He felt her through the cloth of his shirt. Her light scent mingled with his. “He wasn't right,” she whispered, lifting her mouth to his. Her eyes were full of empathy. Understanding. Love. He'd been able to deny it minutes earlier, but now …

His lips crushed down on hers, trying to prove she was wrong. He
was
the devil. He was
her
devil. Goddammit, he was his own devil.

The kiss was punishing, rough, desperate. But she didn't move. She only seemed to absorb that anger, to take it on herself. He tore his mouth from hers. “Run,” he rasped out. “Run like hell.”

She shook her head. “I can't.”

“Then we're both damned,” he said and crushed her to him, no longer able to deny his need for her. The fires were out of control.

Nicky knew the moment he surrendered. She knew how he felt. She felt the same hopelessness of inevitably, irresistibly, sliding into a sea of disaster and pain. Despite her earlier brave words about not caring about the future, a small child's voice inside warned her; how could she pass on the fear and grief and loneliness she'd felt most of her life? One time, she assured herself. One time to explore these feelings, to know what it was to be a woman. Just one time.

And when his hands touched the back of her neck and his lips caressed the throbbing pulse in her neck, she was as helpless as he to stop. If she were damned, then so be it.

His hands were gentle as he lowered her to the ground again, as fingers eased her shirt back, and his hands slid along her body with a possessiveness that thrilled her. Anticipation throbbed deep inside her, and his gentleness turned to urgency as his hands touched her woman place.

Her body arched up at the unfamiliar touch, at the unexpected sensations his fingers aroused. She felt a wetness, then waves of exquisite desire. Her hand went to his chest, touching the hair with fascination. Her fingers seemed to be drawn downward to where his trousers were bulging. They undid the buttons, even as her body was writhing with his increasingly intimate touches.

“Nicole,” he groaned as she touched the man part with wonder.

So large. So smooth. So mysterious. As she felt his hand doing exotic things to her, she caressed him, wondering whether their feelings were the same, whether he felt this … building of pleasure, the promise of something so splendid she heard her own spontaneous sounds.

He moved, his hands leaving her private place and his body hovering over her. The tension in his body seem to vibrate in the air as his man part touched her, teased until she whimpered with a need she didn't entirely understand.

And then there was pain, sharp, excruciating pain, but it didn't stop the want, the overwhelming need in her. The pain faded, as did the strangeness of his body becoming part of hers. Her body started responding, reacting on its own, singing its own song as if it had been made specifically for him.

As waves upon waves of new sensations washed over her, she was amazed at the instinctive knowledge of her body, the pure beauty of their mating. He penetrated deeper and deeper into her, and her body started moving with his. He was reaching so far inside, becoming so much a part of her, she imagined their souls touching.

And then she couldn't think at all. She was soaring like a hawk toward the sky, reaching for the sun. And then the explosion came, the splendid explosion that erupted inside her, sending sensation after sensation roaring through her like great fireballs. She went still, in awe of her body, in awe of him.

Kane rolled her on top of him, his hands going around her protectively. “Did I hurt you?” he asked in an anguished whisper. She answered with a kiss, one that handed her heart over to him.

He was silent for a long time, just holding her, her heart against his heart. And then he eased her over and rose slowly. She was still wearing his shirt, but he was naked, the two of them having pulled off his trousers. She slowly got to her feet, aware of his gaze on her.

“You are so lovely,” he said. “I'll always remember you like this.”

She took his hand and nibbled on it. He sounded as if it were good-bye. It couldn't be good-bye. She wouldn't allow it to be good-bye. She wouldn't let him say the words, because then they wouldn't be real.

“Nicole—”

“No,” she said. “I don't want to talk now. I just want to feel.”

He was silent again, but she felt the tension in him again. She didn't know why it was so strong. She knew he wasn't afraid of her uncle, no matter what he said. She knew he didn't feel he had much of a future, but she didn't care.

That was a lie.
She did care. Desperately. The very possibility of losing him was agonizing.
We're both dammed:
his words just minutes ago. Why? He wished she understood some of his secrets. She wished he would share some of his demons with her, that she could share hers with him.

She tried to shake away her sudden apprehension, push away her own doubts. She knew she loved him. She also knew he cared about her. But did he love her? Enough to stay at Sanctuary? He was in grave danger anywhere else. And if he did stay, what would happen to any children they might have? To Robin?

Nicky leaned her body against him, her head against his chest so he wouldn't see a tear she felt sneaking from her eyes. Her fingers wandered across his chest, entwining themselves in the dark hair that angled down toward his stomach. Feeling him tremble under her touch, she turned her head up and looked at him, hoping the tear had disappeared against his skin. “I love you,” she said simply.

Pure anguish ripped across his face. She couldn't see his eyes in the shadows, but she felt his pulse move in his neck. Her fingers went up and touched his eyes, and she felt a wetness there.

And she knew. She knew he loved her, too, even if he wouldn't admit it. She moved slightly so her lips could touch his, and she tried to tell him what was in her heart. But the anguish didn't leave his eyes, nor did the tension leave his body.

That anguish seeped into her, building on her own apprehension, her own fears. The silence was suddenly heartrending. And ominous.

Kane didn't say anything, though. He held her for a moment, then gently disengaged her. He helped her dress, then assisted her into the buggy. He didn't touch her on the way back to Sanctuary, but her hand moved to his leg, and he didn't try to remove it.

When they reached the stable, Andy was waiting there, his face carefully composed. “Hear you might be staying,” he said as he took the reins as Kane helped Nicky down. She held her breath.

“I might,” Kane said, and Nicky's heart swelled with a bittersweet mixture of hope and anxiety. It was the first indication he'd given that he was considering Uncle Nat's offer. What then of Robin?

She wished she could wipe away that nagging worry as Kane took her hand and led her to the porch of her house. He leaned down and kissed her lips. Lightly.

Then he straightened. She couldn't read his eyes in the dark of the evening. She couldn't read his heart, either. She suddenly felt cold. She wanted assurances. She needed them. But his mouth was set in a grim line. She could see that, and she wished she hadn't.

“Kane?”

His hand touched her cheek. Briefly. “Thank you,” he said simply, then turned and strode away.

Chapter Twelve

Ben Masters looked forward, now, to his visits to the Blazing Star. More specifically, he looked forward to seeing Mary May Hamilton. He told himself she was a good contact. She must know everything that transpired in the saloon, and he was reasonably sure the saloon was where Kane O'Brien had made contact with Sanctuary.

He had avoided asking many questions, particularly any pertaining to Sanctuary. Questions raised suspicions. He'd hoped that simply keeping his ears open would accomplish the same result. It hadn't. No one spoke of Sanctuary. But Mary May's interest in him gave him an excuse for questions. He'd made them impersonal, at first. During the next weeks, they had become increasingly more personal.

Ben had never been a lady's man. His father had been a lawyer in Chicago and had wanted him to be a lawyer. Because Ben had sought his father's approval, he'd studied law and joined the family practice. He'd never had time to court, and it wasn't until he was nearly thirty that he'd taken the time to fall in love. Clara Schaffer had been beautiful, deceptively so, and Ben had fallen miserably in love. He became engaged a few days before the war started. At the urging of Clara but against his father's wishes, he enlisted. Most of all, though, he joined because of principle. He detested slavery and held those who owned slaves, and those who fought for slavery, in contempt.

In the three years that followed, he developed a new respect for his opponents' courage. The day Kane O'Brien had saved him, he realized his lifelong belief in black and white, good and evil, didn't work in the real world.

His wounds had been severe. He'd returned to Chicago to recuperate; he'd been on crutches then, and the doctors didn't know how, or if, his leg would heal. He drank too much to forget the pain, the death, the blood, and he'd had terrible nightmares and an even worse temper. Clara finally eloped with a banker who'd safely spent the war in Chicago. Two months later, his father died of a heart attack, and his leg had healed enough for him to return to duty.