Diablo (24 page)

Instinct told her to be careful. She couldn't throw Kane in his face. She heard the jealousy in his voice, the competitiveness. “There's nothing to run from,” she said, forcing a coolness into her voice. “Now, let me go,” she added, finally letting her anger take form, unable to do anything else. He was too strong, and although his hands had released her waist, one had fastened around her arm.

His grip tightened. “Tell me about Diablo,” he said again. “Why is he at your uncle's so much?”

She stopped struggling. If he would loosen his hold, perhaps she could mount and race for home.
Where was Kane?
“They play cards,” she said. “Why are you so interested?”

“Everything about Sanctuary interests me, and the others,” he said. “We pay enough.”

“And you're protected,” she spat back. “That's all you need to know.”

“Some of us think your uncle is losing his grip,” Hildebrand said harshly.

“You think you can do better?”

“He needs help.”

“You?” she asked, unable to control the contempt in her voice even though she knew it was a mistake. It was.

He swung her around, and bent his face toward her. She tried to avoid his kiss, but she couldn't. His lips fastened on hers angrily, and his mouth and tongue tried to force her mouth open. One hand went around her neck, holding her so she couldn't free herself.

She opened her lips and when his tongue entered, she bit down hard. He jerked away, cursing, but his hand stayed around her neck.

“You'll pay for that,” he said as he pushed her to the ground. She tried to kick him, but he pinioned her body and started tearing at her shirt.

“My uncle will kill you,” she gasped.

“I don't think so,” Hildebrand said coldly. “I'm not the only one who thinks it's time for a change. We're all tired of his damn rules.”

His lips came down again on hers, rough and punishing, and this time he didn't give her a chance to bite. She struggled beneath him, reaching out to grab a fistful of hair, yanking as hard as she could. He jerked back, cursing, and the instant her mouth was free, she screamed.

Hildebrand reared back and slapped her, dazing her for a moment. She felt him rip at her shirt again and knew the material had given way. Then he started on her trousers.…

Kane heard the scream. He was upstream, near the place where he and Nicky had made love, and he knew immediately it was she. He spurred his horse into a gallop; wishing he had a gun with him.

The first things he saw as he approached the clearing were the silhouettes of two horses, then, an instant later, he could make out two figures struggling on the ground. One, he knew, was Nicky. And the other …

He slid down from the horse, just as the man twisted from his position on top of Nicky. Kane didn't stop to think. Fury roiled through him as he tore into the larger figure, his fist ramming into a hard-muscled abdomen. He heard the grunt, saw the man double over, and he turned toward Nicky.

“Watch out,” Nicky cried.

Kane turned just as a fist came at him. He was too late to avoid a blow to his face, but he moved with it, and then both of them were on the ground. His opponent's face was close enough now to see: Hildebrand.

Hildebrand was wiry and strong. They rolled over and over, vying for an advantage and neither winning. Hildebrand landed a blow on his shoulder, leaving an opening to his stomach. Kane hit as hard as he could, heard the whistle of Hildebrand's breath as it expelled, then hit him again—harder. Then he landed a crunching blow to the jaw, and one more in the stomach. Hildebrand rolled over in pain, clutching his midsection. He was finished. For the moment, at least.

Kane slowly got to his knees, watching the outlaw closely. Kane had a knife in his boot, and he itched to pull it out and slit Hildebrand's throat, but he didn't. He was damn sick of killing, even scum like Hildebrand.

Kane waited until Hildebrand got to his knees. “Enough,” the outlaw said.

Kane didn't take his eyes from the man. “Nicky?”

“I'm all right,” she said.

“He didn't …”

“No.” Her voice was barely audible.

Kane still didn't allow himself to look at her. Keeping his attention focused on Hildebrand, he said, “Nicky, come here.”

He heard the rustle of grass as Nicky moved beside him. Unlike most women, she didn't demand his comfort or attention. She stood quietly next to him, waiting.

Kane wanted to kill Hildebrand, and what was more, he knew he should. He probably could do it with his bare hands—or with a word to Nat Thompson. He could ask for his guns and shoot the bastard himself, and he knew Thompson would approve.

But he was reluctant to do either. He knew the burden of killing, and Nicky already had one death on her hands. He didn't want to put the responsibility of another on her.

“When are you planning to leave?” he asked Hildebrand.

The man was still holding his stomach, but he managed to get to his feet. “A week or two.”

“Wrong answer,” Kane said. “You go tomorrow with me, and I won't mention this to Thompson.”

“What about her? Will she say anything?”

“Nicky?” Kane's gaze flashed briefly to her.

“No,” she agreed.

Hildebrand's teeth shone in the darkness. “I guess I'm leaving tomorrow then.”

“Get the hell out of here,” Kane said.

Hildebrand took slow steps to his horse, hesitated, then swung into the saddle, spurred the horse and rode out of sight.

Kane waited until the sound of hoofbeats faded. Nicky hadn't moved. She still stood next to him, and he put a hand on her shoulder. He felt her shiver, and he knew it was reaction rather than desire. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, then, in a small voice, added, “He'll try to kill you now.”

“I don't think so,” Kane said. “He doesn't have a gun, and he discovered I'm better than him at fighting.”

“What about later? When he does get a gun?”

Kane wanted to laugh. He didn't have any later. No, Hildebrand was the least of his worries.

“I can take care of myself,” he said.

“That's what I thought about myself,” she said ruefully, moving closer to him.

“Where's that derringer?”

“I left it at home.”

His hand felt her skin where the shirt had been torn away. He thought of Hildebrand's rough hands on her, terrifying her, and for a moment he had to struggle to bring the rage inside him back under control. He felt her tremble again, and all the resistance he might have felt about touching her, holding her, disintegrated. With a murmured sound of comfort, he took her in his arms, holding her tight. Her heart was racing, her whole body trembling.

She looked up at him. “What if he comes back?”

“He won't. He's going to be hurting real bad tonight. And he can't get a gun.” His voice turned harder. “What in the hell are you doing here without one?”

Her hand went up to his face, touching him in the darkness as if she were blind and needed to reassure herself that he was familiar. “I wanted to see you. I saw you headed this way,” she said with characteristic honesty. Kane was both pleased and appalled. She had taken a terrible risk only to see him. Damn it, he wasn't worth it.

“I wasn't planning to stop here,” he lied. “I was out riding, and I heard your scream.”

But she seemed not to hear as she moved even closer to him, and their bodies began to react to each other. Her trembling had stopped, and it had been replaced by a warm and pliant softness. He felt himself grow hard. He'd been aching for days, every time he saw her, or even thought of her. The urgency became nearly unbearable as she stood there in his arms. Still, he forced himself to be gentle, afraid of reminding her of the violence she'd been victim of only minutes ago.

“I wish I had killed him,” he muttered, half to himself.

“No,” she said. “Then I could never remember this place as I want to.”

“How do you want to remember it?”

“Full of magic,” she said. “Magic and wonder.”

The answer touched him. She'd asked so little of him, had offered so much. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Don't let me spoil you on magic,” he said softly. “Or wonder. They are much too rare.”

She was silent for a moment, the silence a communion between them, a sweetness that beggared the first fresh smell of flowers in spring. She was so warm, huddled against him. He felt raw, unable to guard himself.

Finally she said, “You weren't going to say good-bye.”

“No,” he said. He was glad it was too dark for her to see his eyes. She might see altogether too much. “I don't like good-byes.”

Her breath hit his throat, soft and tempting, coming in short, soft sighs. Her hand was touching his face. She had started trembling again lightly, but he didn't want to think it had to do with fear. He wanted to make her safe, forever. His arms tightened around her, and her body melded into his. Her breasts were almost bare, and he felt their softness against his chest. His hand went down to one. He thought maybe she would shy away, especially after Hildebrand's rough handling, and he made his touch tender as he felt her nipple swell and grow taut.

Her hands went around his neck, played with his hair with an intimate possessiveness that stirred him. The ache in his lower regions grew stronger. Don't, he told himself. Run like hell. But her mouth was reaching toward him, and he couldn't move away. He lowered his head slightly, and his lips touched hers, and then the fire exploded between them.

There were remnants of fear in her. He sensed it. It should have cooled him, but it didn't. He wanted to wipe away every memory of any man's touch but his own.

She had said she wanted to remember this place as being full of magic and wonder. He wanted to give both to her. Yet he feared he would also rob her of both.

“I love you,” Nicky whispered.

The words were like a sword through his gut. Yet another part of him rejoiced in them. He had never been loved before. Exquisite agony filled him, and his hands became tentative, uncertain. He knew what he should do. He wasn't sure he could.

“Don't go away,” she said. “I need you.”

He knew instantly that she wasn't referring to his leaving tomorrow. She meant now. But what about tomorrow? And next week? Next month? Damn it to hell, he would work out something with Masters. He had to. He couldn't, wouldn't, give Nicky up.

“Oh God, Nicole,” he said. “I need you, too.” He meant everything the word meant. He'd said it to her a week ago, but then he'd tried to deny that the need was anything but physical. Now he knew how deep it ran.

Her hands touched his face again, but really they were touching his heart. And his heart was woefully in need. He wanted to give her everything she was giving to him.

His kiss deepened as his hands fumbled at her trousers, and then they were loose. Seconds later, his were also off. She lay on the grass, waiting for him. So open. So exquisite. He lowered himself over her, letting his manhood tease her until she cried out, and then he went into her. He felt her arms around him, and then her legs. She knew what to expect now, and any shyness was gone. She was as honest in her passion as she was in all else.

He filled her and felt the tremors, the great shocks of desire rolling through him, but more than that he felt the two of them joining in every way.

I
love you.
The words rolled over and over in his consciousness.
I
love you, too.
But the words stayed locked within him because he didn't have the right to speak them. Still, he tried to convey his love in every other way.

Nicky was drowning in a sea of sensations. Kane had been infinitely gentle until he entered her. And then they both were savage in their needs, in taking and giving. He pushed deep inside her, filling her, and her body moved instinctively in rhythmic circles until they were lost in a primitive dance that was wild and fierce and free. Tremors of ecstasy shook her universe. He
was
her universe. She didn't know anything else except the oneness with him, the incredible expectations that throbbed through her body. His hands moved up and down her hips as his lips devoured hers.

She soared to the heavens and beyond, lost in a sea of emotions and feelings and sensations that tumbled her over and over. And then the heavens exploded, and she felt like a shooting star streaking across the sky, glowing, radiant, free.

She felt his body collapse on her, the sweat that suddenly chilled with the night, the lovely perfume of love-making. She felt all that, and painted it into her mind for all time.

He stilled, and they both lay there, afraid to pierce the quiet and beauty of the night with words—to tarnish the last few seconds with a reality that neither wanted. He was leaving the next morning.

A cool breeze swept over them, drying the dampness of their bodies, and he very carefully rolled away from her and handed her shirt to her. She put it on but didn't button it. Instead, she snuggled down in the crook of his arm and let her fingers crawl over his chest and the dark arrow of hair that led downward. It was fine, that chest. Hard and supple at the same time. She leaned over and trailed her tongue along the outlined muscles, feeling his body tense again.

“Nicole,” he said warningly, but she ignored it.

She couldn't get enough of him. Not now. Not ever. There was still so much exploring to do. “You taste good,” she said.

He chuckled, and she loved the feel of his body rumbling. He didn't chuckle enough. He didn't smile enough. He never laughed. She suddenly wanted to hear him laugh and, feeling inspired, she started playing with the tufts of hair on his chest, tickling, exciting.

“Nicole,” he warned again, but his chest was rumbling even more—and something else was happening a bit lower. She watched with fascination. She had felt him grow hard before, but she'd never actually watched it happen. The wisps of clouds had passed the moon again, leaving her enough dim light to see, and she reached out her hand and touched, feeling the strength of his arousal.