“I’ll go with you,” she said. “There’s no need to truss me up again.”
Before Marco could reply, Giovanni spat out a few words, stepped forward and lifted her, slinging her over his shoulder like a sack. Enraged at the humiliating position, she struggled to kick out at him, but his arms held her legs in an iron grip. She beat her fists against his back to no avail. He climbed the small slope in three strides, then let her slide unceremoniously to the ground. A horse stood waiting, barebacked, no more than fourteen hands high, tethered to a stunted tree.
Marco followed. “Can you ride?” he asked. She looked up at him from the dirt where she’d landed.
“Of course I can bloody well ride.” She struggled to sit amid the tangle of her skirt.
“I thought that would be the case.” He reached down and hauled her to her feet, while Giovanni untied the horse. “Giovanni wants to tie you across the back of the horse, but I said you should ride upright.” He led her toward the animal.
“He doesn’t agree with me,” he added in a low voice, “so please do not try to run.”
“Aren’t you the one in charge? I won’t have him manhandle me again.”
Marco’s chin lifted. His cheekbones flushed, but with anger or embarrassment she could not tell. “Of course I am in charge, but Giovanni takes his responsibilities seriously. I must often be away and I need him. I do not wish to make the people choose between us. Especially right now.”
Again, the mysterious reference to some special circumstances. “Well, if you told me what’s going on, I might be more willing to cooperate.”
Marco sighed, and shook his head, but before he could answer, Giovanni spat on the ground at her feet and muttered angry words. Marco silenced him with a sharp retort. The other man looked ready to pick her up again, and she pulled back, repelled by the thought of his rough touch. Marco shouldered him aside, and she quickly bent over to seize the hem at the back of her skirt, pulling the material up between her legs, making rough breeches. “Give me a boost,” she ordered Marco.
He cupped his hands for her foot and she rose easily, slinging her other leg over the animal’s back. His hand lingered on her ankle, warm against her skin. She settled her behind more comfortably and looked down at the two men.
“Tie her,” Giovanni said in English. “The people must see.”
“No,” Marco said. “We will hold the reins, one on each side.”
He looked into her eyes, and she read pain and distress in his face. A muscle tightened along his jaw and his lips were clamped in a hard line. He had defended her and was still her best hope to get away. In her own interest she had to support him and not provoke strife. She held out her hands to him, wrists joined. “Do it, if it will satisfy him.” She shrugged. “I’ll break my neck if I try to get off a moving horse with my hands tied.”
The spark of gratitude in his eyes warmed her heart, and she felt a wave of satisfaction at having helped him save face. He looked down and wound the rope loosely around her wrists. When he’d finished, he kept one hand on hers and raised his eyes. His gaze held hers, seeming to want to memorize every detail of her face. The warmth of his fingers spread through her. She could recognize lustfulness when she saw it and knew he was recalling what had happened between them. The realization sent an answering thrill through her. He had shown her that he could drive her wild with pleasure and desire how and when he chose, and there was little she could do about it. In her situation she should have no room in her head for erotic fantasies, but her body had betrayed her. As it would betray her again whenever he touched her. Without a word he dropped his gaze and moved away.
She let out her breath and twined her fingers in the animal’s thick mane. Giovanni seized the halter rope.
Chapter Five
As they started off on the trail back to the caves Marco took the rear of the small procession, his mind in turmoil. Looking into Emma’s eyes, touching her, had brought back the powerful craving of the night, making him shudder, quickening his pulse. He would have no peace until he held her close again, felt her molded against him, heard her moans of desire and was free to plunge inside her. The tremor in her hand just now when he’d tied her wrists had made him pause. She had drawn in her breath, tempting him with the movement of her magnificent breasts. He knew she felt the same ache, yearned with the same craving.
Before Giovanni had come upon them, the touch of her fingers tracing the line of his lips had made him flinch as if they trailed fire, but he hadn’t pulled away. He was so enchanted, so imprisoned by her that he doubted he could have resisted her if his life depended on it. Follia. Sheer madness. What in the devil’s name had he been thinking of? His job was to carry out his mission, not entertain lustful dreams, but his mission had faded like an old photograph that has lain for years in a dusty drawer.
He was a man possessed. Like a drunkard who lives for the next mouthful of brandy, he ached to feel her breasts again, to thrust his fingers into the moist folds of her cunt, to watch a film of delight move over her face. The image of her spread out for him, of sliding his swollen cock inside her warm wetness flashed before him. Thank God they had dressed before Giovanni had found them. If he had seen them naked and inflamed by passion, there would be an even greater price for her to pay.
As it was, Giovanni would exact retribution for her attempted escape, and despite being the capo there was little he, Marco, could do about it. He gritted his teeth in anguish at the thought of what lay ahead. A few paces in front of the horse, Giovanni tore a whip-thin branch from a bush as they passed.
One of the horse’s back hooves slid on the pebbles of the rise, the sound bringing Marco back to the reality of the moment. He slapped the horse’s rump with the flat of his hand, making the animal pick up the pace. The curve of Emma’s leg lay temptingly close, and he burned to slide his fingers up inside the cloth of her skirt. Her legs were spread on the back of the horse and he wondered if the movement, the friction of her skirt was exciting her, arousing her as she had been aroused such a short time ago.
Although he knew that Giovanni could turn around at any moment, his hand crept under the fold of her skirt. She looked down at him as she felt his fingers steal up her leg. With a small, secretive smile she raised her eyes and fixed them on Giovanni’s stolid back, as he walked no more than six paces ahead of them.
Marco moved his hand higher on her thigh and felt a quiver go through her. Half a step to the side brought his shoulder on a level with the curve of her ass and allowed his exploring fingers to touch the silky skin of her inner thigh. A fraction higher, he fondled the damp curls at the junction of her legs. She turned a moan into a cough and raised herself very slightly to allow him more access.
His eyes fixed on her face, his fingers parted the wet folds of her cunt and caressed the nub of her clit. He saw her close her eyes and he slid two fingers into her. A frown creased her forehead and her eyes remained closed as he teased her with his fingers, his groin swelling and tightening as she swayed on the horse. Dio, but he loved her responsiveness, her readiness for him
After no more than a minute she stiffened and arched back, clenching his fingers tight inside her sheath. He held her with one arm across the horse’s rump and the other buried deep inside her as she convulsed. He felt her inner muscles shudder, grasping and releasing him in a primeval rhythm. He leaned his head against her side, filled with desire, with longing and with an emotion he had never thought to feel again. It gave him such joy to pleasure her and it caused him such a stab of pain to think of her leaving him that he had to wonder if this was the beginning of love as well as lust.