Mystic Memories (10 page)

She didn’t want to admit that they were both caught in the gripping spell of erotic telepathy.

As the back of her knees bumped the edge of the bed, she reached for the buckle of his belt. The front of his shirt slid down, hampering her mission. She frantically undid the shirt buttons, then shoved the material aside.

Her eagerness fanned the fire between them. His mouth came down harder on her own. His fingers squeezed her buttocks with both pain and pleasure.

She reached once more for his belt, slipping it through the buckle with a slap of leather.

He reacted to the sound as if it were the sharp report of a pistol shot.

She felt him go rigid, saw his emotion in the dark swirl of his mind. Her eyes sprang open—too late to stop what had already been set in motion.

He shoved her backward onto the bed and dropped onto her with a force that knocked the wind from her lungs. Pinning her wrists over her head with one hand, he yanked at her belt with a force that nearly ripped the leather in half.

Startled and frightened, she looked up into his eyes. They weren’t seeing her. They were black as midnight. Angry. Vengeful.

“Blake, don’t—” Squirming beneath him, she pulled her hands free and pushed against his shoulders.

The images bombarded her, rolling in wave after sickening wave.

In her mind she suddenly saw a squalid, candlelit room. Looking down from above, she could see the dark-haired boy. Blake. No more than ten or twelve. Dressed only in short trousers, nothing more. His back flogged and bloodied. Crawling away. Glancing back with terror in his eyes.

Out of the shadows came a cloaked demon. The boy scrambled to escape, only to be dragged backward, his hands clawing at the floor.

No! Oh, dear God, No!
Cara squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the vision of the boy being stripped of his clothing. But she couldn’t stop it. She saw it all. Sobs of pain erupted from her throat.

“BLAKE . . . !” cried Cara, reaching through the black fog of his hideously grotesque memory. Instead of fighting him, she wrapped her arms around him, held him tight against her.

“Don’t do it, Blake,” she whispered between choking tears. “Don’t hurt me the way you were hurt.”

Chapter
6

T
he brutal violence ended as abruptly as it began. Blake’s tense body collapsed onto her. He breathed in great gulps of air, his chest pressing down upon her breasts.

Cara held him until she felt his heartbeat slow to normal. He silently shoved himself off her and got up from the bed, turning away in shame and humiliation. “I can never apologize enough for what I have done.”

“I’m unhurt. And you stopped before—”

“There’s no excuse for my behavior. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You were reliving your past, taking out all the hurt and anger and revenge.”

Caught up in his own private hell—the hell she’d witnessed—he wasn’t hearing her. “How can you ever forgive me?”

“It wasn’t me you were trying to hurt, Blake. I saw it in your eyes. You didn’t know it was me.”

He gave her a bewildered look. “You’re talking nonsense.”

“You don’t remember it, do you?” she asked him as he buttoned his shirt, tucked it into his trousers, and fastened his belt. “You were abused as a child, Blake.”

“Those are ludicrous speculations.” He spoke barely loud enough for her to hear. “I told you I remember nothing.

“Even now?”

“Even now.”

Since they were no longer touching, she couldn’t be certain if he was telling the truth or lying to cover his shame.

“I will return with this shirt as soon as I borrow another from Keoni.” As he started toward the portal, he said over his shoulder, “Lock the door when I leave.”

Surprised by his lack of trust in his crew, she tried to make light of his warning. “And when you return, what will be your special signal so I know it’s you?”

“Two short knocks, a pause, then a third.”

“I was only joking.”

“And I am not.”

An icy finger of dread traced a wicked line down her spine. “In that case, hurry back.”

“I will.”

She started toward the portal to lock it as he had asked, picking up the blanket on her way. As she wrapped herself in it again, the door popped open, startling her. It was only Blake, much to her relief.

“Inside, Bud,” he ordered softly. Without so much as asking her if she wanted the protection of his huge black dog, he let Bud enter the cabin, glancing at her with an odd expression of apology, pain, and confusion.

And suspicion.

Then he closed the door a second time. His voice came back from the other side of the wooden planks. “Lock it anyway.”

Doing as he asked, she shoved the iron bolt with the base of her palm, then looked down at her bodyguard sitting at her feet.

“So you’re supposed to protect me, huh, boy?”

Bud’s tail slowly wagged back and forth, sweeping the polished floor. From the size and shape of his large head, he appeared to be a Labrador Retriever, but she wasn’t sure the breed had been introduced in America yet. The captain might easily have picked up a puppy in his travels, though. It was a beautiful dog with soulful dark-brown eyes. He had an intelligent face, too. She had a special affinity for four-legged creatures, most of whom possessed more unconditional love and compassion than many of the two-legged variety.

As the dog seemed to smile at her, she spoke to him with a playfulness she didn’t quite feel. “I suppose your master taught you how to look sweet and innocent. I bet you aren’t interested in me at all at this moment. You’re just hoping you’ll get some leftovers.”

His tail thump-thumped, sounding a little like the way her heart pounded when Blake . . . Captain Masters, that is. Aw, hell, who was she kidding? Considering the way things had nearly gotten out of hand a few minutes earlier, she may as well be on a first-name basis with the man.

“Okay, Bud, I’ll feed you.” With the blanket wrapped around her, she plopped down at her seat and offered him a small bit of beef from her plate. Despite the dog’s eagerness, he gingerly took the tidbit from her fingers. “Somebody taught you some manners.”

The dog gazed up at her expectantly. She scratched him behind his ear with one hand as she offered more food with the other. He had a calming effect on her.

Unlike his master.

The way things were going, she wondered if she would be able to hold off her own lust for the two days it would take to get to San Diego. As it was, she had hardly made it past dinner.

Her gaze flitted to Blake’s stained jacket lying at the head of the disheveled bed. What had happened there played out fresh in her mind. What had
almost
happened sent a shudder through her tired body. It wasn’t fear or horror she felt, but a deep sadness for the captain who had very nearly raped her when she had been so willing to give him the tenderness and compassion he really wanted, really needed.

Was this how he treated every woman he bedded? No, she couldn’t believe it. This Jekyll-and-Hyde behavior was not the real Blake Masters. From the shock and confusion on his face, she knew he had been as surprised as she. Her questions about the past, her insistence on conjuring up a memory had triggered the darkness in him.

Now that she had pushed him to open that door, would he begin to remember more? Would he have another lapse into violence, more overpowering than this time?

Exhausted tears stung the back of her eyes. She felt completely overwhelmed by her situation—caught in a world that wasn’t her own, uncertain if she would find Andrew, not knowing if she could get home. And now, of all times, her dormant hormones were sounding a bugle call.

The dog nudged her hand with his nose. Looking down at Bud, she sighed heavily. “If you’re here to protect me from the crew, who’s to protect me from the captain?”

Or the captain from me?

Several minutes passed before two knocks at the door of the captain’s cabin drew Cara’s attention away from the dog. Bud got up and trotted to the door, then looked back at her.

“He said three,” she reminded the Labrador as the third rap echoed through the small room. “See?”

Bud seemed to understand perfectly, turning back to stare intently at the door while she went over to unlock it. With the blanket wrapped around her, she needed to be extra careful to keep out of sight of any of the crew who might be able to see into the cabin. Staying behind the door, she opened it wide for Blake to enter.

“That was quick, Captain—Keoni?”

The cook chuckled. “Captain Keoni, hmmm? Sounds good. Maybe I give up da cookin’, eh? Put on da blue jacket and maybe I get a ship of my own.”

Her head popped around the edge of the door to look behind the cook. “Where’s Captain Masters?”

“Not here.”

“I realize that,” she said, slightly exasperated with his all-too-obvious remark. He held up the shirt. She eyed it dubiously from the relative safety of the backside of the door. “Why didn’t he return it himself?”

“Maybe not good idea. Think so?”

His Pidgin English irritated her, especially since she had heard him speak so eloquently earlier. She reached out and took the shirt from him. “Tell your
haole
-captain that this
wahine
thanks him for the hospitality.”

Her quip elicited a huge belly laugh from the
Kanaka
. “
Haole? Wahine?
Good, Mrs. Edwards. Very good.”

“I’m glad you approve. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .” She began to close the door, but he stopped her. “Is there something else? A message from the captain, perhaps?”

Despite his warm smile, Keoni seemed to lose a bit of the humor in his dark eyes. “Captain Masters conveyed his apologies and wished you a good evening.”

“I see.” She did understand his avoiding her, but knowing this didn’t stop the part of her that felt the sting of his rejection. Something had happened between them that was more than physical, more than lust. She had reached through the darkness and touched the depths of his soul, if only for a brief instant. It frightened him. And her.

“Mrs. Edwards? If you don’t mind, I need to collect the dishes.”

“Of course.” Brought back from her thoughts of Blake, she noticed Keoni had dropped the heavy accent of the islands. “Just give me a minute.”

After putting on the shirt, Cara let Keoni inside the cabin to collect the plates, waiting at the open doorway. Bud followed him to the table, obviously hoping for more meat to be thrown his way.

The cook shook his finger at the dog.
“
E hele aku ‘oe i kahi ‘ē!
”

Bud tucked his tail and slunk over to her. She leaned down to console the animal. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him he will be on this platter tomorrow night.”

“You didn’t!” She blanched, then looked up at him as she covered the dog’s ears. “Tonight’s dinner? That wasn’t . . .?”

“
ʻĪlio
? Dog-meat?” The
Kanaka
gave her an impish grin. “
ʻĪlio
good eating.”

“Keoni!” Her stomach churned up more than acid indigestion at the possibility that she had eaten one of man’s best friends. “Tell me you’re lying. Please!”

“Aww—,” he scoffed playfully. “You know how to ruin good joke, lady.”

Cara straightened and walked over to the Hawaiian. He was a good six inches taller than Blake, so she had to tip her head back to look up at him. “Don’t do that to me again, Keoni.”

The grin remained on his face. “You one tough
wahine
, eh?”

“When it’s necessary.”

“Not necessary with me.”

“Oh, I think it’s
mandatory
with you.”

His laughter nearly caused him to drop the dishes in his hands. Chuckling to himself, he set the stacked dishes back down on the table. “Sit. We talk. Get to know each other betta, eh?”

Initially suspicious of his underlying meaning, she gazed into his open face and realized that Keoni was more than a big, handsome Hawaiian with a charming smile and an extra-large dose of self-confidence. Despite the glint of flirtation in his black eyes, she did not feel threatened that he would behave inappropriately toward her. Beyond the taunt and tease, he was respectful of her. Of all women, she sensed.

She stepped back and gestured with a flip of her hand for him to sit down. But she was too restless to take a seat. Instead, she walked over to one of the tiny windows and looked out upon the darkened sea. The sun had gone down, but she hadn’t noticed when.

“What time is it, Keoni?”

“Six bells, ma’am. That would be seven o’clock to you.” His voice came to her in a softer, gentler tone. She glanced back, noticing he hadn’t opted for a chair either. Instead he had perched one hip on the edge of the table, his arms folded across his barrel chest. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing a glimpse of bluish marks on his skin.

She shifted about to face him. “Is that a tattoo like the captain’s?”

He nodded. “It is.”

“You two go back a ways together, don’t you?”

“We do.”

“I thought you said you wanted to talk. Now all I can get out of you are a couple words.”

“I want to get to know you. You get to know me. I didn’t say I would help you get to know my
kaikaina
.”

“Why do you call him that? What does it mean?”

“Little brother.”

“He’s not, is he?”

“
Kanaka?
Would that make a difference to you?”

“Of course not. And if you knew me, you’d know I don’t judge people by their race or color.”

His big shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Tell me more about you, then. I want to know the mysterious widow who washed up on shore.”

“Why? So you can report back to Blake—uh, Captain Masters?”

Her slip did not go unnoticed. The
Kanaka
grinned. “So I can
protect
Blake, Mrs. Edwards.”

“From me?”

“Yes.”

She felt a guilty flush because that had been her recent thought, too. “I’m not here to hurt him. He brought me on board to help me find Andrew.”