From This Day Forward (23 page)

No, he wouldn't. He couldn't read someone else's mail.

But he couldn't help lifting the bundle of papers out. They were letters all right, but they weren't addressed to her. Without warning, his heart began to pound as a chill crawled over his body.

They were addressed to Derek. What in hell was she doing with letters addressed to Derek? As shocking as that discovery was, there was something else, something just beneath his consciousness.

The writing, the script. It was his own handwriting.

Realization dawned. Somehow Caroline had acquired private letters he'd written to Derek. But how? Anger and confusion suffused his brain, both giving way to humiliation as he realized that she must have read them, and he remembered some of the things he'd told Derek in those letters.

For reasons he didn't understand any more now than he had at the time, he'd written those letters with more candor than he'd shared with any other person in his life. He'd written of things he hadn't meant for anyone else to know, certainly not his curious, meddling wife who thought she could come into his world and change it and him.

Of all the emotions vying for dominance in his soul, fury won out, a blinding, boiling fury that coursed through every nerve in his body.

How, damn it? How had she come by these private letters? The question rolled over and over in his mind, pushing all other thoughts out. A part of him realized that the
how
didn't matter, not really. No matter how she acquired them, she'd read them, and in doing so, she'd glimpsed a part of his soul he never meant to share with another human being. Still, it gave him something to focus on, something other than the humiliation of having all the layers of his soul peeled away. It gave him a target for his anger.

The medical bag in one hand, the letters clasped tightly in the other, he stalked from the room, intent on finding his deceitful wife and wringing her neck.

Chapter Twelve

By
the
time he found her
in the large hut at the other end of the village where she'd been yesterday, his rage roared out of control. Moving among the hammocks, Caroline talked soothingly to the occupants and administered medicine. A small child followed her every step, his eyes gleaming up at her with adoration.

Treacherous, lying woman! She'd managed to win them all over, including himself. How pathetic they all were!

Words eluded him. He stood staring at her with such unremitting force that she finally turned to glance at him. Her soft lips curved upward in an artless smile that reminded him forcibly of all that had passed between them last night and this morning, reminded him of her supple body moving against his, the clarity of her trusting gaze, the cries that had slipped past her control as he'd made love to her.

Lust and fury shuddered through his body in equal parts.
"Some of them seem better," she said. "Maybe the quinine is helping after all."

A jolt set her heart pounding. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. She could see it in his face. Her hand trembled as she placed it on the child in the hammock. Maybe she was mistaken; maybe if she ignored it, ignored him....

She jumped at the sound of something hitting the dirt floor behind her. Turning around, her gaze fell on the packet of papers between them before lifting to his rage-contorted face, only to return to the papers.

Letters.

"Oh, dear God!" she muttered, her throat tightening as she recognized Jason's letters to Derek. "Jason, I can explain."

She started toward him, but the glint in his hard, cold eyes halted her. His chest rose and fell with the force of his furious breathing.

This should never have happened. How could she have been so careless? Tears clogged her throat, but she managed to speak past them. "Please listen."

"That's my handwriting," he said, pointing to the letters on the floor. "They're my letters, letters I sent to my cousin."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I should have told you...."

He moved closer to her, and Caroline backed away from the steely, uncompromising hatred that burned in his pale eyes.

"Please let me explain," she pleaded.

In two steps, he was on her. Paulo, the child she'd treated in the cabin, moved between them, but Jason ignored the small boy.

Grabbing Caroline by the arm with such force that she cried out in pain, he dragged her toward the door, stopping to retrieve the bundle of letters. Outside in the glaring light of day, he hauled her along, unaffected by her attempts to pull free. Paulo trailed behind them, shrieking in agitated Portuguese.

Activity came to a standstill as all eyes turned to the
doutora
and the tall, angry man who dragged her so forcefully through the village. Pocedo, the man Jason had attacked yesterday, the leader of the village, stepped forward, but Jason glared a warning at the other man. Pocedo might wield ultimate power in the village, but Caroline sensed that Jason made it clear to the other man that his authority did not extend to his wife.

Pocedo seemed to understand. He stopped where he was, his countenance every bit as angry and threatening as Jason's. No one in the village liked the idea of this stranger attacking their
doutora,
but no one dared challenge him.

Nearby, a woman bent over a cooking fire. Jason stopped before her and tossed the letters onto the flame.

"No!" Caroline shrieked. She rushed toward the fire, taking Jason by surprise and breaking free. But before she could reach the fire, he'd grabbed her by the arm again and wheeled her around, forcing her up against his hard body.

"We will not speak of anything in those letters—ever!" he said through clenched teeth, his tone indomitable. "I've packed your belongings. We're leaving now."

The cold, slate blue sky sizzled with lightning as the first huge drops of rain began to fall. Caroline walked behind Jason, unsure whether she was more afraid of the storm brewing overhead or the one brewing inside her husband. She struggled to keep up with his long, angry strides, gasping in shock when a loud peal of thunder rent the eerily silent jungle air and a wall of water fell upon them in a rush.

For the first time since they'd left the village, Jason stopped to wait for her, his face a mask of impatience as she labored toward him, squinting to see through the pelting rain. The muddy earth sucked at the hem of her wet skirt, impeded her progress, reminding her of the day she'd arrived, the way Jason had cut her skirt away when she'd stumbled.

When he'd walked toward her with that lethal looking blade in his hand, she'd wondered in that brief, heart-stopping moment if he were deranged, if he had sent for her only to kill her. She knew now that he was no maniac, but the fury roiling inside him frightened her nevertheless.

Without a word, he grabbed her by the wrist, hauling her along behind him, heedless of the effort it took for her to keep up or the pain that radiated from his crushing grip. She tried to twist her arm free, but he only tightened his hold, jerking her so viciously that tears spilled down her cheeks, mingling with the rain. By the time they reached a cabin tucked away in the jungle, Caroline was near hysterics, her wrist and hand nearly numb.

He flung her inside, slamming the door behind them, enveloping them in darkness and oppressive heat. The sound of scurrying along the floor filled her heart with dread, but an unnamed fear kept her from speaking or moving in the absolute darkness.

She couldn't see him, but she could feel the heat of his presence and hear the fast, shallow cadence of his breathing close by.

"Jason?" she said finally, struggling to keep from sobbing, to keep the panic welling in her heart from devouring her.

A blinding flash of lightning illuminated the room for an instant. She caught a glimpse of his angry countenance as if it had been captured on a daguerreotype, before darkness swallowed them again.

An unreasoning terror gripped her at the sound of his boot heel striking the dirt floor. Breathlessly she waited for a response from him, but he refused to speak. The unbearable silence choked her, stretching her nerves to the breaking point.

"Jason, where are you? What are you doing?" She couldn't control the trembling of her voice any more than she could stop the trembling in her body as she wondered if he could see more clearly than she. The thought unsettled her and sent a chill crawling over her flesh.

"Please speak to me, Jason," she pleaded. "Say something, anything!"

Caroline jerked and gasped at a loud, popping noise, and then shutters were thrown back from a window, filling the cabin with light.

A quick survey of her surroundings convinced her that darkness suited the small structure much better than light. There was nothing inviting or comforting about the crude hovel, but it would provide shelter from the storm that sent limbs crashing around them.

However, there was no escaping the tempest inside the man who glared at her with contempt and a growing lust. His gaze raked her from head to foot in a manner that made her feel naked and vulnerable. Her nipples hardened as his searing gaze lingered on her breasts. She could well imagine how the rain must have molded the material of her gown to her wet skin.

His jaw muscle worked back and forth as if he would speak, but instead he turned away and went to stand at the window, pulling the shutters back to see outside, leaving her trembling with a deep disquiet.

She backed away, out of reach of his fury. Something ran across her foot, and she gasped, jerking her skirt out of the way. She jumped away from the hairy creature on the floor, her heart hammering in terror.

"It's just a tarantula," Jason said impatiently, his deep masculine voice echoing in the empty room.

He walked toward her, drawing the machete from the leather sheath at his side, and Caroline backed away in shock.

He graced her with a disgusted scowl before turning his attention to the creature on the floor, using the blunt edge of the weapon to urge it out the door. She'd thought he was going to kill it; she'd expected it. Had she had a weapon, she certainly would have. The gentleness of his action surprised her, though it shouldn't have.

"He's probably more afraid of you than you are of him," he told her, but Caroline seriously doubted that was possible. "Tarantulas won't bite unless they're backed into a corner, but their sting can be painful."

She mused that the same thing could be said of the man who was now closing the cabin door and turning to face her with eyes as hard as glass. Was that what she'd done to Jason? Had she charged in and tried to force Jason to respond to her instead of coaxing him gently as he had the spider?

"Aren't you going to talk to me?" she asked unsteadily as he returned to the window. She didn't want to press him and possibly anger him further, but she had to reach him somehow. "If you'll only listen to me. Derek was very busy. When I first started working for him—"

"You never bothered to mention that you worked for Derek," he said, turning around to glare at her in surprise.

Oh, dear, this was going to be difficult. "You never asked," she replied defiantly.

His incendiary gaze scorched her flesh in a way that stole her breath and set her heart pounding. He didn't want to talk to her or listen to her, but he desired her. At least he wasn't able to shut her out completely, but the combination of anger and desire stirred a powerful fear deep in her soul.

More than anything, she wanted to withdraw into a corner of the room and wait out the storm in silence. The last thing she wanted to do was stir his ire, but she had no choice. She had to try and make him understand, or she would lose him forever.

"After Wade died I had to support myself. Derek hired me to handle his appointments and filing and correspondence. My intelligence amused him," she continued, struggling against the unshed tears that burned behind her eyes. "Most of the men he dealt with took me for granted. His competitors would say things in front of me...."

"I'll just bet they did," he said, his glare blistering her flesh again.

The heat of his gaze on her breasts sent a shudder of apprehension through her body. Her mouth went dry as the sultry heat in the cabin intensified. She fought the urge to bolt through the door and weather the storm outside.