Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(12)

Trembling, she took a swallow of the sharp liquid and gasped as it burned through her innards. “Oh—”

“Again.”

Obeying the stern voice and the uncompromising hands, she let him tip the bottle into her mouth once more. Another two gulps, and she felt as if she had been set on fire, inside and out. Color rushed over her white skin. She looked into Griffin’s bearded face, and then down at herself, as if just realizing what had happened.

“Better,” he said quietly, seeing that the blank look had gone from her face. He set aside the bottle and helped her off the bed. As soon as her feet touched the floor, she tried to twist away from him. He pulled her against his body and pushed her head back, glaring into her terrified eyes. “Listen to me, you little fool. I’m your only chance in hell of getting off this island. And after what I’ve just done for you, there’ll be a price on my head that even my own men will find tempting. You’ll go where I tell you, and do exactly as I say, or I’ll wring your neck.”

There was no hint of softness in the sinewy body pressed against hers. He could kill her with a mere twist of his wrists. Shaking uncontrollably, she glanced at the floor, at the crumpled, bloodied mass that had once been André Legare. “Yes,” Griffin said softly. “You understand what I’m capable of.”

“Do not hurt me,” she choked. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Good.” He let go of her and pulled off the cord that held back his long black hair. Celia did not move. Gathering the folds of the gaping shirt together, he tied the cord around her waist. The garment hung on her slight frame like a tent, reaching to her knees.

“Wh-why did you come for me?” she asked.

“Because I fought for you and won. And no one takes what is mine.”

“What do you want of me?”

He ignored the question. “Come.” Taking hold of her wrist, he hauled her to the door, stopping abruptly as he sensed rather than saw her limp. “Dammit, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing—it is just—” She fell silent as he knelt down and picked up one of her torn feet. The tender soles of her feet were accustomed to the protection of shoes. Going barefoot over rough surfaces had caused several painful scrapes and blisters. Every step felt as if she were walking on broken glass.

“Well, this should do a fine job of slowing us down.”

“It was not my fault,” she said mutinously.

Swiftly Griffin pulled out his long knife, and she covered her head with her arms, cowering against the door. Muttering something about idiotic females, he picked her up and hoisted her over his shoulder. He used one hand to hold her in place and grasped the knife with the other. Stepping through the doorway, he avoided the slumped-over body of one of Legare’s men.

He carried her through the dark passageways of the aging fortress, moving with the grace of a lion, stealthy and sure. Celia dangled helplessly from his shoulder, dizzy and half-drunk. Miserably she wondered what would be in store for her at the end of this journey. Griffin seemed to know the maze of corridors well, ignoring fake entrances and blind alleys, cutting through empty rooms and bypassing the longer routes to an exit.

The sound of voices alerted him, and he ducked into an unlit passageway. He let Celia slide down his front until her feet were on the ground. The voices drew nearer until Celia could discern two different men and the sultry tones of a woman. Evidently she was taking them to a place where she would entertain them both. The conversation was vulgar and explicit. In spite of the danger of being discovered, Griffin smiled mockingly at Celia’s bewildered expression. He concealed his knife in his belt so that no stray gleam from its surface would betray them.

“This way, hearties,” the whore said in a sultry purr, and the seamen staggered after her with cheerful abandon.

“Make way, stan’ on course, make way,” one of the men called out, and the other guffawed.

Terrified, Celia pressed herself tighter against Griffin as the three figures passed by the entrance to the passage. His body was tough and hard. Although he made no move to comfort or hold her, she felt her fear lessen.

“Wait, wait I see…hard alee!” one of the rovers exclaimed, stopping and peering into the dark corridor. “Shift the rudder!”

Griffin tensed, fingering the hilt of his knife.

“What do y’see, darlin’?” the whore asked.

Celia knew the seaman had seen them and was going to call attention to them. Panic-stricken, she wondered what Griffin would do, if he might kill the three of them right before her eyes.

Griffin turned in an unexpected movement, pressing her back against the wall. Confused, she looked up at him, just as his long fingers sank through her hair and clamped around her scalp. His dark head bent, his bearded face swooping down to hers. There was the shock of his mouth on hers, a hard mouth that plundered hers ruthlessly. She made a small, frightened sound and caught at his wrists. As she gasped for air, his scent filled her nostrils, a salty, masculine smell. At first the kiss was nothing but brutal domination, but at the feel of her mouth under his, he angled his head and eased the crushing pressure. His tongue swept between her lips, exploring her mouth with savage hunger.

Weakly she pulled at his wrists, and he forced her hands over her head, pinning them to the wall. Quivering, she gulped in a deep breath, forgetting where they were. Everything faded away except the assault on her senses. Her lungs seemed to fill with fire, and she thrashed in vain to escape the scorching heat.