Children of Destiny Books 1-3 (Texas: Children of Destiny Book 9) Read online

His fingers slid across her skin, barely touching her, yet arousing her until she was breathless.

  “I—I’m so afraid...I’ll disappoint you,” she confessed.

  She could smell the pleasant musky-male odor of his body, almost taste him.

  Softly he entwined his fingers in her hair. His lips caressed her throat, that long beautiful throat, letting the sensuality that existed between them say what was so difficult to put into words. “Honey...honey,” he whispered. “You were born knowing. You were made for this. Just let yourself go. You’re incredibly beautiful. Incredibly sweet. Incredibly brave. I don’t know how I’ll ever get enough of you.”

  “You’ve had all those other women.”

  She felt him tense. Quietly he moved his hands along her body, down her belly, touching her intimately, everywhere, stopping nowhere, using the bold sweetness of his touch to bring her close to him emotionally as well as physically. “None of them matter. There’s no one but you. No one but us. No time except tonight.” He leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. “There’s never been anyone but you.”

  “Still, it’ll never work, will it?”

  “What?” he whispered, lifting his mouth from her throat, though he knew what she meant.

  “Us.” Her single word was both eloquent and sad.

  He ran a finger lightly under her breast and said nothing. Then his mouth took hers again passionately. A fever that was both exquisite pleasure and exquisite pain pulsed in her blood. She had never known there could be such sorrow coupled to joy, that extreme sadness could intensify delight and make it even more precious.

  He was hers tonight even if she could never have him again.

  After a lifetime without love, she had found it.

  Only to know it couldn’t last. There was only now. Only tonight and this precious hot pulsating moment.

  Very slowly he slanted his mouth against hers. His kiss deepened. The tip of his tongue touched hers, and they were caught in the spiral of a flame that consumed them. They were drowning in waves of velvet darkness, exchanging their separate solitudes for a completeness they could find only in each other.

  In the moonlight his face was wild and dark. She did not know that her eyes blazed just as brilliantly as his. She only knew that the passion that burned in him, burned in her as well.

  His hands moved on her body, handling her with a rough yet tender expertise that left her trembling. He stroked her long neck, then buried his lips against the quickening heartbeat in the hollow of her throat. His hands slid to her breasts, caressing them until each quivering nipple throbbed beneath his touch. Then he kissed his way down her stomach, nibbling with his lips, tickling her skin with his tongue.

  Kirk paid no attention to her sudden electric stillness. He kissed the inside of her navel before pressing his face lower, into her lap.

  She was shaking all over, speechless with astonishment even as she entwined her fingers in his hair, clutching him closer.

  The inhibitions of a lifetime were forgotten. She drew him nearer, surrendering herself completely to the fierce melting urgency his mouth stirred at the quick of her. In the rapture of his seeking lips she discovered herself, her womanliness, her utter wildness, her craven need of him.

  What, oh what if she had never found him? How had she endured the terrible loneliness before him?

  A soft keening like that of a creature being newly born escaped her lips.

  Then the world was a rainbow of flame, and she was burning, drowning, dying. Being reborn in splintering passionate delight.

  He waited for the aftershocks of her passion to subside before he drew her once more into his arms. Then he aligned her body to his, and suddenly he was inside her. There was only the tiniest flash of pain.

  At her muted cry, he stopped, holding himself still so that she could grow accustomed to him. His mouth fastened slowly on hers, and she let her lips open to him endlessly. She reveled in the male sprawl of his hot body on top of hers. Lovingly she touched his hair, brushed his fevered brow.

  “Don’t worry about me,” she whispered. “I’m fine. I want it. I love it.” She started to say she loved him but remembered in time not to chase him.

  He began to move again, gently at first, and then, when he could control himself no longer, he thrust deeply. Love that had been denied to her for years burst gloriously inside her, and she moaned against his lips. At this faint sigh of ecstasy from her, he lost what little remnant of control he still had. She felt his body tighten. His arms were like iron, binding her to him. His skin was fire. Then he was shuddering and clinging, and so was she.

  After it was over, they lay breathlessly together, he cradling her close against his powerful body. She could feel the rivulets of sweat in his hair. They coursed along the side of his cheek. His breath came in harsh, urgent rasps.

  She coiled herself tightly to him and listened to the violent pounding of his heart. He was everything she could have dreamed of in a lover. Everything. He had awakened a passion that had exploded through her entire being and left her feeling weak and spent and vulnerable. She could not help wondering what it had been like for him, but she lacked the courage to ask him.

  She lay in his arms, silent, almost content.

  The last thing she heard was his husky voice whispering a woman’s name against the warm base of her throat where her pulse beat throbbed against his mouth.

  ‘‘ Julia... Darling Julia...”

  Julia? Had he been imagining some other woman as he’d made love to her?

  Above and beyond her jealousy, the name itself was oddly disturbing. Not that she said anything. No, she drifted into sleep with his hands stroking her hair.

  But the name haunted her even in her dreams.

  She was a child again and lost. Someone was calling to her, and yet the name they used was not hers, but Julia. She could not answer them, no matter how she wanted to. So she remained lost and afraid, in hiding.

  She awakened and lay still in the darkness.

  “Julia?” she whispered before she fell asleep once more.

  Eight

  Dawn dreamed, and in her dream she was dancing through swirling mists in a diamond-sprinkled darkness, dancing toward a single shaft of light coming from above. The closer she came to the light, the more brilliant it became, until finally it whitened everything. The light was like the white flame that terrified her, and yet some part of her knew she had to find out what lay beyond it. She had to stand in its light and heat. She had to feel its warmth flooding even to her bones, to her soul.

  At the center of the flame was a man. He held out his arms, and she soared into them.

  “Darling...”

  Had he spoken or had she?

  She came awake slowly, to the melodious velvet sound of the most beautiful male drawl she had ever heard.

  She felt the incredible heat of his naked body as he wrapped her closer. His hands sifted through her hair.

  “Bad dream?” he murmured gently.

  “No. The most wonderful dream of my life. I know this sounds crazy, but I feel that at last, I’ve come home. I was lost, and now I’m found.”

  The sheets rustled, and he pulled her on top of him. “Maybe you just needed to get loved,” he murmured dryly, with a smile.

  “How can you insult me at a time like this, when I was pouring my heart out to you?”

  “It wasn’t an insult,” he said with a tender smile, tracing the length of her spine with his fingertip. “You’re a warm-blooded, healthy young woman. You need a man.”

  “Not just any man,” she purred. “You.”

  She reveled in the hot male sprawl of his body, in the masculine arms cradling her so protectively.

  She touched his jawline, brushed her fingers through his hair. “Kirk, tell me who I am. Why you came after me. I have to know.”

  She felt his hand pause at the base of her spine.

  “Honey, I told you. It’s complicated. I don’t think I should be the one...”
/>
  Her fingers fumbled with the medallion at her throat. “I have to know. I keep remembering things. Things I can’t remember. These flashes started coming to me when Aslam kidnapped me. It was like the kidnapping triggered something—unlocked some door that’s been closed for years. Oh, I know it sounds crazy, but I remember you. Your eyes. A horse. And terror. Then there’s always this white light that scares me and the headaches afterward. It’s like some part of me doesn’t want to remember. Like I’ve been running all my life from some frightening memory locked inside me. Only now, with you, I feel brave enough to face it all. I danced, you see, all the time. Because if you really dance, I mean hours and hours every day, and really concentrate, there’s never any time to think, or live. I never wanted any time for those things. All of a sudden, though, I want to know what’s happening to me. I have to know who I am.”

  “Honey...” He swallowed at the terrible emotion welling up inside him. He felt like his heart was bursting apart from the inside out. How could he tell her that all the pain and terror she’d experienced were his fault? That her loveless childhood was his fault as well?

  “You sure know how to catch a guy in a weak moment,” he muttered.

  “Tell me... please...”

  Dawn felt his body tense, and at first she thought he would refuse her again. Then his low voice filled the fluid darkness.

  “Your real name is Julia Jackson.”

  “Julia...” He had called her that last night. He hadn’t been thinking of another woman.

  “You were kidnapped when you were a little girl. It was my fault. I was teaching you to ride.”

  She couldn’t imagine that she’d ever wanted to ride a horse.

  “I—I...tried to save you,” he said, “but I couldn’t. I—I—”

  His voice broke, and he was silent for a long time, his body rigid with tension from the pain of memories that had not only haunted her, but had haunted him as well. Then Dawn moved closer and softly kissed his brow.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered, suddenly more distressed for him than for herself. “I know it. I can feel it...even though I can’t remember it. I was there, too. You have to let it go.”

  He clutched her tighter, buried his face in her hair. She felt his great body trembling beneath hers, felt the awful vulnerability of his agony.

  Dawn wrapped her arms around him, and he turned into her, clinging, trying to find the strength to go on.

  It took him a long time, but finally he told her everything. He told her of the kidnapping, of Mercedes’ tragic despair, of his own guilt, of the time they’d locked him up in reform school. He told her that Mercedes had known the true identity of the missing ballerina as soon as she’d seen the necklace Dawn always wore. He described the way Mercedes had hired detectives to dig out every detail of Dawn Hayden’s life, how Mercedes had flown to Mexico City herself and spoken to Dawn’s adoptive mother.

  Mercedes had been horrified by Mrs. Hayden’s cold indifference, but from her, Mercedes had learned that twenty years ago Mr. Hayden, an importer, had found a desperate little five-year-old girl who didn’t know who she was, wandering the back alleys of Matamoros. He had brought the child home, forced Mrs. Hayden to accept her and eventually adopted her. Mercedes had gone to New York to see Lincoln.

  Dawn listened, absorbing every detail. His words triggered no white flashes. Nothing new came back to her. It was as if he were speaking of someone other than herself, but she was filled with a strange dread.

  Kirk swept a mass of hair over her shoulder so that it waved and spiraled against the pillow. “Mercedes never gave up hope, through all the years, that you might be alive. She loves you very deeply.”

  Dawn felt only an empty nothingness. Only an odd sensation of betrayal. Only fear of an unknown she wasn’t wholly prepared to face. “She doesn’t even know me.”

  “She was a ballerina, too. She...”

  “Please, Kirk, a mother’s love is something I’m not sure I can believe in. I know she gave you the money, and you risked your life to save me. I want you to thank her, but I want you to tell her, that for now, I—I don’t want to see her.”

  Thank her! He thought of Mercedes. Of all the years she had suffered not knowing if her only daughter were dead or alive. He understood too well that kind of loss. How would he ever make Mercedes understand that the daughter she had never forgotten wanted nothing to do with her?

  “Dawn, the Jacksons are wonderful people, the most wonderful people I’ve ever known. They stood by me when my own family—”

  “Don’t you see? New York is all I know. I’ve fought so hard for my life there. I—just can’t go back. Not yet... I’m not her little girl anymore. I don’t remember her at all. I would be too afraid...” Of disappointing her. Of being disappointed.

  Her voice trailed away and they lay together not speaking, both of them numb and exhausted from the wrenching emotional upheaval. Both of them set against each other in this.

  Dawn fought against the urge to cry. “Tell her, please...make her understand how hard it would be for me to go back.”

  Kirk held her so tightly she could hardly breathe, but the pain in his own heart was as thick and smothering as hers. There was nothing on earth he would not have done for her, so deep were his feelings for her. Who knew better than he how difficult it could be to trust in love? And yet, Jeb Jackson was as dear to him as a brother. Mercedes, dearer than his own mother. Wayne, even Nick, who as the bastard son, had had a tough time earning his rightful place in the family... Kirk loved them all.

  “I don’t know if I can find a way to make her understand,” he whispered, his voice low with torment.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Okay. I’ll respect your wishes.”

  Then he kissed Dawn and touched her and caressed her until he ignited a wild keening passion in both of them, a passion that brought such joy, that all the pain was blotted out.

  *

  The morning was soft and gray and wet. The window was ajar, and sounds from the river traffic sifted inside.

  She was on top of him when he awoke, as always. Only this was different. She was softer, more beautiful than ever before, and the erotic feelings she aroused in him were infinitely more tender. Not only the sex, but their talk in the middle of the night, had touched him deeply.

  Kirk had meant to get up first and leave her while she was still asleep, but that was impossible now. If he moved, she would awaken. So he lay still and savored the warmth and contentment of their bodies touching, the silken coil of her limbs tangled with his. It was strange how much more enjoyable it was to hold her like this in his arms now that he had made love with her. The tormenting, hunger for her was gone, but she seemed infinitely sweeter and more precious.

  He understood why she was afraid of going back, afraid of disappointing Mercedes, afraid of finding out for sure she could never go back, that she was truly alone. He knew all about that kind of fear, the fear of opening up your heart. And yet he had to find a way to make her change her mind.

  He remembered the long night of passion with a flicker of male pride. How many times...

  He had lost count. But each had seemed more wonderful than the last. He had wanted her as he’d never wanted another woman, and she’d given herself to him with an eagerness that had pleased and astounded him.

  No wonder it was so late. He was amazed he hadn’t died.

  He told himself that he had to break it off, quickly, easily as soon as she awoke.

  He lay awake for more than an hour, enjoying the way she cuddled up to him so trustingly in her sleep. Everything about her had become a pleasure to him. Even lying with her when he was wide awake and had a million things on his mind.

  When her lashes fluttered drowsily, a terrible sadness gripped his heart.

  “Kirk,” she whispered, holding on to him.

  He looked into her eyes and was dazzled by her beauty and by some indefinable pull of emotion. The time had come for
goodbye.

  Her fingertip touched his lip, shushing him even before he spoke.

  “Stay with me today,” she said. “Just one day... It would be so nice to be like a normal couple…unafraid.”

  It was wrong to even consider it, but what was one day out of two lifetimes?

  A radiant drowsy smile broke across her face. “Please.” With her warm fingertip, she traced the outline of his sensual mouth.

  One day with her meant everything, he thought, opening his mouth so that her finger could touch his teeth.

  One day meant one more night.

  Twenty-four hours to store up a lifetime of memories.

  He meant to say no or goodbye, but he heard a rough voice he didn’t recognize as his own promise, “Okay. One day.”

  What the hell could it hurt?

  “And one night,” she replied happily, seductively, her expression that of a delighted wanton.

  “Who says we have to wait until it’s night?”

  He nipped her finger and she pulled it from his mouth.

  Her eyes were sparkling. “You mean...now?”

  In answer, he lowered his black head, and his tongue traced a burning trail from her breasts to her navel to the warmth inside her thighs, and she cried out.

  “Oh, don’t touch me. Don’t look at me there!” But her fingers were in his hair, pulling him closer.

  “I want to touch you, to taste you, to look at you there,” he growled. “You are beautiful.”

  He could feel her quivering. She arched herself against him with a moan.

  God, she was hot. Hotter than any woman he had ever had, and she made him hotter than he’d ever been before.

  *

  When it was over, she lay in his arms, blushing as she remembered the things he had done to her, the things she had done to him.

  Beside her, with her black hair streaming across the glistening muscles of his chest, Kirk was more content and at peace than he had been in years. Her body enchanted him with its exhilarating passion, and yet what he felt for her went so much deeper than sexual desire. Last night when she’d told him softly that she did not blame him for what had happened, that she knew it wasn’t his fault she’d been kidnapped and her childhood stolen, he hadn’t guessed those lightly spoken words could mean so much to him. But they did.