Bound For Eden (46 page)

He looked up again to find that her eyelids had fluttered closed, her eyelashes forming dark fans on her flushed cheeks. He sat up and her eyes snapped open. He knew disappointment when he saw it. He felt an unexpected hope slowly uncurl in his chest. Could he make her forget her rage?

He stretched out beside her on the bed and propped himself on one elbow, so he could look down at her. He traced the curve of her jaw with one lazy finger and she snapped at him like a turtle. He laughed, but quelled it when he saw the ire flare again in her smoky eyes. He lowered himself to place the barest whisper of a kiss by her ear.

‘I'm sorry, sweetheart,' he sighed, noticing how she shivered when his hot breath swirled against her skin. ‘It was the thought of every man in town being able to see you like that. Dell Pritchard,' he breathed in disgust, grazing his teeth against her earlobe. ‘I'd want to kill him if he saw you like that.' He took her earlobe in his mouth and heard her sigh. As he nipped it gently between his teeth his finger began a torturously slow descent down the long arch of her neck, resting briefly where her pulse leapt, before continuing down to where her breasts rose above the corset. So light that the touch was almost imaginary his fingertip brushed across the luscious swell. He gave her earlobe one last long suck and then released it. ‘You're so beautiful,' he breathed, watching as gooseflesh rippled her skin. Her eyes had fluttered closed again.

His finger dipped into the shadowed hollow of her cleavage and she moaned. He could see her nipples thrusting at the fine lawn of her chemise, and couldn't resist brushing over them on his way to the hooks on the front of her corset. She arched and moaned again.

One by one he unhooked the metal eyes of her corset, pushing it open slowly, knowing that the cool air would rush against her skin in a sinuous, sensual wave. Now the full ripeness of her breasts was revealed, pushing against the flimsy chemise. He lowered his mouth and kissed her though the thin material. She almost came off the bed in shock. He smiled against her and circled her pleading nipple with his tongue. The moistened lawn stuck to her skin, teasing him. He placed his open mouth over her and sucked, while his hand cupped her other breast. He rubbed his palm over her until she was arching hard against it.

When he pulled his hand away, she sighed with disappointment. His hand followed the firm contours of her stomach, tracing the dip above her hipbones, and then it went lower. As his fingers explored her, he pulled the gag from her mouth with his other hand and kissed her before she could make a sound. His tongue mimicked the thrusting of his fingers and he felt her becoming molten beneath his touch.

His desire was so acute it was painful, but he made no move to undress. All he cared about tonight was giving her pleasure.

When she was mindless with wanting him he released her mouth. She groaned and strained against the ropes. When his tongue replaced his fingers she thought she would die of pleasure. His hands slid over her body as he sucked and caressed her; when they settled on her breasts and he took her nipples between his fingers she began to cry out. She couldn't bear it.

Her hips were rocking against him. He settled into a slow rhythm, his tongue sliding across her again and again until she was screaming with the joy of it. She was a white-hot ball of sensation; the fury of it kept building and building, the heat surging until she thought she would be burned alive.

He quickened his pace as he felt her begin to shudder.

She was screaming his name, pulling against the ropes and arching into the insistent thrust of his tongue until suddenly, with a burst of unbelievable pleasure, the world seemed to implode around her.

Forty-One

He was gone when she woke. And so were the ropes.

She might have thought she'd dreamed the entire night if it hadn't been for the tangle of ruined satin next to the bed. Shaken, she slid from between the sheets, wincing as the cold air hit her naked body. She pulled on the first thing to hand, which happened to be her old gray dress, which she'd worn the day before while she was out cutting branches for the decorations. Her fingers trembled on the buttons as she fastened them. Had that only been yesterday?

Oh, she'd had such high hopes.

She kicked at the mangled cranberry-coloured gown, feeling confused. She clung gratefully to the remnants of her anger. Anger was easy. She understood anger.

She yanked the curtains open to find a white world, barely lit by the pearly pre-dawn glow. Nothing moved; the snow had ceased to fall and there wasn't a breath of wind. Everyone was still asleep. She wondered if they'd enjoyed the dance and felt a renewed blaze of rage.

If Luke Slater had been standing in front of her right then she would have kicked him. Where the hell was he anyway? What kind of man left a woman alone after he . . . after he . . . Alex spluttered, unable to decide what exactly he had done. The night came back at her in random flashes: the ropes, the rage, his hot black eyes, the swirl of his breath against her ear, the expert stroke of his hands, the way his tongue . . .

She pressed her cold hands against her hot cheeks. Oh, glory. What kind of woman let a man do that to her after he'd tied her up like some kind of criminal?

He'd tied her up! She still couldn't quite believe it. How could he have done it to her
again
? How could she have let him! She eyed the scissors. She had a mind to hunt him down right this minute. She set her jaw and resolved to do just that, snatching up the scissors on her way out.

She knocked softly at his door, and then arrested herself mid-knock, appalled. Why should she knock? He was the one who should be knocking at
her
door! He should be grovelling on his knees, she thought with a snarl.

She pushed the door open.

His room was empty. The bed was neatly made and the curtains were wide open. She scowled. Had he risen early, or had he not gone to bed? How late had he stayed in her room? She had a vision of him lingering, watching her sleep, and her anger flared even hotter.

She knew very well where he'd be. With his damn horses. They were about the only thing he cared about. Alex was too piqued to stop for a coat; she strode outside towards the barn with only her fury for warmth.

At the door to the barn she stumbled and almost fell, her heart stopping in her chest. There was blood in the snow. Vivid, scarlet, fresh blood.

‘Luke?' she called, her voice cracking. The interior of the barn was pitch black compared to the pearly white world outside, and she couldn't see a thing. She broke out in a cold sweat.

She heard a faint moan.

‘Luke?' she called again, hearing the panic in her own voice.

‘Alex.'

She flew into the blackness of the barn, horrified by the weak rattle of his voice. Before her eyes could adjust to the darkness rough hands seized her.

She knew who it was before he spoke. She should do, he'd manhandled her often enough. ‘You need to come with me,' Silas wheezed. She struggled against him.

‘Luke!'

The shattered rasp of Silas's bitter laughter was horrific. ‘He can't help you now. We have to go.'

‘Luke!' she screamed as Silas dragged her from the barn. She screamed even louder when they emerged into the breaking daylight. Silas was a monster. He was barely recognisable; his face had been pummelled into a gut-wrenching mess of raw meat. He was missing his ears, Alex noticed sickly. She tried to jump free, but he held onto her with all the strength left in his broken body. He was barely alive, Alex observed. He was operating on basic instinct, and his basic instinct had been to come for her.

Panicked, Alex stabbed at him with the scissors, but Silas barely seemed to register the pain. She stabbed again as he tried to throw her over his horse. The scissors lodged in the meat of his arm and she couldn't pull them out again. She gagged, revolted by the feel of the scissors moving in his flesh. ‘What have you done to Luke?' she yelled as he mounted the horse. He didn't answer her.

He applied his spurs without mercy and they plowed into the lower ranges of the Cascades. ‘Let me go,' she begged, somehow knowing that he could barely hear her. Silas was locked in a world of pain.

She kept hearing the rattle in Luke's voice. ‘What did you do to him?' she pleaded. Was he dying back there in the barn, all alone?

Silas didn't speak. She looked up and saw to her horror that his eyes were full of blood. He was dying. Dear Lord, he was dying. And he was taking her deep into the mountains as he died. How would she ever get back? She didn't know the way, and it was freezing cold and she didn't even have a coat. She wasn't even wearing stockings! Or any underwear for that matter! All that stood between her and the frigid mountain air was her frayed old gray dress. She would freeze before the day was out.

She couldn't let that happen. Not when Luke was back there, possibly bleeding to death. She only hoped her screams had woken everyone in the house, that they'd come running out and find Luke, that they'd hurry for the doctor. Oh hell, she couldn't even remember if Utopia
had
a doctor.

She stayed deathly still for a while, hoping to lull Silas into a sense of complacency. But his iron grip didn't loosen even a little. She wondered if he was dead already. Maybe she was trapped in the arms of a stiffening dead man. But no, there was the tortured wheeze of his breath.

She heard the staccato crunch of hooves on snow before he did. Someone was coming fast behind them. Alex bent sharply to peer around Silas's ruined body. He yanked her back, but not before she'd caught sight of a familiar dark head.

He was alive!

‘Luke!' she shrieked, her voice echoing through the mountains, despite the snow. The granite rock faces sent her cry ricocheting back and forth above their heads.

Silas urged his horse through a narrow pass and onto a ledge above a steep chasm. He dismounted, pulling her from the horse, and aiming his gun at the opening in the rock.

‘Let her go.' Luke's voice seemed to come from every direction at once, bouncing from rock to rock, and mountain to mountain.

‘I can't,' Silas rasped desperately, pulling Alex closer, ‘he'll kill her.'

‘
I'll
kill you if you don't.' There was the sound of a hammer being pulled back. It made an ominous click.

Silas began to laugh. It was a hopeless sound. ‘Go ahead, Slater. You can't kill a dead man.'

‘Just watch me.' The single shot was deafening. Alex felt Silas jerk. And then he was slumped at her feet, a rivulet of blood running from him and pooling in a depression in the rock.

A silhouette appeared in the narrow pass. Alex ran towards him as he slid from Blackie Junior. The Arab whickered. Alex threw herself at Luke, gasping as he wilted against her. Her relief evaporated. ‘Luke?' she breathed, alarmed.

‘It's just a little knife wound,' he said through dry lips. ‘Nothing to worry about.'

She
was
worried. He was gray and clammy, and he was having trouble keeping his feet. There was a vivid scarlet blossom staining his shirt.

He saw her dismay. ‘Don't fret, sweetheart, it's just a nick.' He swayed. Alarmed, she lowered him onto a nearby rock. And that's when she heard the mad laughter. Alex spun, feeling raw hysteria claw at her. Gideon! Where was he? The wild giggles were echoing, seeming to come from every dark shadow and secret hollow.

‘It looks like I have to thank you, Slater,' Gideon's disembodied voice crowed, ‘for taking care of my last bothersome brother.'

Luke lifted his weapon, but a sudden crack echoed through the mountains and the gun went flying from his grasp. Alex screamed.

And Gideon laughed. ‘Keep screaming, darling. I love it when you scream.'

‘What do you want?' Luke called.

‘What do you think?'

‘If you lay so much as a hand on her . . .'

‘I don't plan to do any such thing,' Gideon sang, his insane voice bouncing from rock to rock. ‘She'll do my dirty work for me.'

Alex and Luke exchanged bewildered looks.

‘Now, bitch Barratt,' Gideon called, ‘I want you to listen to me well. If you don't do exactly as I say I'm going to shoot your precious lover.'

‘Don't listen to him,' Luke hissed.

There was another crack and Luke gave a shout. There was a spray of blood and Luke gave a terrifying yell. ‘Get away from him, or I'll shoot again,' Gideon hooted.

Panicked, Alex scuttled back, unable to tear her gaze away from Luke's blood.

‘Walk to the edge of the cliff,' Gideon ordered.

‘No!' Luke bellowed. Another crack and a spray of blood rose from Luke's forearm.

Alex screamed and ran for the edge of the cliff. She began to sob. There was so much blood. She remembered Sheriff Deveraux, his belly blown open.

Luke struggled to sit up, trying to catch her wild gaze. His face was bloodless, making his eyes appear as black as night.

‘Now,' Gideon ordered, his voice ringing with triumph, ‘jump, you thieving bitch!'

‘Don't do it, Alex!'

She stood frozen on the lip of the chasm.

Crack.

Blood.

‘Don't,' Luke rasped, his voice barely audible.

‘Jump!' Gideon whooped, his disembodied voice filling the entire world.

If she didn't jump, Luke would die.

‘
Don't
,' he begged, stretching a hand towards her.

Crack.

All she could see was scarlet. ‘I love you,' she said hopelessly. She stumbled, and went tumbling over the edge of the cliff. Her hands instinctively scrabbled for purchase as she went over the lip; they clawed into a fissure and her arms were almost jerked out of her sockets as her fall was arrested.

‘Alex!' She heard Luke's agony. ‘Alex!' She tried to draw breath to call out to him. She heard him dragging across the rock, and then his face appeared above her. His tortured expression, and the acute relief in his black eyes, made her start to cry. He reached for her. The blood ran down his arms and dripped on her face.