The Right Path Part 18

With her, everything could be different. With her, he'd be clean again. Could she turn back the clock?

He could feel the brush of the bedspread against his thigh and knew, in one movement, he could be on it with her. Then nothing would matter but that he had her-a woman. But it wasn't any woman he wanted. It had been her since the first night she had chal enged him on that deserted beach. It had been her since the first time those light, clear eyes had dared him. He was afraid-and he feared little-that it would always be her.

Mixed with the desire came a quick twist of pain. With a soft oath, he pul ed her away, keeping his grip firm on her arms.

"Pay attention, wil you?" His voice was rough and unsteady, but she didn't seem to notice. She smiled up at him and touched his cheek with her palm.

"Wasn't I?"

He checked the urge to shake her and spoke calmly. "I need to talk to you."

"Talk?" She smiled again. "Do we have to talk?"

"There are things I need to tel you-this morning ..." He fumbled with the words, no longer certain what he wanted to say, what he wanted to do. How could her scent be stronger than it had been a moment ago? He was drowning in it.

"Nicholas." Morgan sighed sleepily. "I drank an incredible amount of ouzo. If I don't sleep it off, I may very wel die. I'm sure the body only tolerates a certain amount of abuse. I've stretched my luck tonight."

"Morgan." His breath was coming too quickly. His own pulse like thunder in his ears. He should let her go, he knew. He should simply let her go-for both their sakes. But his arms stayed around her. "Straighten up and listen to me," he demanded.

"I'm through listening." She gave a sleepy, sultry laugh. "Through listening. Make love with me or go."

Her eyes were only slits, but the clear, mystical blue pul ed him in. No struggle, no force would drag him out again. "d.a.m.n you," he breathed as they fel onto the bed. "d.a.m.n you for a witch."

It was al hel smoke and thunder. He couldn't resist it. Her body was as fluid as wine-as sweet and as potent. Now he could touch her wherever he chose and she only sighed. As his mouth crushed possessively on hers, she yielded, but in yielding held him prisoner. Even knowing it, he was helpless. There'd be a payment-a price in pain-for succ.u.mbing to the temptation. He no longer cared for tomorrows. Now, this moment, he had her. It was enough.

He tore the filmy chemise from her, too anxious, too desperate, but she made no protest as the material ripped away. On a groan of need, he devoured her.

Tastes-she had such tastes. They lingered on his tongue, spun in his head. The crushed wild honey of her mouth, the rose-petal sweetness of her skin, drove him to search for more, and to find everything. He wasn't gentle-he was long past gentleness, but the quiet moans that came from her spoke of pleasure.

Words, low and harsh with desire, tumbled from him. He wasn't certain if he cursed her again or made her hundreds of mad promises. For the moment, it was al the same. Needs ripped through him-needs he understood, needs he'd felt before. But there was something else, something stronger, greedier.

Then his flesh was against her flesh, and everything was lost. Fires and flames, a furnace of pa.s.sion engulfed him, driving him beyond control, beyond reason. She was melting into him. He felt it as a tangible ache but had no wil to resist.

Her hands were hot on his skin, her body molten. He could no longer be certain who led and who fol owed. Beneath his, her mouth was soft and wil ing, but he tasted her strength. Under him, her body was pliant, unresisting, but he felt her demand. Her skin would be white, barely touched by the sun. He burned to see it, but saw only the glimmer of her eyes in the darkness.

Then she pul ed his mouth back to hers and he saw nothing, nothing but the blur of raging colors that were pa.s.sion. The wild, sweet scent of jasmine seeped into him, arousing, never soothing, until he thought he'd never smel anything else.

With a last force of wil , he struggled for sanity. He wouldn't lose himself in her- to her. He couldn't. Without self-preservation he was nothing, vulnerable.

Dead.

Even as he took her in a near violent rage, he surrendered.

Chapter Eight

The sunlight that poured through the windows, through the open balcony doors, throbbed and pulsed in Morgan's head. With a groan she rol ed over, hoping oblivion would be quick and painless. The thudding only increased. Morgan s.h.i.+fted cautiously and tried for a sitting position. Warily she opened her eyes then groaned at the flash of white morning sun. She closed them again in self- preservation. Slowly, gritting her teeth for courage, she al owed her lids to open again.

The spinning and whirling which had been enjoyable the night before, now brought on moans and mutters. With queasy stomach and aching eyes, she sat in the center of the bed until she thought she had the strength to move. Trying to keep her head perfectly stil , she eased herself onto the floor.

Carelessly, she stepped over her discarded dress and found a robe in the closet. Al she could think of were ice packs and coffee. Lots of coffee. Then she remembered. Abruptly, blindingly. Morgan whirled from the closet to stare at the bed. It was empty-maybe she'd dreamed it. Imagined it.

In useless defense she pressed her hands to her face. No dream. He had been there, and everything she remembered was real. And she remembered ...

the anger in his eyes, her own misty, taunting invitation. The way his mouth had pressed bruisingly to hers, her own unthinking, abandoned response.

The pa.s.sion-it had been al she had thought it would be. Unbearable, wonderful, consuming. He'd cursed her. She could remember his words. Then he had taken her places she'd never even glimpsed before. She'd given him everything, then mindlessly chal enged him to take more. She could stil feel those taut, tensing muscles in his back, hear that ragged, desperate breathing at her ear.

He had taken her in fury, and it hadn't mattered to her. Then he had been silent.

She had fal en asleep with her arms stil around him. And now he was gone.

On a moan, Morgan dropped her hands to her sides. Of course he was gone. What else did she expect? The night had meant nothing to him-less than nothing. If she hadn't had so much to drink ...

Oh, convenient excuse, Morgan thought on a wave of disgust. She stil had too much pride to fal back on it. No, she wouldn't blame the ouzo. Walking to the bed, she picked up the torn remains of her chemise. She'd wanted him. G.o.d help her, she cared for him-too much. No, she wouldn't blame the ouzo.

Bal ing the chemise in her fist, Morgan hurled it into the bottom of the closet. She had only herself to blame.

With a snap, Morgan closed the closet door. It was over, she told herself firmly. It was done. It didn't have to mean any more to her than it had to Nick. For a moment, she leaned her forehead against the smooth wooden panel and fought the urge to weep. No, she wouldn't cry over him. She'd never cry over him.

Straightening, Morgan told herself it was the headache that was making her feel so weak and weepy. She was a grown woman, free to give herself, to take a man, when and where she chose. Once she'd gone down and had some coffee, she'd be able to put everything in perspective.

She swal owed the threatening tears and walked to the door.

"Good morning, kyrios." The tiny maid greeted Morgan with a smile she could have done without. "Would you like your breakfast in your room now?" "No, just coffee." The scent of food didn't agree with her stomach or her disposition. "I'l go down for it."

"It's a beautiful day."

"Yes, beautiful." With her teeth clenched, Morgan moved down the hal .

The sound of cras.h.i.+ng dishes and a high-pitched scream had Morgan gripping the wal for support. She pressed her hand to her head and moaned. Did the girl have to choose this morning to be clumsy!

But when the screaming continued, Morgan turned back. The girl knelt just inside the doorway. Scattered plates and cups lay shattered over the rug where the food had splattered.

"Stop it!" Leaning down, Morgan grabbed her shoulders and shook Zena out of self-defense. "No one's going to fire you for breaking a few dishes." The girl shook her head as her eyes rol ed. She pointed a trembling finger toward the bed before she wrenched herself from Morgan's hold and fled.

Turning, Morgan felt the room dip and sway. A new nightmare crept in to join the old. With her hand gripping the doork.n.o.b; she stared.

A shaft of sunlight spread over Iona as she lay on her back, flung sideways across the bed. Her head hung over the edge, her hair streaming nearly to the floor.

Morgan shook off the first shock and dizziness and raced forward. Though her fingers trembled, she pressed them to Iona's throat. She felt a flutter, faint, but she felt it. The breath she hadn't been aware she'd held came out in a rush of relief.

Moving on instinct, she pul ed Iona's unconscious form until she lay back on the bed. It was then she saw the syringe laying on the tumbled sheets.

"Oh, my G.o.d."

It explained so much. Iona's moodiness, those tight, jerky nerves. She'd been a fool not to suspect drugs before. She's overdosed, Morgan thought in quick panic. What do I do? There must be something I'm supposed to do.

"Morgan-dear G.o.d!"

Turning her head only, Morgan looked at Dorian standing pale and stiff in the doorway. "She's not dead," Morgan said quickly. "I think she's overdosed

-get a doctor-an ambulance." "Not dead?"

She heard the flat tone of his voice, heard him start to come toward her. There was no time to pamper his feelings. "Do it quickly!" she ordered. "There's a pulse, but it's faint."

"What's Iona done now?" Alex demanded in a tone of strained patience. "The maid's hysterical, and-oh, sweet Lord!"

"An ambulance!" Morgan demanded as she kept her fingers on Iona's pulse.

Perhaps if she kept them there, it would continue to beat. "In the name of G.o.d, hurry!" She turned then in time to see Alex rush from the room as Dorian remained frozen. "There's a syringe," she began with studied calm. She didn't want to hurt him, but continued as his gaze s.h.i.+fted to her. His eyes were blank.

"She must have o.d.'d. Did you know she used drugs, Dorian?"