CHAPTER 37
Everything happened so fast, and yet she could remember every detail vividly. As if time had frozen and every action took longer to complete. A movement out of the corner of her eye, the pasha regaining consciousness, turning to face them, producing a pistol, aiming it at Michael’s back.
She acted on pure instinct. There was no time to think, no time to fear or hesitate.
The man she loved, who had risked everything to rescue her, was going to be killed in her arms by the man she loathed most in this world.
Her body acted without conscious thought, grabbing the pistol tucked into Michael’s waistband.
She had never fired a weapon before, but her hands seemed to know what to do. Full of desperation, a scream exploded out of her as her finger pressed the trigger. The pistol kicked in her hand, the shock reverberating all the way up her arm to her shoulder.
A loud explosion. Or were there two? She couldn’t tell. Wood splinters rained over them, and the pasha collapsed back onto the floor, a big red stain blooming on his chest, his hand slack around the handle of his pistol. His sightless eyes staring up.
The gun fell from her nerveless fingers as Michael frantically scanned her, his hands moving up and down along her body.
“Are you hurt? Were you hit by the bullet?”
Words were beyond her at the moment, so she simply shook her head. At that precise moment a torrent of uniformed men poured into the room.
Seeing the pasha’s body and assessing the situation at a glance, their leader turned to Michael to demand explanations.
She simply huddled further into Michael’s great overcoat, sliding her arms through the too-large sleeves, frantically pulling the sides closed, acutely aware of her nakedness.
When she thought of the way he had found her.
Tied, defenseless, exposed… scalding shame permeated through her, but she steeled against it.
It would have been much worse had Michael not acted so swiftly.
Had he not provided the cover of his greatcoat, all these men would have witnessed her degradation. Instead, only the man she loved had.
Actually, she didn’t know what was worse.
Michael was talking to the men. He seemed to be recounting the events, but his words escaped her.
One of his arms remained around her shoulders.
Hugging her to him. Her only lifeline to reality at the moment.
Offering comfort and warmth and security.
Despite this, tremors shook her body. She couldn’t stop them.
Once again, her body was acting on its own.
She had killed a man. She didn’t regret it. Would do it again in a heartbeat. But, oh God. It was still hard. The pasha’s face seemed to threaten her even in death.
She was grateful when, after a few last words to the officer, Michael lifted her in his arms and strode out of the cabin.
His arms were her fortress, her security and comfort. But still she shook, unable to do anything but cling to him as he walked through the ship. She caught a glimpse of Lord Hartfield and Mr. Wang talking to John.
Lord Brentworth intercepted them. He and Michael exchanged a brief recounting of the happenings that ended with Brentworth assuring Michael he would tidy things up here.
Down the gangplank he carried her while she clung to him, grateful to be away from the cursed ship. Carefully, as if she were something fragile, he deposited her into a coach. It wasn’t his coach—her mind cataloged the details detachedly—but it was certainly just as luxurious.
She thought he would leave her now and huddled into a corner of the vehicle. But he jumped in after her and took the seat opposite, rapping on the roof of the coach to indicate they were ready to go. The carriage took off, gaining speed rapidly.
“Can I hold you? You are shaking.” His voice was tentative. Apologetic almost.
Did he even need to ask? She was dying for his embrace. Needed it more than she needed her next breath.
“Please. I need you…” Her voice was low. A mere whisper among the rattle of the wheels on cobblestones and the voices outside. But he must have heard her because, transferring to the seat next to hers, he lifted her once again in his arms and deposited her on his lap.
She buried her nose in his neck, inhaling the comforting scent of Michael.
She had almost lost him today. In fact, for a moment she thought she had.
What if she had been too late? What if, instead of the pasha, it was Michael bleeding on the floor of that cabin? She whimpered and clung tighter to him.
He was alive. It was over. He was here with her.
“Shhh, everything is fine.” His words were a rumble reverberating through his chest and into her consciousness. His big, powerful hands rubbed circles on her back. Soothing. Comforting. “Cry if you need to, love. Fall apart if you must. Whatever you need. I have you now. I’ll never let go.”
“He threatened Edward,” she whispered when she was able to talk. “His men were surrounding the square where Edward was playing. He said he would take him and sell him in a slave market in Cairo if I didn’t go with him willingly.” Her voice broke with remembered horror as she recounted the facts.
“Bastard.” Pure, unmitigated hatred imbued that word.
And she knew he felt it. She had never seen Michael as violent, as murderous, as when he barreled into the pasha.
There had been fire and vengeance in his eyes.
Retribution and punishment in his pummeling fists.
“I figured something like that had been the case.”
“You came for me.”
“Did you doubt that I would?”
“I didn’t know if you’d be able… if you would arrive in time.”
“Was I on time, Josie?” His voice was a choked whisper, and in his eyes she saw the torment of the doubt. The question burning his insides that he didn’t dare voice.
“You were,” she said without hesitation, not wanting him to suffer even a second of torturous doubt.
“Oh, thank God.” She heard his relief in the stuttering exhale.
He had been on time to stop the pasha from raping her. But it had been close. So close.
She shivered with remembered revulsion at the memory of the pasha’s hands on her. She needed to erase those memories. Needed to erase his touch now or fear would swallow her whole once again.
Grabbing hold of Michael’s head, fisting her hands on his hair, she brought it down for a desperate kiss. She took his lips without finesse, without care. Her movements were frantic, clashing her mouth against his, biting his lips, opening her lips to his in desperate need.
He didn’t protest, simply gave in to her need. His arms tightened, holding her closer while his breathing picked up. For a few blissful moments, he responded to the kiss. But then he was disengaging, pulling apart.
“Josie, wait. You are in shock…”
“No!” It was an anguished plea and a command. “I need you. I need you to vanquish the fear. Replace the memories of terror with better ones. Kiss me, Michael.”
He didn’t have to be asked twice and blanketed her mouth with his. But his kiss was tender, reverent almost. She needed more. Grinding her bottom against his crotch, she felt the stiff evidence of his desire. Rejoiced in it.
He groaned and lifted her from his lap. “I’m sorry, Josie. Give me a moment to control my rude cock.”
She was having none of it. “Don’t apologize. Don’t ever apologize for desiring me,” she panted while tearing at his clothes with urgent fingers.
“But it’s inappropriate after what you suffered. I don’t want to scare you—”
“You don’t scare me. I want this.” She kept opening buttons, undoing his necktie, sliding her hands under his shirt to touch the warm skin of his chest.
Yes! This was the reassurance she needed. Her man. Her lover. Her love. He groaned and buried his face in her neck.
But it wasn’t enough. She needed all of him.
Needed the reality of him to overwhelm the memories.
If she let the fears return now, they may never leave her.
Turning in his arms, she straddled him. His overbig coat parted, revealing her nakedness.
His hands found a way inside, sliding up her thighs, molding over her hips to grab her backside and pull her roughly against his hardness.
His warm touch made her moan in ecstasy.
Grabbing hold of his hands, she placed them on her hips.
“Don’t let go,” she ordered.
“Never,” he vowed. And she had the impression he was talking about more than this moment.
The pleasure, the rightness of being like this with him soothed her soul. She could find completion just by rubbing her aching core against the hard ridge in his trousers. But she wanted more.
Her fingers undid the fly of his trousers, freeing his erection. It sprung into her hands. Warm, hard, ready. She squeezed, tearing an agonized groan from him. His head fell back, exposing the strong column of his neck. It was a temptation she couldn’t resist.
Without letting go of his rod, she leaned forward and deposited an open-mouthed kiss on the side of his neck, her tongue licking the saltiness of his skin. Tasting him. A little bite. A small suckle. His growl was almost feral.
“Josie, you are driving me wild,” he panted. It enticed her even further.
Without a hint of hesitation, she lifted herself up on her knees, poised his member at her entrance, and sank home. His groan harmonized with hers as they joined as tight as two human beings could be.
She rolled her hips, and his hands tightened on them with bruising force. She welcomed it. Reveled in it. In the strength of his body under her, around her, in her.
“Fuck, Josie. You are going to make me lose control.”
Control? What control? She may appear to be controlling this coupling, but in truth, she was being driven by a mightier force. Her need.
“Good. Let go. Surrender to me, my mighty warrior.”
And then she rode him. Hard. Their bodies arching, straining, and clashing with animalistic need. This was mating at its most raw. All pretense of finesse or control stripped. She took his mouth, bit his lip, clawed at his scalp as her hands fisted in his hair.
His hands never left her hips, but did not control her movement.
Rather, it seemed he was holding on to her as he drove his hips up, slamming into her in a powerful rhythm.
She brought his head down to her chest, and he nuzzled through the folds of the greatcoat to uncover a breast, closing his lips over the furled nipple and drawing hard, pulling on the edge between pleasure and pain.
It was too intense. This possession of each other, this frantic need.
Her legs were on fire from riding hard, but she pushed them to the limit.
The wave was swelling inside her. The pleasure building.
It was coming. Any moment now it would break over her.
Another pull of his mouth on her breast, a mighty shove of his hips.
And she exploded.
She was flying high, her consciousness splintered into a million colored sparks. In the midst of her crisis, she felt him tense, his rod pulsed, prolonging her pleasure, and then he flooded her in warmth.
In the aftermath, she collapsed against him. Limp. Exhausted.
Happy.
“Are you all right?”
“Mm-hmm.” A slow smile stretched her lips. “Hold me, please.”
He responded with alacrity. His arms circling her.
Enveloping her in security and love. She marveled at his willingness to do exactly as she wished.
Follow her commands without question or hesitation.
Another of the many things she loved about him.
He could so easily overpower her. Override her.
Take over. And yet he never did. He laid all his strength at her feet. Used it only for her pleasure.
The coach slowed down, and she became aware that the noises of the city had quieted as they entered Mayfair. They must be near to arriving at their destination. Where was he taking her, his house or hers?
“We are almost at my house,” he announced as if reading her thoughts.
“Then I guess we better put ourselves to rights,” she mumbled.
Their bodies were still joined, her naked breasts against his chest, and it all felt so good, she wished she could stay like this forever.
Alas, the coach was coming to a halt. Reluctantly leaving the shelter of his body, she rose, gathering his overcoat over her nakedness.
“Do you think it would be possible to have a bath?”
“Of course. You can have whatever you wish. I plan to take you to my bedchamber. Pamper and take care of you. And then keep you in my arms all night.”
“Sounds heavenly.”