Turning her head, she tasted him. He cried out, the sound a harsh, guttural shout within the ancient walls. All semblance of his control vanished as he reveled in her loving attention.
He was about to explode. He couldn't stand any more. He reached down, jerking her to her feet, swinging her up into his arms. Glancing frantically around the room, he sought and found the only suitable place he could use.
Setting her down atop a tall stack of dilapidated boxes, he spread her legs and stepped between them. If he didn't take her soon, he would die.
She surged closer, allowing her breasts to sweep across his chest as she grasped his tense shoulders. "Now," she said.
He slipped his hand between them, pinching her tight nipples until she begged him to stop. "No more."
Moving his hand downward, he palmed her. She keened, the sound thin and high and piercing. His fingers found her hot and tight and melting.
Uncontrollable in her need, she bit into the taut flesh of his upper arm. "Please, Nate, please. I'm hurting."
"So am I," he said and rammed into her like an animal intent on perpetuating his species.
The pleasure was so intense she thought she'd die. A lifetime of love consummated this mating. Cyn's love. Nate's love. The love of a Timucuan maiden and a Spanish conquistador.
Clutching her hips, he surged in and out, harder and faster, creating premonitions of ecstasy that prompted them to accept the knowledge that four hearts were beating as one.
She not only accepted the savagery of his lovemaking, but basked in his dominance, reeling with the promise each possessive thrust made, knowing that in the end, she would attain the supremacy...for it was within her body that their immortality could be created.
With a relentless, pulsating rhythm, he took her, and with equal fervor she took him. Quick and wild and hot, their bodies spiraled up, up, up into the heat of fulfillment. In one earth-shattering second, a scalding pleasure burned through them. He poured himself into her as she sheathed him, tightening her body's hold on his pulsing release.
Tremor after tremor shook her body, the untamed heat searing her. Her own flesh had become so sensitized that the mere brush of his lips against her throat was a pleasure-filled pain.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the ancient rooms, through the secluded garden and into his bedroom. Laying her down atop his rumpled sheets, he stretched out beside her and pulled her damp body up against his.
Threading her fingers through his long black hair, she smiled. "I've dreamed of you since I was fifteen."
He looked down at her and saw the truth of her words in her eyes. "You dreamed—"
"I've dreamed of you for years. Oh, I didn't know it was you. Even after we met, I tried to pretend that you couldn't possibly be my dream lover."
"Your dream lover?" What was she saying? he wondered. Had she, too, been plagued by comforting dreams that ended with erotic lovemaking? "Tell me about your dreams."
He listened quietly, his heart hammering loud and strong as she told him about her dreams, when they had begun and why, and how, afterward, all she ever remembered were his mossy green eyes and the feel of his big body.
"Cyn." He kissed her tenderly. "I've dreamed of you, too. Since I was a kid. In Nam."
He felt her body tense, and ran a soothing hand over her back. "Did I bring you comfort?" she asked.
"Yes." He watched the play of emotions on her face and knew she was accepting the truth just as he must.
"And did I give you love?" she asked.
"Yes."
"And all you would remember afterward were my eyes and the feel of my body."
"Yes." He held her close, his lips against her throat.
"It wasn't just us," she said, arching into him. "It was them, too. They're a part of us. I can't explain it, but I know it's true."
"Yes, it's true." Nate realized that when a man lived as close to death as he had, he learned to believe in life.
She felt his erection pulsing against her and opened her legs to accept him. "We've loved each other forever."
He couldn't bear to think about what might lie ahead for them, the pain of separation, the agony of loss. If his most recent dreams came true, they would both die as surely as the ancient lovers had.
He thrust into her, glorying in her warmth, savoring the fact that they were both very much alive. At that precise moment, Nate knew that if only one thing survived this doomed earthly existence, it would be love. * * *
The world outside the car blurred into one, long, endless streak of darkness punctuated by an occasional flash of light. The hum of the motor, the soft roar of the speeding automobile, the gentle whine of the night wind, all combined, lulling Cyn into a semirelaxed state. For the first hour out of Sweet Haven, she'd been tense and edgy, consumed with her need to stay with Nate, tormented by the fear that she would never see him again.
Agent Bedford had arrived precisely at seven. Nate had wasted no time in sending her away. She understood why. He loved her and wanted to keep her safe. Their goodbye, though brief, had been passionate. As long as she lived, she would never forget the feel of his arms around her, the taste of his mouth on hers, the look on his face when he pulled away from her.
Nate was probably at the hospital with Nick Romero. He'd been determined to try to see his old friend. She knew that Nate had only two real friends. John Mason, who had taken his family home to Alabama to keep them safe from Ryker. And Nick Romero, who had almost died from Ry-ker's ambush attack. What sort of monster was this Ian Ryker? she wondered. A man filled with hate, who lived only for revenge?
Cyn glanced over at Art Bedford, a muscular, dark-haired man with a thick mustache and wire-framed glasses. Nate hadn't known Bedford because he was a fairly new man. J. P. Higdon had assured Nate that he was fast becoming one of their best agents, and Cyn couldn't be in safer hands, not even with one of their most seasoned veterans.
They were only a few miles outside Jacksonville, on Interstate 17. Cyn had noticed the last road exit had been for Fernandina Beach. Although the Georgia line wasn't far, they still had the entire coastal expanse of Georgia to cover before reaching her father's home in Savannah. That meant a long trip lay ahead of them. She longed for rest, for sweet hours of sleep, but she was afraid to sleep, afraid of the dreams.
She closed her eyes and conjured up Nate Hodges. Sleek hard body, straight black hair, moss-green eyes, possessive words and loving touches. In a few short weeks, he had become the center of her universe, the reason for her existence. No, not in a few short weeks, she reminded herself. Love like theirs hadn't blossomed overnight, it had been growing silently in their hearts, waiting patiently in their souls for four centuries.
Even with her undeniably romantic nature, Cyn realized that if anyone had told her that she was destined to take part in the fulfillment of an ancient legend, she would have scoffed at the very notion. She would have found the idea irresistibly fascinating, but the strong, sensible part of Cynthia Ellen Wellington Porter never would have believed it possible.
But she believed now. And so did Nate. No matter what happened with Ryker, even if somehow he managed to succeed in destroying Nate, the prophecy would be fulfilled.
The prophecy...the prophecy... She could hear Miss Carstairs's soft voice recounting the tale, the romantic myth that had fired the twelve-year-old Cyn's imagination. A troubled warrior and the woman who could give him sanctuary would come to the beach, would abide within the walls of the old mission, and discover a passion known only by a precious few. And when their lives were joined as the maiden's and the conquistador's lives could never be, then the ancient lovers would be set free, their souls allowed to enter paradise.