The Disenchanted Duke Page 12

As he kissed her, his head spinning out of focus, Max slipped his hands to her breasts. Touching the soft flesh filled him with deep, urgent desire that threatened to overpower both of them.

  He wanted her, had wanted her possibly from the very first. Because she'd sparked him with her courage, her fire, her determination and go-to-hell attitude. He had never met anyone quite like her. And this frailty he'd uncovered within her...

  Abruptly Max reined himself in.

  He couldn't take advantage of this vulnerability within her, couldn't take advantage of her. He wasn't his father. The very thought, the very fear that he could be, that he could turn into the very man he'd loathed for so long, had haunted him through all of his adolescent and adult life.

  Like some kind of giant roadblock, it had impeded his life.

  Fear of turning into his father had kept him from ever becoming serious with any woman he'd been interested in. Because he could not risk the chance that he would ever do to any woman what his father had done to his mother. He'd sworn that on his mother's grave so many years ago. The only way he knew how to keep that promise was to never become involved with a woman for more than a night.

  This night, a small voice within him whispered. Make it this night.

  But he would be thinking only of himself, not of her. And it was her that he was concerned about.

  As difficult as it was, as much as he wanted her, Max drew back and looked at Cara's face.

  "You're sure?"

  Cara didn't want to say anything, didn't want to have to think about it, about anything. She wanted only to drown her thoughts in a river of reaction. Reaction to his kindness, to his masculinity, to the very real, physical pull she felt.

  That she had been feeling all along.

  Words, thoughts would only ruin the moment. Would only drag reality in. And reality was cold.

  "Shhh," was all Cara said as she framed his face with her hands and drew his mouth to hers.

  He wanted to stop her, wanted to be sure that she would have no regrets when this was over, but he had no power to draw on.

  She'd drained it all away.

  All he wanted to do was make love with her. Until there was no night left. Until the tears on her cheeks had evaporated as if they never existed.

  He could feel her heart racing along with his, could feel her breasts rising and falling tantalizingly against his chest. He lost the battle before he ever reached for a sword.

  He was hers.

  Max didn't remember undressing her, couldn't recall how his own clothes disappeared. All that occurred in a distant, obscure haze. All he was sure of was that she was too hard to resist and he would disintegrate in the fire of his own making if he couldn't have her.

  Garments flew off, torn away by an urgency that had seized them both.

  He caressed her body as if it was something that wasn' t altogether real, but fashioned out of his deepest fantasizes.

  Cara felt beautiful to the touch and he longed to touch her, to discover all the places that gave her pleasure, because her pleasure was his.

  Max was careful not to go too fast, even though every fiber of his being urged him to. He didn't want to frighten her, wanted to leave a door open, just a crack, no matter what it cost him, for her to be able to pull away if she suddenly changed her mind.

  He couldn't take her if she did.

  He prayed she wouldn't.

  She didn't.

  Instead she seemed to be on fire, her body radiating heat at every movement.

  When he went slowly, she twisted her body beneath his, tantalizing him, her fingers lightly feathering along his rib cage, his back, his hips.

  She had, he realized, absolutely no idea of the power she wielded, no concept of what she could do to a man just by the light press of her lips to his body.

  He moaned as she pressed her lips urgently beneath his chin, her tongue lightly gliding along his throat. His arms tightened around her, needs battering at him at every turn.

  "A man can only hold back so long," he told her, his breathing heavy, his head and senses filled with the scent of her.

  "Then don't." She whispered the invitation against his skin.

  The last of his control snapped like a dried twig caught within a raging inferno.

  Rolling Cara from him and onto her back, he drew his body over hers. As he kissed her almost senseless, he coaxed her legs apart with his knee, anticipation racing through his body.

  And then, watching her eyes for a sign that she suddenly regretted what was happening, seeing only his own features reflected there, Max slowly lowered himself, filling her.

  He heard Cara gasp his name, felt her close around him, her body moving seductively.

  Max began to move, first slowly, then more urgently as her hips fit against his and mimicked the movement, the harmony that had captured them both and now held them tightly together in its grip.

  His heart racing at an ever-increasing tempo, Max threaded his fingers through hers, locking both hands tightly over her head. Reality faded away to less than a pinprick as he drove them over the ridge to a place they both desperately wanted to go.

  Chapter 11

  She'd screwed up.

  Royally.

  There was no reason, Cara thought as she quickly pulled on her clothes, for her to have fallen apart like that last night. She'd had that nightmare before, had lived through that nightmare and managed to go on.

  Why had she crumbled like some stale, forgotten-about cookie this time?

  It was his fault. All Ryker's fault for being so damn nice to her.

  Gathering up her things in the room, Cara glared at the man who was still asleep in the bed. It was all his fault for sensing exactly what she needed and providing it for her so that she had no control, no anger to fall back on and keep her strong.

  Well, she was angry now. Plenty angry. With herself, with him. With the whole damn world.

  For two cents, she'd walk out that door and leave him here. She could tell the sheriff that there had been a change in plans and she was going on alone with the prisoner. No reason in the world not to believe her.

  Determined, Cara took a step toward the door.

  And then stopped.

  She sighed. Ryker had given her his word back at the gas station that he wouldn't leave her while she went and changed and he hadn't.

  Frustrated, she dragged her hand through her hair, torn. Was her word worth less than his?

  No, damn it, it wasn't. It was just that...just... It was understood between them that she wouldn't try to take the prisoner. Was her tacit word less than his?

  More angry with herself than ever, she dropped the things she was carrying on the floor and turned back around. Only to find Ryker sitting up in bed, watching her. The blanket was strategically planted on his torso, but not so strategically that it could make her forget or block out the hard body that she damn well knew was just beneath it.

  Her mouth suddenly went annoyingly dry.

  Max's lips curved in amusement. "Change your mind about leaving?"

  She squared her shoulders. There was nothing she hated more than being second-guessed. Or being predictable. "And if I haven't?"

  She had. She'd already given herself away by the way she'd hesitated at the door. "You'd be surprised how fast I could get out of this bed and get dressed." ">

  Standing where she was, Cara arched one knowing brow. "Get lots of practice with irate husbands coming home unexpectedly?"

  Max looked at her, trying to figure out what was going on in her head. By the expression on Rivers's face, he judged that she had rebuilt some of the barriers that had been taken down last night.

  "I've never made love to anyone's wife," he told her simply.

  Cara believed him.

  She had no idea why. There was no reason for her to believe that a man who looked the way he did, who despite his chosen profession had raw charm coming out of every pore, would draw the line about the type of willing women he would take to hi
s bed. But she did.

  It made him more honorable. She didn't want to like him. It made things harder for her.

  "Hooray for you," she said crisply. She looked down at the things she'd dropped, her purse, the small bag with the change of clothes. "We need to get going if we're to stay on schedule."

  They were back in their corners, he thought, with an entire boxing ring between them. Maybe it was better that way. Last night she'd opened up a door to things that were better left untouched as far as he was concerned. He didn't like being confronted with feelings that weren't cut-and-dried.

  He'd never liked things getting any more complicated than they already were and bringing this prisoner back to his uncle and Montebello was complicated enough for him right now.

  "Be right with you, Rivers," he promised, hurrying out of bed. Max heard her suck in her breath and turned toward her, his discarded pants in his hand. Amusement teased his mouth as he looked at her expression. "Something wrong?"

  Cara gritted her teeth together. Damn him. Ryker looked even better in the daylight than he had last night. Last night she hadn't really looked, only reacted. The full impact of his body hadn't completely registered.

  It did now and she could feel adrenaline beginning to race through her. Could feel color beginning to heat her cheeks.

  She turned away, pretending to be impatient. Pretending not to suddenly be getting very, very warm.

  "Nothing," she snapped. "Just hurry up. We've still got five hundred miles to cover before we get to Shady Rock and in order to get the bounty, we need to get there before tomorrow."

  "Ah, the bounty. Right."

  She resented the almost mocking tone he took. Probably didn't know what it meant to do without, she thought. Probably had women paying his way all along.

  "Then I guess we'd better get going," he agreed, coming up behind her.

  Cara stiffened. He couldn't have possibly gotten dressed that fast. And if he hadn't, if he was standing there behind her in all his glory, she wasn't entirely sure she could make it out the door.

  No matter what her feelings were about the rest of it, about what had happened last night, there was no way she could deny that Ryker was one magnificent specimen of manhood.

  Cara realized that she was holding her breath just as he circled around and came to stand in front of her. The rat was dressed.

  Reaching for the door, Max looked at her innocently. "Well?"

  Grabbing her things, Cara yanked open the door and sailed passed him without deigning to give him so much as a single glance.

  * * *

  They were on the road an hour later. Cara would have preferred to be gone sooner, but Mrs. Adler had refused to let either of them leave without making what she called a small breakfast.

  Martha Adler was of the old school and felt that breakfast was the most important meal of the day —and the more of it you had, the better. She also insisted on packing a substantial lunch for them "in case you don't find a good place to stop along the road."

  In less than a couple of hours, Cara felt closer to Mrs. Adler than she ever had to any of her foster mothers.

  Martha embraced them both before sending them on their way. Cara knew that it didn't make any sense, but she felt as if she were leaving behind family.

  "Nice woman," Max commented once they were outside the house.

  The sheriff beamed with pride at the compliment. "The best."

  Cara could only agree.

  * * *

  The road from La Cuchara Del Oro to Shady Rock was marked with sun, heat and huge pockets of silence that the music from the car radio did nothing to dispel.

  Because Cara appeared to need to work things through, Max let her take the wheel when they left the sheriff's office with Weber in tow.

  He lived to regret it.

  She drove like a bat out of hell, taking her aggressions out on the empty road. Small towns whizzed by, mere blurs in the rearview mirror.

  As long as the road was level and there were no cars traveling in either direction, he silently argued with himself, they were safe enough—barring a blowout. From either tire or woman, Max qualified.

  After two hundred miles had gone by, Max found himself wanting to talk to her, to slowly broach the subject of what had been, he judged for both of them, not a night to carelessly throw away.

  But that kind of a discussion, even in part, didn't belong within the confines of a car that was being shared by their mutual prisoner.

  So he kept his peace and waited for the journey to be over.

  They ate on the road and stopped only twice. Each time Cara got back behind the wheel. He was beginning to think of it as her car.

  "Sure you don't want me to take over?" he asked as they got in after the second gas station stop.

  Her hands tightened around the wheel and she peeled out. "I'm sure. You've taken over enough."

  He knew she wasn't talking about driving, but there as nothing he could do, other than keep his own counsel. For the time being, he did.

  She wasn't the only one who needed to work a few things through.

  * * *

  They reached Shady Rock, Colorado, just a hairbreadth before six o'clock in the afternoon. Max looked around as they entered the town. For all the world, it looked almost exactly like half a dozen other towns they had just passed along the road. A general store, a gas station, a diner and a sheriff's office, with several scores of houses and some apartments thrown in for good measure.

  It didn't look like much, but he kept that thought to himself, along with everything else he'd wanted to say. At the moment, he didn't feel very diplomatic. He was hot, tired and not exactly in the best of spirits. Beside him, Weber was beyond surly, cursing at them in a language that Max surmised was entirely unfamiliar to Cara.

  But not to him.

  Cara glanced over her shoulder at Weber after his latest outburst. The papers she had in her purse from the bondsman gave her no particulars on the prisoner's background. All she knew was that he was guilty of burglary.

  But she was beginning to suspect that there was more to it. Especially since he was wanted in another country.

  "If that guy's real name is Weber," she commented to Max as she pulled his car up in front of the sheriff's office, "I'll eat my hat."

  Max got out first and rounded the trunk. No longer handcuffed to the prisoner, he reached in through the partially opened window and unlocked one handcuff from the strap.

  "You don't have a hat," he pointed out.

  "I'll buy one."

  They were home, she thought. There was no feeling of finally having arrived, but this was as much home as any place she'd lived in. Shady Rock was where her travels had brought her. Where her longing for stability had propelled her once she had discovered that the only person who had ever mattered in her life, Bridgette Applegate, had returned here to live out the rest of her years in the house where she had grown up.

  Cara had envied Bridgette that, having somewhere to retreat to that contained warm, heartening memories of her childhood. Her own childhood had been scattered across three states and far more towns than she cared to ever remember.

  "Got him?" she asked Max.

  He held up the handcuff that was now snapped onto his wrist.

  She had a flashback from last night, remembering the way his hand had felt along her flesh. Warm, soothing. Gentle.

  She shook off the memory and turned on her heel. Leading the way, she breezed into the sheriff's office. The man looked as if he was preparing to go home.

  "Hi, Bryce, I've got him. Just like I promised."

  Sheriff Bryce Allen looked up from his desk, his prematurely lined face wreathing in a smile once he realized who had walked in. Sharp brown eyes washed over the tall man with her before Bryce turned his attention to the woman he had come to respect a great deal in the last three years. She didn't look the part, but Cara Rivers was the best damn tracker he'd ever come across.

  "Knew you'd bring him back, Ca
ra." He rounded his desk, picking up the keys to the cell in the back. "You're like one of those damn Canadian Mounties, except a lot better looking." He winked at her, then glanced toward the tall, thin young woman sitting at the desk on the side. There was a phone with several lines lit on her desk but she was ignoring them, her face buried in a magazine. "Look alive, Alice, time to earn your paycheck and do a little paperwork."

  Alice Horton, secretary and chief dispatcher for the Shady Rock Sheriff's Department, tore her gaze away from the story about the latest Hollywood divorce she was reading and looked at the sheriff. She wasn't supposed to call him Uncle Bryce here, although it was that very connection that had landed her this job in the first place.

  She also looked, for the first time, at the three people who had entered the office.

  The magazine she was reading slid from her limp fingers, falling to the tall, precariously stacked pile of magazines that were tilted haphazardly against her desk. Magazines that dealt with people who led lives that were far more exciting and glamorous than hers.

  Her mouth was already hanging open. Somehow, clutching the arms of her chair, Alice somehow managed to rise to her feet.

  "You're him." The words dragged themselves across an entirely dried throat. She began to pick up speed. "Tell me you're him. You've got to be him, you look just like him," she all but squealed. Her head swiveled around toward her uncle. "It's him. He's here."

  The sheriff had seen her like this before, so star-struck that she was completely incoherent, like the time that country singer's bus broke down right outside of town. She'd been a babbling idiot for more than a week after that.

  But as far as he knew, there was no rock star, no movie star within a fifty-mile radius, give or take a few miles.

  "Alice, what the hell are you babbling about?"

  She pointed one slightly chipped, red-tipped fingernail at Max. She looked at the sheriff incredulously. "Don't you know who he is?"

  "Yes," Cara quipped. "A royal pain in the butt."

  "Royal," Alice echoed. "He's royal all right." Alice's eyes were in jeopardy of bugging out as she stared at Cara. "How could you not know?"

  Cara fished out the handcuff keys and unlocked the cuff that was on Max, snapping it in place around Weber's other wrist instead. She gave the man a push to move him in the sheriff's direction.