Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(22)

Making her way back to the lake shore, she wrapped her black shirt around her wet body and pushed her arms through the sleeves. She used a cuff to dry the beads of water from her face, and raked her fingers through the dripping skeins of her hair.

When Griffin came out of the water, Celia did not turn around. She was unbearably conscious of his na**d body behind hers, the rustle of his clothes as he dressed again. Then there was no movement.

“I’m tired,” she half-whispered, needing desperately to break the silence.

“Allons,” Griffin replied, giving her a nudge toward the cottage. “Let’s go. It’s going to be a short night.”

Chapter 4

Celia perched on the edge of the bed, nibbling a piece of hard yellow cheese and a crust of bread. The rough cotton ticking and the blanket beneath her were musty, but after the past few days the bed seemed luxurious. She looked at Griffin, whose dark form blended with the shadows on the other side of the room. He sat on the floor with his back braced against the trunk. The tip of his cigar glowed red as he drew on it slowly. The scent of tobacco was strangely comforting to Celia, reminding her of the after-dinner cigars her father enjoyed.

“Do others use this place?” she asked.

“Some of my crew on occasion.”

Celia was compelled to ask more questions, even though she sensed how he disliked them. “Do you have a home somewhere?”

He took his time about replying, fitting the cigar to his lips and breathing out a puff of smoke. “I have my ship.”

“Is there someone waiting for you? A wife, a family?”

“A family is one thing I’ve never wanted and will never have.”

Celia believed him. She could not imagine him with children, a wife, anyone at all. Several times she glanced at him as she ate. She could see nothing but the tip of the cigar. Then that was extinguished. Griffin was unnervingly quiet.

She longed to lie down on the bed and close her eyes, but she was afraid to. She might drift to sleep only to be awakened by his despoiling hands and his body smothering hers. If he were going to take her, he would do it now, tonight when she had no defense against him. She waited tensely, and jumped at the sound of his voice.

“If you’re waiting for me to ravish you, you’ll be disappointed. Go to sleep.”

Relaxing a little, Celia lowered herself to the thin mattress and drew her knees up to her chest. She was tired, and it took only a few moments to drop into a deep slumber.

But when sleep came, it provided no peace. She felt herself moving, walking in and out of dreams, taking part in conversations that made no sense. An invisible force pulled her this way and that, slowing her when she tried to run, throwing her off-balance. Frightened, she covered her head with her arms and called for Philippe…She wanted him so much…She ached to have him hold her, protect her, love her. And suddenly he was there, his blue eyes smiling at her.

“Do you want me?” he asked tenderly. “I’ll always be here when you call.”

“Oh, Philippe, I thought you were dead. I th-thought you had left me—”

“No, I’m right here,” he murmured. “Right here. Don’t be afraid.”

“But I am afraid…I am…don’t leave me.” She tried to ask him what had happened to him, but her words were incoherent. As she babbled faster, he began to drift away from her. “No!” she cried, reaching out for him, trying to keep him with her.

Talonlike fingers closed over her shoulders, and she spun around in horror to confront Dominic Legare. “You’ll do as a present for André,” he said with a snarling smile. And he began pushing her toward a corpse, forcing her head down until she was staring into André’s bloodied face. His eyes were open and frozen in an astonished expression.

Celia fought to escape Legare’s hurtful grasp. She twisted away and screamed as she saw lifeless bodies everywhere. “Philippe, come back to me,” she begged. “Come back!” She stumbled across the deck of the ship, searching for her husband, while Dominic Legare followed. If only she could find Philippe, he would protect her from Legare. She would find safety in Philippe’s arms.

She came to the rail of the ship and stared into the water at the bodies floating face-down around the ship. Her husband was there. The water was dark with his blood. “Oh God, Philippe, no!” She reached her arms down toward him, and as if he had heard her, he began to flail at the water, slipping underneath the surface. He was drowning before her eyes. She screamed again and again for someone to help them, but Dominic Legare was behind her, choking off her cries with his hands…

Celia woke up fighting against the arms that confined her. “No! No—”

“Quiet,” a low voice said above her head. “It’s over now.”

She shuddered convulsively, burying her wet face in her hands. “Philippe? Philippe—”

“No. You know who I am.” Large hands smoothed over her head and back, and she lay folded up and gasping against a hard chest.

“Justin,” she said weakly, not certain why his real name sprang to her lips when she was more familiar with him as Griffin.

“You were having a bad dream, petite. Just a dream.”

“I saw…Philippe…H-he was alive.”

Griffin continued to stroke her back. “If he were, I would go back and find him. But Legare leaves no survivors.”