draw back and let the heat, the warmth, the enticing pleasure of his caresses fill her mind.
She was lost in sensation.
And so was he. Gareth was submerged in the subtle pleasure, his mind awash with tactile delight. It had been too long since he’d held a woman in his arms and so unhurriedly pleased her and himself. And even sunk in the moment, he-all of him-knew this wasn’t just any woman. She was who she was-Emily-and that made the moment even more special.
Even more addictive.
Ever more enticing.
The minutes spun on. Delight swelled, grew.
She sank closer, pressing more definitely against him.
Hauling in a breath, he gave in to the building compulsion, closed his hand about the firm mound of her breast- felt his chest tighten as she gasped through the kiss. Her spine bowed slightly as he traced the firm curves, found her nipple, circled it, then closed his fingers about the turgid peak.
She arched into the caress, the movement pressing her flesh more firmly to his palm. He closed his hand again, kneaded, and felt her melt.
Heard her softly moan.
Heat and desire shafted through him, straight to his groin. Instinctively, he shifted to roll her beneath him-
Realized just in time.
Caught himself, stopped.
Halted, teetering on that invisible edge.
If he did-if he took that next step forward-what then?
He’d entered the room with questions. She’d answered some, but he was still unclear about what she truly wanted, let alone why.
She still left him confused, and not just about her.
He broke from the kiss-just as she did, gasping.
One look into her dazed eyes told him she was, suddenly, as uncertain as he.
That she had realized, too, just how far they had gone.
That she, like he, needed to think before they went further.
They stared at each other, gazes locked, searching. For what, he wasn’t sure either of them truly knew.
Their positions, the physical closeness, gradually impinged on their minds as they slowly returned to the here and now.
Muscles tensed-hers and his-and they started to sit up and move apart.
“I think they’re in the salon.”
Watson, heading toward them, with others in his wake.
When her courier-guide appeared in the archway, Emily was sitting primly upright on the divan, with Gareth standing before the nearby window, apparently looking out.
He turned as Watson halted, and arched a brow.
“Thought you’d like to know,” Watson said, “that Mullins and Jimmy spotted a band of cultists patrolling the streets not far from here.”
The bearded cultist known to all as Uncle sat by the pool in a small courtyard. “We know they are here, somewhere in this small city. So where are they?”
The quietly uttered words were loaded with silent menace.
The three cultists kneeling before the pool trembled. One gathered his courage and spoke to Uncle’s feet. “The watchers at the consulate have seen nothing. We are combing the streets, but with the high walls all these houses have…”
Uncle studied the speaker, a faint frown in his eyes. The silence stretched, then he nodded. “The major is proving a worthy opponent. You are right, Saleeb, there is little point wasting our effort searching the warren of these streets. Instead, we must surround the town with eyes and ears and wait for them to show themselves. They must head either north or west. Go out, my sons, and befriend the herdsmen, the nomads, and those others who gather outside the town walls. Recruit them to watch and listen for us-we have coins aplenty, thanks to the bountifulness of our esteemed leader.” Uncle held up a hand, palm up, at shoulder height. His own son quickly fetched a purse and placed it on the waiting hand.
Uncle hefted the pouch, then presented it to the kneeling man who had spoken. “Here-take this, and with it buy the information we need. Then when the major and his party try to leave, we will know.” He sat back. “Go.”
The three men rose and went, bowing from his presence as fast as they dared.
Leaving Uncle to mull over the vicissitudes of fate.
He’d ordered a night attack on the major’s boat, hoping to kill the woman at least, but she’d shrieked, and despite there being a goodly number of his cultists on the deck, the major and his party had prevailed.
But then a ship carrying a large number of cultists had reached him, sent on from Aden as he’d ordered. He’d sent them and their ship to attack the major’s ship as it had, necessarily slowly, eased out of the Suakin Channel. He’d been certain of success, had already started planning what means he would employ to break the major, only to see his men repulsed again, and their ship left wallowing in the faster schooner’s wake. He’d watched his failure unfold from the deck of another ship not far away-and cursed.
Who would have thought the captain and crew of the schooner would take up arms against his men?
In India, the cultists were not opposed by others. Others stood and watched as they wreaked their vengeance on any they chose. That was the way of things…but that did not seem to be so in this wider world.
He would need to allow for such strange behavior from now on. The major seemed adept at recruiting others to his cause.
“We will find them, Father.”
Uncle looked up at his son, let his lips curve. “Indeed, we will, my son.”
Failure was not an option.
Six
