Merline Lovelace (17 page)

“That’s what Miss Barton implied.” Frowning, she shook her head. “Yet I can’t include myself in the same category as the Red Cross volunteers or dedicated nurses like Mary and the others. I simply can’t. I came to Cuba for my own selfish reasons. They came to serve. They’re truly heroines.”

“You occupy a category all your own, Victoria. And whatever your reasons for coming to Cuba, it took a great deal of courage for you to board that ship.”

Her frown gave way to a grin. “That’s not what you said when you found me in Siboney that first
day. My ears still burn when I recall the less-than-flattering things you had to say about me then.”

Matching her grin, Sam shoved back his chair and came around the table to take her hand and draw her out of hers. His thumb traced a lazy path along her lower lip.

“As
I
recall, we both said a great many foolish things that afternoon.”

The long, tiring day dissolved. All thoughts of Miss Barton and her volunteers fled. The stroke of his thumb began a slow, sweet song in Victoria’s blood.

“Sam…”

For the life of her, she couldn’t have said whether her breathless whisper was an invitation or a plea. Whatever it was, he responded. Dipping his head, he covered her mouth with his. Victoria leaned into his embrace with an eagerness born of desire and delight.

They fit together differently than before, she realized with a sudden clenching of her stomach. The pounds they’d both shed brought them closer. Chest to chest. Hip to hip. So intimate. So right.

Under her palms, his muscles were hard and ridged, each sinew as taut as strung rope. Through her taffeta underskirt, she could feel him swell behind the flap of his trousers. Spasms of need, of desire, of pure feminine delight rippled through her belly.

“Dammit!”

Abruptly, Sam put some distance between them. Chagrin showed plainly on his face.

“I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I did!” The retort slipped out, honest and quick and colored with the need Victoria didn’t try to hide. “I thought… I thought this time was for us to get to know each other?”

“It is. But I swore I’d do things right this time.” He took another step back, dragged a hand through his hair. “No letting my lust get the better of me. No getting caught with my hands all over you. No tumbling you helter-skelter into bed, as much as I ache to do exactly that right now.”

“Oh. Well.”

She could hardly argue that there was nothing she wanted more at this moment than for Sam to tumble her helter-skelter into bed. She was the one who’d insisted that passion wasn’t enough, after all.

She’d been so hurt that day in Siboney. So angry and stung by pride. She’d all but thrown the gold-and-sapphire locket in Sam’s face, convinced she couldn’t share him or his love with another woman.

How long ago that seemed! How much they’d both changed since then. Pride now left a bitter taste in her mouth. After a long moment of rather strained silence, she heaved a huge sigh.

“I think I understand now how it feels to be hoist by one’s own petard.”

He gave a bark of laughter, shattering the tension that gripped them both. “Give me a minute to get the beast under control and we’ll try again.”

“Can you?” she asked with a curious glance at the bulge in his pants. “Get it under control, I mean?”

“I can try. Shall we take a walk along the harbor while I wrestle with my baser self?”

Unsure at this point whether or not she wanted him to win the battle, Victoria nodded.

The moon was just beginning to lose its roundness. Hanging low above the hills surrounding the city, it painted the buildings spilling down to the bay a pale gold. A breeze off the water whispered through the tall palms lining the harbor and kept the mosquitoes away.

“By day Santiago is small and quaint,” Victoria observed as they walked along the stone quay. “By night, it’s rather magical.”

“The city certainly shows two faces to the world,” Sam agreed, his glance straying past the brightly lit boathouse hospital to the charred skeletons of the Spanish fleet. “Even those hulks take on a different aspect in moonlight.”

Biting her lip, Victoria surveyed the ghostly remains. “Were very many of those aboard killed?”

“I understand most managed to dive into the water before their ships went down. Several of Ad
miral Schley’s sailors climbed into longboats and darted in under fire to rescue them.”

“I heard that one of our men crawled through a mile of trenches under fire, too, to bring aid to a wounded Spanish drummer boy.”

“A regular from the Ninth Infantry,” Sam confirmed. “He’ll likely get a medal for it, if his commander doesn’t court-martial him for putting his life at risk like that.”

“How strange war is,” Victoria mused. “Men do their best to blow each other up, then risk their lives to save each other.”

“It’s the nature of the beast.”

“Speaking of beasts…” She slanted him a sideways look. “Is yours under control yet?”

“As much as it will ever be. Ready to return to the house?”

To Victoria’s secret chagrin, Sam kept himself under rigid control. They sat and talked long into the night, and the chaste kiss he gave her at the door to her bedroom could have been bestowed on a nun.

Victoria crawled under the mosquito netting, sure she would toss and turn all night. She dropped into sleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

“I
t’s the heat,” Victoria complained to Señora Garcia the next afternoon when she dragged herself back to the house after another visit to the Red Cross hospital.

The air was thicker than ever, and she almost welcomed the dark thunderclouds piling up above the mountains in hopes the daily downpour would provide some relief.

“
Muy,
er, hot,” she said, waving a hand in front of her face.

“Sí,”
the woman agreed sympathetically, going off in a torrent of Spanish. Victoria didn’t understand a word until she heard the magic phrase
siesta.

“A siesta! That’s what I need. A bath and then a siesta.”

With so little time left before she had to start thinking about leaving Cuba, Victoria was deter
mined to slough off this uncharacteristic lassitude. She had stories yet to write…and precious hours to spend with Sam.

They’d linger late over coffee again, she thought as she sank into the cool water Señora Garcia had perfumed with flower petals. Perhaps take another walk along the harbor. And this time, she vowed with a drowsy smile, he wouldn’t leave her at her bedroom door with a mere peck on the lips.

He might be determined to do things “right” this time. But Victoria was fast coming to the conclusion that there was no right or wrong when it came to her feelings for Captain Samuel Garrett.

Sam left the governor’s palace just after four. On a mission of some delicacy for General Wood, he walked the few blocks to Calle San Giorgio. Halfway there, the skies opened and caught him in a torrential downpour. He’d left his India rubber poncho at the headquarters and was soaked to the skin by the time he arrived at the house.

Gathering from one of the maids that Victoria was in her room, he squished down the tiled hall and rapped gently on her door. The rain beating down on the roof drowned out his knock. He tried again, louder this time, then opened the door a crack.

“Victoria? I’m sorry to disturb you but General Wood has asked—”

He stopped, grinning at the view through the slice of open door. She was sprawled in the tub. Her arms and legs dangled over the sides. Her head was turned away from him, but the steady rise and fall of her breasts told him she was sound asleep.

Sam waged a short, fierce debate with himself. A gentleman would close the door and quietly retreat. So would a man who’d sworn to keep his lust on a tight rein. If he hadn’t been afraid that Victoria would slide down and drown, he might have done just that. Or if his gaze hadn’t fixed on those rose-tipped breasts.

Lord, she was beautiful. Trimmer than before, but every bit as sensual. It had damned near killed him to break off their kiss and put some distance between them last night. With a feeling that he was about to hurt even worse, he crossed the room and lifted her gently from the tub.

“Sam?” She lolled against his chest, blinking groggily. “Wh…? What are you doing?”

“Saving you from drowning.”

He carried her to the bed and settled her atop the covers. A pile of folded underlinens sat waiting at the foot. Shaking out a petticoat, Sam covered her with the soft cotton.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, drawing the skirt up over her breasts, unaware that the movement bared the red-gold curls at the juncture of her thighs. “I got your uniform all wet.”

“The rains did that.”

“Is that what I hear? The rain on the roof?”

“That’s what you hear.”

Exercising a heroic act of control, he kept his glance from straying and brushed her wet, tangled hair back from her face.

“Strange. I thought for a moment it was your heart hammering.”

It probably was, Sam thought. His blood pumped so hard and fast right now it almost deafened him.

“Or mine,” she murmured. “Maybe it’s mine. Do you hear it pounding?”

“No, I—”

“Then feel it.”

When she took one of his hands and slipped it under the bunched cotton, every muscle in his body stiffened.

“Victoria—”

“Do you feel it?”

She had to know what she was doing! She wasn’t groggy now, dammit.

“Do you feel it, Sam?”

“Yes.”

“Then perhaps you should lock the door.”

“What?”

“You don’t want Señora Garcia to walk in on us, do you?”

It took him a moment to remember just who the hell Señora Garcia was. He’d just managed to sum
mon a mental image of her when Victoria wiped it right out of his head again.

“I’ve been thinking about this matter of lust.”

“I’ve been doing some thinking about it, too,” he confessed hoarsely.

At night, with her lying only yards away. At dawn, when he rose and left her sleeping. And now! Right now! He couldn’t think about anything
except
crushing her wet, naked body against him.

“I was wrong that afternoon in Siboney,” she said softly, lifting her free hand to trace the line of his jaw. “I thought we could separate this…this hunger that consumes us from nobler, purer sentiments.”

Just as he had separated his longing for Mary from his desire for her, she thought with a little pang.

“I’ve discovered I can’t distinguish between my feelings,” she whispered. “What’s more, I don’t want to. And I don’t want to waste these last days before the rains come.”

Abandoning the petticoat, she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew herself up until her mouth brushed his.

“Lock the door, Sam.”

After bolting the door, Sam peeled off his uniform and dropped it on the floor. Victoria helped. And hindered. She tugged at his belt buckle and
pushed at the buttons along with him, but stopped to play over each stretch of exposed flesh. Nerves jumped under his skin everywhere her fingers strayed. Little pinpricks of fire burned every spot her lips touched.

When he finally rid himself of the last of his clothes and joined her on the bed, the puckered scar on his shoulder put a hitch in her breath. Gently, she fingered the wound.

“Does it pain you?”

“Not anymore.”

And not anywhere near as much as other parts of him did right now. Sam ached for her so fiercely he had to grit his teeth and fight to keep his touch gentle as he skimmed his palms down the slopes and valleys of her body.

She felt as soft and warm as the rain to his touch. Her skin was so smooth, all slick and sweet-smelling from her bath. Bending, he followed the path of his slow, stroking hands with his mouth.

“Oh, Sam…”

Raising her arms over her head, she arched her back and gave him freer access to her breasts. He teased the tips with his teeth and tongue until they hardened to stiff, red peaks.

This was so different from the first time, Victoria thought on a wave of sensual delight. She’d been so ignorant back in Tampa. So embarrassed when Sam reached down to explore the moist secrets be
tween her legs. There was no trace of that shy, startled virgin in the way she opened for him now. Or in the heat that enveloped her as he pressed and probed and gently, so gently, rolled the heel of his hand against her mound.

This time, she didn’t buck or try to twist away. This time, she closed her eyes and surrendered breathlessly to the spinning sensations. Head back, body taut, she spread her legs wide and welcomed his touch.

Sam was sure the effort of holding back would grind his teeth down to stubs. The flushed, sensual woman stretched out beside him enflamed every one of his senses. His mind screamed with the need to plunge into her, but she was so glorious, so generous, that he could only marvel at the change in her.

In them both.

Despite his every intention to the contrary, he’d hungered for Victoria’s young, ripe body. In Tampa, he’d let that hunger and the primitive need to assert his claim over her push him into taking her maidenhead. Yet the urgent craving that had driven him then didn’t begin to compare with the all-consuming desire now gripping him.

He didn’t just hunger for Victoria’s body. Staking his claim was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. She wasn’t a girl needing his protection. She’d more than proved her strength and
courage. Sam had come to respect her as much as he wanted her.

And Lord, did he want her! All of her. Under him. Wrapped around him. In his bed. In his heart.

Entwining his fingers in hers, he brought her hands down beside her head, braced himself on his elbows and eased atop her. His shaft probed the heat between her legs.

Her whole body went stiff for a moment, then anticipation clenched her belly. The rippling muscles drew a low grunt from Sam, but still he managed to hold back.

“Victoria,” he said hoarsely. “Sweetheart.”

Her eyes opened. Lips parted, her breath coming swift and shallow, she stared up at him.

“At Siboney,” he ground out. “You asked what I felt for you.”

“I remember. You supplied a long string of emotions.” Swiping her tongue along her lower lip, she managed a shaky laugh. “If I remember rightly, anger topped the list.”

“Yes, well, it did at the time.”

“Are you saying you want to change the order of your list?”

“No.” His fingers tightened around hers. “I want to add to it.”

The look in his eyes shot an arrow of excitement through Victoria’s belly. Shivering, she invited him to add as many emotions as he wished.

“I don’t have your way with words,” he warned.

“Just do your best.”

“All right. I admire you.”

“That’s— That’s very gratifying.”

But not exactly what she’d hoped to hear.

“I respect you.”

“I respect you, too.”

He dropped a hard kiss on her mouth. The movement canted his hips and brought the tip of his shaft into her moist channel.

“You humble me.”

With a little gasp, Victoria writhed under him. “You don’t feel particularly humble to me!”

“What I’m trying to say in my clumsy way is that I love you.”

Her knuckles were white where her fingers had locked around his. His hard, heavy weight pressed her into the mattress. She couldn’t move, could barely think beyond the need to take him into her body.

“Oh, Sam, I love you, too.” Her words tumbled out in a breathless rush. “I’ve always loved you, even when I was hurt and angry and too proud to accept the gift you offered me. I understand now that it’s possible to hold more than one love in your heart.”

“You’re wrong.” His grip tightened to a bruising hold. “It’s not possible. I’m not sure how or when it happened, but there’s no room in my heart or my
head or anyplace else for anyone but you, Victoria.”

She stared up at him, stunned. Her mouth opened, closed again. Finally, she let out a little gasp.

“And you think you don’t have a way with words?”

A grin slashed across his face. Contorting his body, he bent to cover her mouth and drove home with a slow, sure thrust.

It took her only a move or two to catch the rhythm this time. So deliberate. So tantalizing. Her hips moved with his. She used her teeth and tongue and lips with ever-increasing skill. And when she peaked, groaning out her pleasure from far back in her throat, she almost regretted that he pulled out and spilled his seed on her belly.

Afterward, she sprawled facedown in a tangle of damp sheets. The incredible heights of pleasure Sam had taken her to left Victoria limp and too boneless to move, even when Señora Garcia rapped hesitantly on the door.

Sam called out to her in the few words of Spanish he’d managed to pick up. Mumbling apologies, she beat a hasty retreat.

“So much for observing the proprieties,” he said wryly as he reached for his pants.

“That was your idea, not mine,” Victoria re
minded him, stretching lazily. “Do you suppose you could talk her into serving us supper in bed? I don’t think I have the strength to dress.”

“Hmm. We’ll have to offer General Wood some other excuse than that for declining his invitation to dinner.”

“We’re invited to dinner?”

“Yes.”

“With General Wood?”

“Yes.”

“Sam! Not tonight?”

He shot a grin over his shoulder. “Didn’t you wonder why I’d returned to the house so early in the day?”

“I might have,” she retorted, recovering, “if I hadn’t become somewhat distracted.”

“Never mind. I’ll make your apologies. General Wood will be disappointed, as he particularly wished to speak to you, but we can always—”

“For pity’s sake! You might have said so sooner!”

His eyes glinted. “I might have, if I hadn’t become so distracted.”

Curiosity had her scrambling up, the tangled bed linens tucked around her breasts. “What does General Wood want to speak to me about?”

Sam hesitated. “It might be better if you hear it from him.”

Curiosity surged into quick, sharp interest. “Don’t let me walk into the palace unprepared.”

“Are you going, then?”

“Yes, of course! But only if you give me some clue as to what’s behind this invitation to dinner.”

“I believe he wants your opinion about a letter Colonel Roosevelt intends to send to Secretary of War Alger.”

Victoria’s jaw dropped. “
My
opinion?”

“As a member of the press corps. Shall I ask Señora Garcia to help you dress? We don’t have much time.”

Dazed, she could only nod.

A little less than an hour later, Sam escorted her into a small salon off the main hall of the governor’s palace.

Victoria wore the black lace mantilla draped over a high comb to cover her still-damp hair. Her red silk gown swished against the hardwood floors. The sapphire-studded gold locket Sam had given her was pinned to the silk. A smile warmed her heart each time she remembered his rather gruff hope that this time she’d keep the damned thing on.

The lean, ascetic Wood waited for them in the salon. So, Victoria saw, did his boisterous former second-in-command. Colonel Roosevelt gave her a toothy grin, his eyes merry behind his spectacles.

General Wood greeted her with the courtesy that
had made him the favored physician to President McKinley and his wife. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Parker. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“As I have you, sir.”