The Novels of Nora Roberts Volume 1 Page 29

  Only Max seemed oblivious.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Lily sighed again when she and Max took the hour of free time left to them on the nearly deserted Lido Deck with cups of bouillon and herbal tea.

  “It certainly is.” He patted her hand, thinking she was speaking of the quiet moment, the cooling breeze and the view of Montreal from the port side.

  “It’s like having your fondest dream come true.” She lifted her teacup, her trio of rings sparkling. “I was beginning to think it would never happen.”

  “It’s been a busy week,” he agreed. And he hadn’t had nearly enough time to continue his research on the philosophers’ stone. Perhaps when they docked in Sydney, he could make an excuse not to play tourist and spend a few hours with his books and notes. He was getting closer. He could feel it.

  “I wonder if being on a ship like this helped. I mean, in close quarters—sort of in each other’s pockets. They couldn’t keep avoiding each other.”

  “Certainly not.” Max blinked and frowned. “Who?”

  “Roxy and Luke, silly.” Bracing her elbows on the table, she sighed dreamily. “I bet they’re strolling hand in hand through Montreal right now.”

  “Roxanne and Luke?” was all Max could think of to say. “Roxanne and Luke?”

  “Well, sure, honey. What’d you think I was talking about?” She laughed, enjoying, as women do, that superiority over most males of the species on romance. “Didn’t you see the way they were looking at each other this morning? It’s a wonder the lounge didn’t catch fire with all the sparks flying around.”

  “They always shot sparks off each other. They do nothing but argue.”

  “Honey, that was just a kind of mating ritual.”

  He choked on his tea. “Mating?” he said weakly. “My Jesus.”

  “Max, baby.” Baffled and concerned, Lily took both of his hands. They trembled under hers. “You’re not upset, not really, are you? They’re so perfect for each other, and so much in love.”

  “You’re saying that he’s—that they’ve—” He couldn’t get the words out.

  “I wasn’t a fly on the wall, but if this morning was any indication, I’d say they’ve done the deed.” She’d kept her voice light, but when Max continued to stare, shell-shocked, her tone changed. “Max, you’re not angry?”

  “No. No.” He shook his head, but had to stand. He walked to the rail like a man in a trance. His baby, he thought as a small piece of his heart ripped away. His little girl. And the boy he’d thought of as his own for so long. They’d grown up on him. Tears started in his eyes. “I should have seen it, I suppose,” he murmured when Lily slipped an arm around him.

  He shook his head again. The weakhearted tears were gone as he drew her closer. “Will they have what we have, do you suppose?”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder and smiled. “No one could, Max.”

  That night he came to her. She was waiting for him. No matter how sternly Roxanne told herself it was foolish, she was more nervous now than she had been before. It was a matter of control, she supposed. The night before, that first night, she had mapped the route, and had been so sure of the course.

  Tonight, he would be taking her beyond.

  She was grateful he hadn’t come directly to her cabin after the last show, but had given her time to remove the stage makeup and change from the spangled costume into a simple blue robe. But that time alone had also worked against her, giving her heart the opportunity to beat too fast and hard.

  It had been lovely that afternoon. They had done precisely what Lily had imagined for them. Strolling down Montreal’s sloping sidewalks, listening to American music pouring through shop doorways, huddling together at a small table of an outdoor café.

  Now they were alone again. The bouquet of flowers he’d brought her from a sidewalk vendor stood fragrantly on her dresser. The bed was neatly turned down. The deck swayed under her feet as the ship steamed south.

  “It was a good crowd tonight.” An idiotic thing to say, Roxanne berated herself.

  “Enthusiastic.” He flicked his wrist. A single white rosebud appeared in his hand. Roxanne felt her heart melt.

  “Thanks.” It would be fine, she told herself as she drew in the bud’s bouquet. She knew what to expect now, and could look forward to the feel of his hands on her skin, the rough tumble into oblivion. The pain was fleeting after all. Surely a few moments’ discomfort was a small price to pay for the lovely aftermath of lying curled in his arms.

  He could read the nerves in her eyes as clearly as he could see their color. There was no use cursing himself again for his mindless initiation of the night before. At least he’d had the good sense to do nothing more than hold her throughout the rest of the night.

  He touched a hand to her cheek and watched her eyes lift slowly from the rose to his face. He thanked God there was more than fear in them. He could make the fear vanish. He passed a hand in front of her face and made her laugh when she saw the candle between his fingers.

  “Clever.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” He crossed to the dresser, slipping a crystal holder he’d palmed from the dining room from his pocket. He set the candle carefully in place, then snapped his fingers. The wick sputtered, caught and glowed.

  A bit more relaxed, Roxanne smiled. “Shall I applaud?”

  “Not yet.” Watching her, he flicked off the lights, removed his jacket. “You can wait till the show’s over.”

  Unconsciously, she brought a hand to her throat. “There’s more?”

  “Much more.” He crossed to her. Perhaps it wasn’t quite fair that he should be rewarded rather than whipped for his carelessness last night. But he was going to make it up to her. To both of them. He took the hand that was still splayed against her throat, turned it, pressed his fingers to the cup of her palm, to the fragile wrist where her pulse beat like thunder. “I told you there was more than one way, Roxanne.” With her hand still tucked in his, he traced light kisses over her jawline. “But just like magic, showing’s better than telling.” He saw her lashes flutter down and slipped the rose from her limp fingers. “I won’t hurt you again.”

  Her eyes opened at that. Doubts and needs warred within them. “It’s all right,” she murmured, and lifted her mouth toward his in invitation.

  “Trust me.”

  “I do.”

  “No, you don’t.” He covered her waiting mouth, drawing the kiss out and out until she swayed. “But you will,” he said and swept her into his arms.

  She braced herself for the onslaught. A part of her burned for the feel of those hard strong hands, that urgent, demanding mouth. But his lips were soft tonight, soft, seductive, even soothing as they whispered over hers. The breathless, confused sound she made in the back of her throat made him smile.

  “I have places to take you.” His tongue dipped in, toyed with hers. “Magic places.”

  She had no choice but to follow where he led. Her body was floating before he ended that first, sumptuous kiss. Leaving her lips trembling for more, he took his own on a languorous journey, tasting her skin, lingering at the base of her throat while her pulse fluttered under his mouth like the heart of a caged bird.

  The arms that had risen to enfold him went lax. And he knew she was his.

  “I want to look at you,” he whispered, gently sliding her robe aside. “Let me look at you.”

  Her beauty scorched his heart, made his blood churn like white water. But in the flickering light he touched her with fingertips only, skimming them over curves and dips, enchanted by the contrast of his flesh against hers, bewitched by the quick tremors each gentle caress tore from her.

  “We were in a hurry before.” Lowering his head, he gently, very gently laved her aching nipples with his tongue. “Maybe we’ll be in a hurry later.” When he straightened to look at her, he rolled the damp nipple between his thumb and forefinger pinching, tugging lightly to bring her helplessly to that staggering point between ple
asure and pain. “But we’ll take our time now, Roxanne.” He trailed a finger down the center of her body, enjoying every quiver as he tangled through the soft triangle of hair to stroke the secret sensitive nub.

  When her eyes glazed, when her breath caught and he felt the warm flow of her response, his head swam. But he only smiled.

  “I want to do things to you. I want you to let me.”

  When he joined his mouth to hers again, he replaced his fingertips with the rose, sliding the silky petals over her breasts, teasing the nipples with its fragrant smoothness, following those subtle curves over waist and hips.

  “Tell me what you like.”

  The breath shuddered from between her lips. She could see him in the candlelight. His chest was bare now, though she had no memory of him taking the time to shrug out of his shirt. She felt the heaviness of his arousal against her leg, and realized he was as naked as she.

  “I can’t.” She lifted her hand to touch him through air that felt as sweet and thick as syrup. “Just don’t stop.”

  “This?” He slid slowly down, teasing the nub of her breast with his tongue, catching it between his teeth before suckling as if he’d swallow her whole. She moaned, long and deep, thrilling him.

  It was torture of the most exquisite. Drugging, aching pleasure glided through her until she thought she would die from it. The bed moaned, gave as he shifted. Her skin hummed under his hands, sang beneath the patient, questing mouth. When his tongue skimmed up her thigh, she understood there was no part of her he wouldn’t claim, and nothing she would deny him.

  She opened for him on a sigh of acceptance. All at once the soothing warmth exploded into heat, as if a comet had erupted in her and trailed its fire to every cell. Her cry of release trailed into a deep, throaty moan.

  Still he was patient, relentlessly patient, stroking her up again, higher, waiting as she drifted down again.

  Sighs and moans and whispered promises. The flicker of candlelight and the faintest hint of a moon, the scent of flowers and passion heady on the air. These she would remember, even as her body shuddered from the patient onslaught.

  Oh, he did things to her, just as he’d promised. Exquisite, impossible, delicious things.

  He showed her what it was to be desired, to be cherished, and at last, at last, what it was to be taken slowly, like sailing down a quiet river into a mist.

  He slipped inside her painlessly, perfectly, and she was slick and hot and more than ready. Her body rose fluidly to welcome him. He hadn’t known it could be so easy, that he could feel such sweet, sweet pain as she closed around him. The rhythm built, needs swelling like music in his head.

  “Roxanne.” Her name came hoarsely from his throat. He clung to the reins of his control like a man fighting a wild beast. “Look at me. I need you to look at me.”

  His voice seemed to come from the end of the long, dark tunnel in which her body was flying. She lifted heavy lids and saw only him. His eyes were a violent blue, like the heat at the center of flame.

  “You belong to me now.” He crushed his mouth to hers as the climax exploded inside her. Only me, he thought and let himself follow her.

  She wasn’t sure she could ever move again, but when she did it was to turn her head and seek his mouth. He responded with an unintelligible murmur and rolled to shift their positions.

  “Better,” she sighed, now that she could breathe again. She rubbed her cheek against his chest, and settled. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

  Neither had he. But Luke felt it would sound foolish to say it and stroked her hair instead. “I didn’t hurt you?”

  “No. I feel like . . .” She made a cat-in-cream sound. “Like I’ve been levitated up to the moon.” She stroked a hand down his chest. When she cruised her fingers over his belly, she felt the muscles quiver. Well, well, she thought, smiling to herself. The power wasn’t all one-sided. That would have to be put to good use very soon.

  “So . . .” She lifted her head and grinned down at him. “Just how many ways are there, anyhow?”

  He lifted a brow. “Why don’t you give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll show you.”

  Drunk on her own pleasures, Roxanne shifted to straddle him. “Why don’t you show me now?” she suggested and closed her mouth over his.

  20

  Both Luke and Roxanne would have hotly denied any suggestion that they had fallen into a cliché such as a shipboard romance. Sea breezes, brilliant sunsets and moonlit decks might influence others, but never them. They both would have shrugged off the idea of a honeymoon, yet if the honest definition for that time-honored period was an opportunity to discover, to focus on a mate and to enjoy great sex, their honeymoon had cruised into its third week.

  Discoveries were made. Much to Luke’s relief, he learned that he wasn’t a jealous fool. He actually enjoyed the way men’s heads turned when Roxanne walked into a room. He could smile when he watched her flirt or be flirted with. Both were a matter of pride and confidence, laced with a touch of arrogance. She was beautiful, and she was his.

  Roxanne discovered that beyond the tough, troubled boy she’d known most of her life, the man she’d fallen in love with could be gentle and kind. The veneer of sophistication and charm was a thin coat over a smoldering bed of passions. Yet mixed with those was a keen sense of loyalty and a yearning to love no less than her own.

  Both were able to focus on each other, even in a room crowded with people. They didn’t need to touch or speak, a look was enough to communicate.

  Perhaps that was why the last requirement for a honeymoon fell so naturally into place.

  Through this fantasy of days and nights, both agreed there was only one thing missing. They had yet to choose a genuine mark. Their thief’s blood grew restless. True, they had stemmed the impatience temporarily by relieving a certain Mrs. Cassell of some antique marcasite and ruby jewelry. Since the old crab had spent her seven days on board the Yankee Princess complaining and demanding and making Jack’s life as cruise director a living hell, the Nouvelles had considered it a matter of honor to give her something genuine to complain about.

  But the job had been so pitifully simple. Roxanne had only to slip into Mrs. Cassell’s cabin between cues and snatch the locked jewelry case from among the pile of half-packed luggage. One glance at the mechanism had her altering the plan. Rather than strolling out again and passing the case to Luke, she used one of Cassell’s own hairpins to pick the lock. Once the marcasite was snugly in the pockets of her stage tux, she relocked the case, replaced it and slipped outside again.

  As planned Luke was just coming through heading aft. “Problem?”

  She smiled. “Not at all.” With one brow lifted, she patted her pockets. “I just need to get something from the cabin,” she said as he grinned. “I won’t miss my cue.”

  Luke snatched her into his arms for a kiss. His clever fingers dipped into her pockets to take inventory. “You got three minutes, Rox.”

  It took her less than half that to secure the cache in the false bottom of her makeup case. She had time to freshen the lipstick Luke had smudged and still hit her cue dead on.

  They all agreed it was an elegant set, the craftsmanship exquisite, the stones quite good. But the lack of challenge took the sweetness out of it.

  The Nouvelles, one and all, yearned for work.

  “Maybe we should try something in one of the ports,” Roxanne said absently. She and Lily stood on deck. New passengers boarding in Montreal were dribbling out, complimentary cocktails in hand, cameras at the ready. Luke and Mouse had trekked to Olympic Stadium to watch the Expos take on the Dodgers.

  “I suppose we could.” Lily’s mind kept drifting back to Max. She’d stirred awake before dawn and had seen him on the narrow sofa beneath the porthole, his research books spread out around him. He’d been manipulating a coin between his fingers. The second time he’d fumbled and dropped it, she’d seen the pain in his face. A pain she knew she could never ease.

&nb
sp; “I was thinking Newport,” Roxanne went on. “The place is lousy with mansions. We could at least do some legwork the next time through.”

  “You’re so like him.” Lily sighed and turned from the rail. “If you’re not in the middle of a project, you’re planning one. It’s the only way you’re happy.”

  “Life’s too short not to enjoy one’s work.” Her smile was quick and wicked. “God knows I love mine.”

  “What would you do if it all went away?” Lily’s suddenly nervous fingers began to toy with the jade pendant Max had bought her in Halifax. “If you couldn’t do it anymore. The magic or the other?”

  “If I woke up one morning and it was all gone? If all that was left was the ordinary?” Roxanne pursed her lips in thought, then laughed. At twenty-one, it was impossible to believe that old age would ever apply to you. “Stick my head in the first convenient oven.”

  “Don’t say that.” Lily grabbed her hand, squeezing until the bones rubbed. “Don’t ever say that.”

  “Darling, I’m only joking.” Surprise widened her eyes. “You know me better. People who do something permanent like that have forgotten that nothing lasts forever. No matter how wonderful, or how awful, if you wait awhile, it changes.”

  “Of course it does.” Feeling foolish, Lily loosened her grip, but her throat remained tight and dry. “Don’t pay any attention to me, honey. I think I must be overtired.”

  Now that Roxanne looked, really looked, she could see the faint shadows beneath Lily’s careful makeup. Surprise became concern. “Are you all right? Aren’t you feeling well?”

  “I’m fine.” She’d lived on the stage long enough to show only what she wanted to show. “Just tired—and it’s silly—but I think I’m a little homesick. I’ve had a yen for LeClerc’s gumbo for days.”

  “I know what you mean.” Because this so clearly mirrored her own feelings, Roxanne relaxed with a smile. “All this great food, and after a few weeks, you’d offer a hundred dollars for a cheeseburger and fries—and ten times that for an entire day where you didn’t have to talk to anyone.”