Surrender, Baby Part 12

He finished off the rum in one gulp and flung the gla.s.s into the bay, then he strode back into the house for the bottle.

Love? Jesus! He wasn't on intimate terms with that particular emotion. He wasn't even friendly with it. He'd seen what love could do, even the sweetest, most devoted kind of love. His father had committed suicide when Geoff was a teenager, and his mother, unable to bear the loss, had overdosed on sleeping pills shortly after. It was called accidental, but Geoff knew she hadn't wanted to live. She'd adored his father. Geoff had adored them both. His life had never been the same after that.

"Geoff ... ?"

He was about to take a swig from the fifth of rum when he heard her whisper his name. He set the bottle down and turned to the most incredible sight he'd ever seen. Randy was standing in the hall doorway, her nude body bathed in moonlight.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She wet her lips, looking helpless, irresistible.

"Randy, what-? Why are you doing this?"

"Don't ask me why," she said, her voice shaking. "All I know is I need to be with you."

Geoff's heart went dangerously weak. What was she saying? That she wanted him over Hugh, that she'd chosen him? Her eyes said she needed him urgently, but he knew it had gone beyond the point of casual s.e.x for both of them. He couldn't make love to her and let her go. He shook his head, not wanting this to happen, yet wanting her so badly it was painful.

"Randy, don't do this unless you're sure ... " He let the sentence trail off, mesmerized by her dazzling, anguished smile and the tears welling in her eyes.

Survival, Dias ...

But the warning went unheeded as she held out her hand to him. He didn't even remember going over to her, but he must have, because a moment later they were hand in hand, walking slowly toward the bungalow's bedroom. He knew she must be feeling the same disorientation, the same crazy magic he was. They were moving as though in a daze, both of them, a dream all of their own, not willing to speak or even to think, not willing to let anything intrude.

She touched his face as they reached the bedroom, a tremor in her fingers, and Geoff felt himself hardening. The energy slamming through his groin brought him so much pleasure, he wanted to groan. A touch and he was gone. One innocent touch! He thought immediately of the other time she'd aroused him and sent him over the edge. But he couldn't let her do that to him this time. He needed to be in control.

Her hand fluttered down his neck to his chest, a gypsy bride trying to steal his heart, his soul. She started to tug at his T-shirt, but he stopped her, capturing her hand in the hollow of his breastbone, pressing it against the riot of excitement inside him.

The room streamed with moonlight. It shimmered silver through her ebony hair and caught the sparkle of emotion in her eyes. Fear or desire? He couldn't tell. But her body seemed to glow with antic.i.p.ation, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and hipbones shivering, iridescent.

"How come I'm the only one naked?" she asked shakily.

"Because I want it that way," he told her.

"Why? Aren't we going to-"

"Oh, yes," he promised roughly, imprisoning her hand as he reached down to unzip his pants. "We're going to. We're going to rock this house. We're going to rock Rio. You and I are going to be s.e.xier than Carnaval, hotter and sweeter than cachaca."

"Then why can't I undress you?"

He couldn't believe she didn't know. She couldn't be that innocent. She had to be aware of the effect she had on him. He was a hopeless case, reduced to animal instincts by the sound of her voice, the willful tilt of her chin, the hot little flare of her nostrils. One touch of her hand and he was gone.

Maybe a little object lesson was in order, he decided.

He reached in and freed himself from the confines of his fly, shuddering at the feel of so much energy springing free. He was all heat and muscle-one hardened, rampant muscle.

"Because of this," he said, guiding her hand to his groin. Her fingers fluttered over him so exquisitely, he had to pull them away. But her gasp brought him soaring pleasure.

"Now do you see why I want you naked?" he said, kissing the same fingertips that had just driven him wild, rubbing them against his lips. "I want the edge this time, baby. I want some control."

"No-you want me out of control, crazy for you ... " Her voice softened on a throaty groan, and she barely got the next words out. " ... wet for you."

He kissed her knuckles, inadvertently biting down on them as his desire became pain. "This is survival, Randy. I've got so much feeling raging inside me. It could kill me if I let it."

She looked up at him, her eyes going liquid, the dark irises melting into pools of heat. "Let it, Geoff," she said softly, wetting her lips with her tongue, seducing him with her urgent, husky voice. "Let it kill you, just a little."

She touched him with her free hand, stroking him before he could stop her. "Let me," she murmured, bending as if to take him into her mouth.

He seized her by the arms and brought her back up. "No way, sweetness," he said huskily. "You're not getting near that stick of dynamite. We'd both explode." He lifted her to him and kissed her, caressing her lips lightly, tautly, controlling the tripwire tension he felt. "Now stand up, Randy," he murmured, "like a good girl. And open your legs."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Definitely you."

"Like this? Standing up?"

"Just like this."

Randy breathed out a shivering sound as she stared into his eyes. He was asking her to do something unspeakably erotic, and surrendering that much control to him frightened her. Anxiety leaped inside her as she realized how vulnerable she would be, how exposed.

"Do it, baby," he said gently.

She moved her legs apart, and a soft moan slipped from her lips as he stepped back to look at her. His gaze drifted from her swollen b.r.e.a.s.t.s to the juncture of her thighs, and Randy felt herself beginning to shudder, to ache inside. Impelled by some forbidden impulse, she moved her legs wider and waited for that touch, that deeper, incredibly private touch.

His exhalation was the only sound in the room.

It seemed a lifetime before he came to stand before her. And even then he surprised her, startling a moan out of her as he ran his hands slowly up her naked thighs. It wasn't what she expected, any more than she expected him to cup her b.u.t.tocks and stare into her eyes. "I've got this terrible thirst," he said at last, bending to take her breast into his mouth. His lips pulled irresistibly at her nipple, sipping and tugging, drinking her in. Randy arched against him, her legs spread wide, her sharp moans mingling with his.

He left her b.r.e.a.s.t.s sweetly aching and purled down her body with the soft friction of sand-washed silk. She tightened instinctively as he trailed kisses over her belly and down each thigh, avoiding the heartbeat of her need, the place where she throbbed for him. And just when she thought he would never touch her there, never kiss her there, he did.

"Oh, G.o.d," she breathed as he pressed his lips into the curly dark hair that crowned her thighs. A hot flush of awareness spread through her as he began to discover her secrets with his lips and his tongue. Her stomach clutched with the raw, sweet pleasure of it, and she moved against him, rhythmically, wantonly, forgetting to be ashamed.

She gasped tightly, arching up when he came upon the place where her nerves were thrumming with electricity. It was the most intense pleasure she'd ever known. It was glorious, soaring toward a peak, but never going over, hovering, hovering.

"You're sweet, Randy," he said, bracing her thighs with his hands. "Sweeter than cachaca."

But Randy couldn't respond. She was too stunned, too overcome with stimulation. Every sense was heightened. She could feel his golden mane of hair caressing her skin, tickling her nerves, and his tongue sliding against the very center of her being. She could feel it all at once, rushing at her like a sensory storm, and her body didn't know how to respond. Her legs were vibrating wildly, unable to hold her up.

"Geoff, please," she groaned.

She sagged against him, tangling her hands in his hair, crazy for things she couldn't bring herself to verbalize. She felt him shudder and reach for her, pulling her down to the floor with him. She thought he was going to make love to her right there, but the next thing she knew, he was lifting her in his arms, carrying her to the bed, kissing her, lowering his weight onto her.

She was already climaxing wildly when he entered her.

Geoff pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. He was fighting to hold back his own release as he penetrated her trembling body, thrusting deeply and uncontrollably that first time, that first enflamed time.

"Randy, sweetness," he murmured, astonished at the way her cries cut through him, at the way her muscles clutched at him. He'd had s.e.x more times than he could count, and with more women than he cared to remember, but everything he'd come to know and believe about the experience was negated the moment he impaled himself in her tender, pulsing flesh. He felt like a virgin. He was a virgin. He'd never had s.e.x before, not with a woman he loved. Jesus, the thought of it staggered him.

Her eyes were wet with tears as she looked up at him, her chin trembling uncontrollably. "I need to feel you, Geoff, please. I need you naked everywhere, inside me, against me."

She caught hold of his shoulders, piercing him with her fingernails as she tried to pull off his T-shirt. She was wet and messy and beautiful, every inch the sad, proud gypsy he remembered.

"I'll do it," he said, withdrawing long enough to rip off his shirt and kick his pants free. When he reentered her, she began to climax again, inciting him to wild heights of pa.s.sion. A surge of longing shook through him as he kissed her and rolled with her, pulling her on top of him, plunging deeply inside her body. He took her with all the sweet, crazy abandon of their first night together, and yet there was a bursting tenderness in the way he arched into her flesh this time, tenderness in the way he held her.

Before it was over, he was as naked as she was, emotionally and physically. He had completely surrendered to the power, to the miracle of their joined flesh. His body throbbed, bringing him to a climax that shook his soul. His feelings for her ran deep and torrential, a spring flood that took out everything in its path.

In the last throes, he wondered if he would survive it. His mind answered him as he collapsed into Randy's arms, gathering her up, being gathered up, holding and being held, everything joined, everything one, their breath, their bodies ...

You're dead, Dias. You're in love.

Randy awoke to a sweltering darkness, to a room drenched with heavy sweetness. A wet, steamy breeze oozed through the bedroom's slatted windows, bringing with it the lush perfume of overripe flowers and the briny pungence of salt tides. It was raining outside, she realized, one of the tropical downpours Rio was known for. She glanced down at the man sleeping beside her, a light film of perspiration sheening his nakedness. He lay on his back, one arm thrown out, strong and beautiful in the moonlight, yet oddly vulnerable.

The dampness that cooled her b.r.e.a.s.t.s brought her a feverish chill. She felt dizzy and dehydrated-and very sore in several vulnerable places. As she gazed at Geoff, a sigh stirred in her depths, making her want to smile sadly. The irony of the situation struck her. She'd awakened only one other time in bed with a strange man-or in bed with any man, for that matter. It was Geoff Dias then too.

She'd run away that night. This night she had to do something much more painful. She had to decide. She pulled the sheets around her, shivering in the damp heat as that prospect tore at her. She had always imagined when she found the right man, she would fall madly in love and be caught up in the sweeping pa.s.sion that came with wedding vows and happily-ever-afters. That vision had built a longing within her that Hugh had never been able to fulfill.

Another irony struck her as she studied Geoff's golden hair, his rugged, sunburned features. He was that man, she realized. Geoff Dias was her dream lover, the one who could fulfill her s.e.xually and perhaps even emotionally in a way that Hugh never could. Geoff was the dream. But only Hugh could give her the dream. Hugh was stable and successful, socially accomplished, the perfect man, the perfect husband. Marrying him would prove as nothing else could that she had escaped the past and the curse that destroyed her mother.

She knew all that, but it didn't ease her turmoil any.

She rose from the bed and picked up the cotton bedspread from the floor where it had dropped, wrapping it around her. Geoff stirred, and as she turned to look at him she realized how badly she wanted to return to the warmth of his arms. It was a hook that tugged at her vitals, ripped at her. Surely he could ward off the sadness and protect her from the pain. Surely his strength could keep the demons at bay.

But for how long?

She couldn't avoid the fears that were creeping into her awareness, the d.a.m.ning questions. How long would it take before he grew restless? How long before he grew bored and moved on, the way all Edna's men had?

Some time later she found herself in the living room, staring out the window at the rain. It had lightened to a steamy mist, and the glimmering harbor lanterns were visible again, Sugarloaf outlined against a moonlit horizon.

If Geoff Dias had been sent to test her commitment to Hugh, then she had failed the test. Her turbulent encounter with him had shaken every belief she had, every certainty. It was forcing her to look at herself, to examine her choices. And yet what choices did he present? What options did he bring to her life?

Would he even want to be a part of her life?

She had no idea how long she stood there, searching her heart for answers that could only bring her more pain. But as dawn began to break, she could feel an easing of the turmoil inside her, a coherence beginning to take shape in her thoughts. And finally daylight swelled, bringing with it her sanity, her salvation. This was her day of reckoning, she realized, and finally she knew what had to be done, knew it with a certainty that burned away her confusion and brought her the momentary relief that came with having made a choice.

She touched the window as the pain hit her.

Geoff roused and rolled to his side, his body aching in every joint. He felt as if he'd been ten rounds in the ring with a world-cla.s.s opponent. The thought made him smile. She was that, he admitted. Easily world-cla.s.s.

With a husky groan he sat up and looked around the room. "Randy?" the other side of the bed was empty, but her harem pants and bra lay on the floor where she'd discarded them last night before she'd appeared in the living room, naked.

Deep muscles tightened at that memory, and Geoff winced as if he'd pulled something. At thirty-seven he was probably in the best condition of his life, but he'd used some new muscles last night. Or maybe he'd used the old ones in new ways.

"Randy?"

He rolled off the bed and stood, combing a hand through his hair as he tried to smooth out some of the tangles. A glance in the dresser mirror told him he looked like a wild man, a naked wild man. From Borneo maybe. Or Sunset Strip.

He hesitated, rubbing the stubble that shadowed his chin and wondering if he should shave. The rest of his body would pa.s.s inspection, he decided, checking out the muscularity of his chest and stomach. He looked lit enough. But had he put on a little extra weight around his waist?

A grimace crossed his face as he realized what he'd been doing. He was checking himself out for flaws. Was this what happened when you fell for a woman? Did you start staring at yourself in mirrors, wondering how you looked to her, wondering if she was going to like what she saw?

He looked around for something to put on and found his fatigue pants lying in a heap near the foot of the bed. As he pulled them on and zipped the fly, last night's pa.s.sion screened through his mind again. He had some heavy thinking to do, about love and meaningful relationships and what the h.e.l.l all that meant. But that could wait. In the meantime he just wanted to see her again, maybe kiss her good morning and watch her eat some of his famous chorizo and scrambled eggs. Nothing too strenuous.

There was no sign of her in the living room or the kitchen. But as he wandered through the house, increasingly concerned, he heard murmurs coming from down a hallway where the guest bedroom was located. He stopped at the door and listened. It sounded as if she was in there, talking to someone. His heart froze for an instant. Santeras? Had he found her?

Geoff nudged the door with his foot. His body was spring-tight, ready to fly into action. As he continued to inch the door open. Randy came into his field of vision. She was sitting on the bed, talking on the telephone, tears rolling down her cheeks.

He swung the door open wide, and she looked up. She was alone in the room, and the anguish swimming in her dark eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"It's Hugh," she said, holding her hand over the receiver. "He's alive."

Geoff felt as if he'd been kicked hard in the solar plexus. "That's him on the line? Where is he?"

"No, it's the hospital-" Randy broke off to complete the call. She copied down some information, then mumbled a hurried thank you and hung up the phone.

"What happened?" Geoff asked. He didn't want to know, but he had to know. It was the same sick curiosity that made people crane their necks to look at a horrible accident.

She ducked her head, wiping her damp cheeks against the bedspread she was wrapped in. "I called my a.s.sistant to tell her where I was," she said, "and she told me they'd been contacted by a doctor in Caracas. Hugh's at a hospital in Venezuela. Somehow he got as far as So Paulo, and from there he chartered a small plane." She swallowed with some effort. "They crashed in the jungle. The pilot was killed, and Hugh was found unconscious. Apparently he'd tried to go for help. He was several miles from the plane, but they say he's going to be all right."

"How about you? Are you all right?" It wasn't the question he wanted to ask. He wanted to know how she felt about him, about them.

"I'm-I don't know ... in shock, I guess."

He exhaled heavily. "What do you do now?" He didn't need to ask. He knew, he knew.

She began to talk quickly, not looking at him. "I've got a flight out this morning, so I suppose I should call a cab and stop at a store to get something to wear. It's probably better that I don't go back to the hotel in case Santeras or his men are there. I can have my things sent home, of course-"

He knew she was trying to postpone the inevitable, but he had to stop her. He had to get it over with. "Just answer one question for me," he said. "Are you going to marry Hugh?"

She nodded and the tears began to flow. "Yes."

The wrench at his heart was deep, brutal. "Then call that cab and get out of here." He was amazed at the fatalistic tone of his voice, amazed that he wasn't busting up the room. "Go, Randy. Now, while I'm still hallway civilized. Get out of here."

Her chin trembled on a choked sob. "Geoff ... I'm sorry."

He turned his back, unwilling to let her see the savage contraction of his jaw.

"Please," she said, "please understand that I have to do this. It's my life. It's everything."

In a crazy way he did understand. Even with the pain locking his throat, strangling him, he understood. He could never be what she wanted. He was the wrong man for her, but not for the reasons she thought. No, it wasn't nearly as simple as the fact that he was a biker and she wanted a prince.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," he told her, echoing the words of another night. "Just go. Please go."

Twelve.