Night Child, page 11
"She was a ballerina, too. She..."
"Please, Kirk, a mother's love is something I'm not sure I can believe in. I know she gave you the money, and you risked your life to save me. I want you to thank her, but I want you to tell her, that for now, I—I don't want to see her."
Thank her! He thought of Mercedes. Of all the years she had suffered not knowing if her only daughter were dead or alive. He understood too well that kind of loss. How would he ever make Mercedes understand that the daughter she had never forgotten wanted nothing to do with her?
"Dawn, the Jacksons are wonderful people, the most wonderful people I've ever known. They stood by me when my own family—"
"Don't you see? New York is all I know. I've fought so hard for my life there. I—just can't go back. Not yet... I'm not her little girl anymore. I don't remember her at all. I would be too afraid ..."
Her voice trailed away and they lay together not speaking, both of them numb and exhausted from the wrenching emotional upheaval. Both of them set against each other in this.
Dawn began to sob quietly. "Tell her, please...make her understand how hard it would be for me to go back."
Kirk held her so tightly she could hardly breathe, but the pain in his own heart was as thick and smothering as hers. There was nothing on earth he would not have done for her, so deep were his feelings for her. Who knew better than he how difficult it could be to trust in love? And yet, Jeb Jackson was as dear to him as a brother. Mercedes, dearer than his own mother. Wayne, Nick... Kirk loved them all.
"I don't know if I can find a way to make her understand," he whispered, his voice low with torment.
Then he kissed Dawn and touched her and caressed her until he ignited a wild keening passion in both of them, a passion that brought such joy, that all the pain was blotted out.
The morning was soft and gray and wet. The window was ajar, and sounds from the river traffic sifted inside.
She was on top of him when he awoke, as always. Only this was different. She was softer, more beautiful than ever before, and the erotic feelings she aroused in him were infinitely more tender. Not only the sex, but their talk in the middle of the night, had touched him deeply.
Kirk had meant to get up first and leave her while she was still asleep, but that was impossible now. If he moved, she would awaken. So he lay still and savored the warmth and contentment of their bodies touching, the silken coil of her limbs tangled with his. It was strange how much more enjoyable it was to hold her like this in his arms now that he had made love with her. The tormenting hunger for her was gone, but she seemed infinitely sweeter and more precious.
He understood why she was afraid of going back, afraid of disappointing Mercedes, afraid of finding out for sure she could never go back, that she was truly alone. He knew all about that kind of fear, the fear of opening up your heart. And yet he had to find a way to make her change her mind.
He remembered the long night of passion with a flicker of male pride. How many times...
He had lost count. But each had seemed more wonderful than the last. He had wanted her as he'd never wanted another woman, and she'd given herself to him with an eagerness that had astounded him.
No wonder it was so late. He was amazed he hadn't died.
He told himself that he had to break it off, quickly, easily as soon as she awoke.
He lay awake for more than an hour, enjoying the way she cuddled up to him so trustingly in her sleep. Everything about her had become a pleasure to him. Even lying with her when he was wide awake and had a million things on his mind.
When her lashes fluttered drowsily, a terrible sadness gripped his heart.
"Kirk," she whispered, holding on to him.
He looked into her eyes and was dazzled by her beauty and by some indefinable pull of emotion. The time had come for goodbye.
Her fingertip touched his lip, shushing him even before he spoke.
"Stay with me today," she said. "Just one day..."
It was wrong to even consider it, but what was one day out of two lifetimes?
A radiant drowsy smile broke across her face. "Please." With her warm fingertip, she traced the outline of his sensual mouth.
One day with her meant everything, he thought, opening his mouth so that her finger could touch his teeth.
One day meant one more night.
Twenty-four hours to store up a lifetime of memories.
He meant to say no or goodbye, but he heard a rough voice he didn't recognize as his own promise, "Okay. One day."
"And one night," she replied happily, seductively, her expression that of a delighted wanton.
"Who says we have to wait until it's night?"
He nipped her finger and she pulled it from his mouth.
Her eyes were sparkling. "You mean... right now?"
In answer, he lowered his black head, and his tongue traced a burning trail from her breasts to her navel to the warmth inside her thighs, and she cried out.
"Oh, don't touch me. Don't look at me there!" But her fingers were in his hair, pulling him closer.
"I want to touch you, to taste you, to look at you there," he growled.
He could feel her quivering. She arched herself against him with a moan.
God, she was hot. Hotter than any woman he had ever had, and she made him hotter than he'd ever been before.
When it was over she lay in his arms, blushing as she remembered the things he had done to her, the things she had done to him.
Beside her, with her black hair streaming across the glistening muscles of his chest, Kirk was more content and at peace than he had been in years. Her body enchanted him with its exhilarating passion, and yet what he felt for her went so much deeper than sexual desire. Last night when she'd told him softly that she did not blame him for what had happened, that she knew it wasn't his fault she'd been kidnapped and her childhood stolen, he hadn't guessed those lightly spoken words could mean so much to him. But they did.
The sun wasn't shining, but never had a morning seemed more gloriously new and golden. He felt freed of a lifetime of guilt. Even if she wasn't ready to accept her family yet, for him the nightmare was over.
She had freed him. Julia Jackson no longer held him in thrall.
He was free.
At last.
He could go on with his own life.
He thought of Mercedes. Dawn would have to change her mind about that. It was only that the idea of a mother and a family were so new.
He was free.
Never again would he allow anything or anyone to possess him.
Tomorrow he would put her on a plane, and he would be a free man.
The phone rang in the middle of that satisfying thought, and when she didn't move he reached across the beautiful naked woman in his arms and answered it.
"Dawn?" The man's imperious tone was both questioning and possessive, and Kirk bristled.
"She's right here," Kirk drawled, a fierce note of possession in his own voice as he reluctantly handed her the phone.
"Who the hell was that?" both men demanded at the same time.
Lincoln's voice was being blasted into the room by some sort of speaker, so that Kirk could hear every word, and Dawn had no idea how to cut it off. Lincoln could probably hear Kirk as well.
She bolted guiltily upright in bed. "It's just Kirk." Then she glanced toward Kirk who had rolled onto his side and was staring pointedly at the delicious display of her bare breasts, and she blushed. "I—I mean Mr. MacKay, the man who saved me."
"So it's Mr. MacKay now," Kirk said with a contemptuous smirk.
"I mean... Oh, hell..." She twisted the tail of her sheet into a tangle of wrinkles.
"It's only 7:00 a.m. your time. What's MacKay doing there at this..."
Dawn was so used to Lincoln ordering every aspect of her life, that it was a novelty to discover that she suddenly resented it.
Kirk's green eyes blazed. "What the hell does he think I'm doing?" Both men awaited her reply with equal interest.
She clenched the receiver, and her fuming silence was the most eloquent of answers.
"Listen to me, Dawn. I know you're grateful and all," Lincoln began.
"Grateful?" Kirk chuckled. "I'd say that what you felt was a lot hotter and more exciting than gratitude."
"Gratitude has nothing to do with it," she whispered heatedly into the receiver.
"If anyone is asking me," Kirk began, "I'd say it was pure unadulterated lust."
"They're not asking you!" Dawn hissed at Kirk.
"You don't know a damn thing about men," Lincoln's voice thundered. "Especially not a man like him."
"Why don't you tell Mr. Wilde how much you've learned since you last saw him, princess?"
"Would you shut up?" she whispered to Kirk, covering the receiver.
"What?" Lincoln demanded, furious.
"Not you!"
"Dawn, you don't owe that MacKay scoundrel anything. Send him packing. At once."
"He saved my life!"
"He was paid to do it. Tell him goodbye, and get on the first plane back to New York."
"I know you mean well, Lincoln," she replied softly, "but..."
"The hell he does!" Kirk grabbed the phone and slammed it down on the receiver. "Where does that bastard get off telling you how to run your life? He treats you like he thinks you're five years old."
"I'm his dancer."
There was an instant's silence. Emerald eyes touched hers.
Kirk's hand caressed her long beautiful throat. Then he tilted her face so he could inspect it.
"But you're my woman," he murmured huskily, his rage gone.
They each seemed to realize at the same minute what he'd said. She felt the hand beneath her chin grow tense. The blood roared in her ears, and she caught a shaky breath. She expected him to back down, but he didn't. His mouth was curved in a tender smile that told her nothing.
"But I thought..." she began.
"So did I," he whispered.
"I thought we weren't ever going to see each other after tomorrow."
"There's no way I can put you on a plane and send you back to that dictatorial jerk and let him push you around. All he cares about is making you dance. The last thing he wants is for you to think or change or grow as a person. He would never encourage you to get in touch with your past. Dawn, you have to come to terms with who you are. Then, if you want, dance."
"No!"
"He wants your body busy so your mind won't be there. If you want to go on as before, fine, but I want it to be your choice, not his."
"You mean..."
Kirk's head moved to the side in a hopeless gesture. "It was my fault you were kidnapped. My fault you've been afraid to live. It's my fault you never had a man...till now. My fault you won't accept who you really are. You've missed so much because of me. I hate the thought of your living the rest of your life like a nun the way that bastard wants you to. I'm taking you to New York myself. Any objections?"
She shook her head, a wild, soaring happiness filling her. "All I know is that I've never felt like this before. I want to be with you as long as I can." She nuzzled her cheek against his throat. "I'm afraid of losing you, afraid of never feeling like this again. I just want to belong to you like this for as long as possible. But when you decide to go...I'll let you."
"Oh, Dawn." He murmured her name in a frantic sigh that seemed almost sad. Tenderly he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Then he kissed her, and once he did, he found he could not stop.
A softly muted London sun had come out and was filtering through the damp leaves of the gigantic plane trees of Hyde Park. It was the exact sort of day to be most appealing to Dawn after her ordeal in the desert.
Dawn fitted her foot into the cradle of Kirk's hands, and he boosted her into the saddle.
Frantically she grabbed the horse's mane. "Oops! I told you I've never ridden a horse before."
"You've ridden before. You just forgot."
"I was only five!"
"Just hold the reins, honey." He patted her thigh. "And... relax."
Kirk inspected the horse's tack, then patted the animal's neck, checking everything until he was sure that all was in order. Gently he pulled her foot out of the stirrup and slid his own inside it.
The saddle gave with his weight as his body slid directly against hers from behind. In an instant their bodies were intimately joined in the saddle. His powerful arms reached around her and gathered up the reins. She was aware of every point where his body touched hers.
"How come we couldn't go to an art gallery or a museum?"
"Because you said we could do what I wanted to do, princess."
The horse began to prance, and Dawn jumped, startled. She grabbed at Kirk's hands, and he folded her trembling fingers tightly inside his.
"Easy," Kirk whispered against her ear, "you're going to scare him."
"Scare him! What about me?"
He chuckled. "Remember, you're the one that jumped off the roof and tackled a gang of Arabs single-handedly."
"You know I don't remember that!"
"Nevertheless, you did it. And you can do this. There's only one way to get over a hang-up, and that's to face it head-on. You were crazy about horses when you were a little girl. There's no reason for you to be scared of them now."
He leaned forward and nudged his heels into the stallion's flanks. The giant horse leapt forward.
Every muscle in Dawn's body contracted. "Kirk!"
"Hush. You're perfectly safe. I'm not about to let any-thing happen to you." Kirk was guiding the stallion out of the stableyard onto a wide dirt pathway.
"Why couldn't you just rent a horse?"
"One of those dispirited nags. No way. I wanted you to get the feel of really riding."
They were on a bridle path with golden sunlight shim-mering through emerald-green leaves. There were boats with people rowing on the serpentine lake. The air was cool and damp and filled with springtime freshness, and yet the sounds of the city could be heard.
She began to relax. She'd danced in London dozens of times, but never once had she come to Hyde Park and seen white swans gliding on the lake or ridden on Rotten Row. It was as if London were a new town, and she was seeing it for the first time through different eyes.
"Who does this four-hoofed demon belong to, anyway?" she asked, after they'd ridden in silence for a long time.
"To one of Jeb's friends. In fact, to the powerful gentleman who saw to my release last night."
They passed other riders along the way and drew curious glances from them. Suddenly Dawn became acutely aware of her body sliding up and down against Kirk's in a rhythm that matched the horse's gait.
"Now this isn't so bad, is it?" he whispered.
He was holding the reins with one hand. His other hand was wrapped around her waist.
She felt the heat and pressure of every finger pressing into her. There was possession in his touch. She felt his firm, hard stomach against her spine and shivered. "No. It's really quite pleasant," she admitted breathlessly.
He pulled her closer, adjusting her body to fit his. "I damn sure couldn't hold you like this in a museum."
A ripple of warmth went through her. She laughed. "We'd be kicked out for sure."
Against her ear he whispered. "And I wouldn't want to waste the day doing anything except holding you."
She felt the edges of his fingertips beneath her breasts and hardly dared to breathe.
For a while they rode in silence. They scarcely noticed the beautiful day. They were both too conscious of the way the horse's movements jogged Kirk's taut body against the softness of hers, of his hand holding her tightly to him. She wanted to savor every moment of closeness with him.
"Try to remember when you rode before," he whispered.
"I—I can't."
"Close your eyes," he commanded, "and just let yourself feel it."
She shut out the brilliant day, but when she did, she was aware only of the hot, masculine body aligned against hers, of the thickly muscled thighs and legs touching hers, of the pleasant pervasive scent of Kirk's musky after-shave.
"Nothing," she breathed. She was almost thankful there was no white light, no headache afterward. "I can remember nothing."
"Concentrate!" he whispered fiercely.
It was impossible to think of anything but him. "Nothing. Kirk, I—I..." Her voice broke. "Really!"
"Try to remember. You're Julia Jackson, five years old..."
She felt the power of the immense animal beneath her. Suddenly the world went white, but this time she managed to hold the flame back. The colors returned, and the sounds. Her head throbbed, and she was terrified.
"I'm not Julia! I'm not! You can't do this to me!" Tears began to course uncontrollably down her cheeks.
"Dawn!" he whispered, reining the stallion to a halt.
She refused to answer him. When he tried to make her turn her head and look at him, she merely lowered her head and sobbed more passionately than before.
He dismounted abruptly and reached up, pulling her down beside him, taking her into his arms to comfort her in her wild grief. Her face was pale, her eyes immense with terror. There was some wall in her mind she was terrified to go past. Never in his life had he felt more guilty of thoughtlessly inflicting pain on another. He was helpless to make amends, helpless to say anything to make her understand that he'd only done what he'd done to help her. She would see it as betrayal. She had told him she didn't want to face her past, and he had refused to listen.
"It's okay, honey," he said soothingly, caressing her arms. "Open your eyes again. There's nothing to be afraid of."
"You shouldn't have..."
"I was wrong," he said wretchedly. "I behaved like an idiot. Do you want to go back?"
"Yes," she replied in a flat, cool tone.
In silence, they rode back the way they'd come beneath willows, poplars and elms. A blond spaniel chasing a ball jumped in front of the stallion. When the horse reared, Kirk managed the animal so expertly that Dawn felt only the faintest tremor of fear.
She forced herself to study Kirk's long-fingered brown hands. With expert mastery, one hand had controlled the horse, while the other held the woman. She marveled at the strength and gentleness in those rough callused hands. They knew exactly how to handle a horse, exactly how to touch a woman. She thought of them sliding over her body, caressing her intimately, inflaming her, and she was filled with a wild, tremulous pleasure. He had not meant to hurt her by trying to make her face her past. It would not be so difficult to forgive him for what he'd done.
