"Misunderstood!" Zena cried, and the unfortunate grin fanned her already volatile rage. "You're obviously the one who misunderstands!" Then with an imprudent artifice, fully intended to provoke, she altered her voice to a sensuous purr and asserted archly, "If I've become as accomplished a lover as you suggest, perhaps I shouldn't conceal such glowing virtues. With my adroit versatility it would be foolish to limit myself to only one man. I, too, might discover additional delights with other men. You say Yuri was only one and a half hours short of you in this, ah, competency contest. I could begin with him," she declared with reckless audacity. Zena had the satisfaction of seeing a muscle begin to twitch near Alex's mouth. He towered above her, his fingers biting white-knuckled into the brandy glass in a hard-fought effort to control his rising ire.
"No one touches you but me," he grimly uttered.
Zena tossed her head airily. " You are no longer going to touch me! I don't particularly care to be considered in terms of the receiving half of a twenty-six-hour fucking contest. // you don't mind!" she disdainfully derided.
Zena'a direct and obdurate rebuff was a grave mistake, as any number of Alex's friends would confirm. Alexander
Kuzan, to everyone's certain knowledge, had never backed down from a confrontation.
"I'll touch you whenever I please," the stern-faced prince ground out between his teeth.
"You will not!" the foolhardy girl continued, indignant affront goading her impetuosity and Alex's detestable, overbearing insolence further aggravating her bold defiance.
"You think not? I assure you, pet, you're quite wrong." The purred words and look accompanying them held a distinct menace. "If it's rape you're looking for," he said in a voice silky with venom as he glanced down at her impatiently, "I'm in a temper to oblige you."
"You wouldn't," Zena gasped.
"In a minute."
The angry woman pugnaciously retorted, "I don't believe you!"
Alex tossed aside his glass, which shattered into splinters on the floor. His hand lashed out, grasped the collar of Zena's dress firmly, and ripped the soft georgette bodice from the neck to waist.
Zena froze in shocked silence.
"Don't look so pained," Alex laughed unpleasantly. "I'll buy you another."
Irrepressible fury welled up through the frozen shock. Midnight blue eyes grew stormy with wrath.
As rapidly as Zena's ire escalated, Alex's exasperation mollified. The grimness contorting his features disappeared. "Sweetheart, relax! You're overwrought," he conciliated, his peremptory act of tyranny having purged his fury. "I'll buy you three, four, five frocks to replace it," he grinned, triumphantly in command, delighting now as victor, relishing the endearing beauty of Zena's rage.
He was enjoying himself, toying delicately not only with the silken remnants of her bodice, but toying as well with the woman's fierce ideals, playing with Zena on a light-hearted, boyish level. He was enjoying the game between a man and a woman. He relished the saucy vivacity of the mademoiselle and her ability to taunt him with her show of independence. Complaisant women bored him. Zena was a fiery citadel when she was in one of these moods, and his senses stirred with desire as he contemplated the storming.
"No, thank you. " Each word of Zena's refusal was bitten off frigidly. "Keep your damn new gowns!" she wither-ingly retorted.
"Oh, no! You won't take any clothes from me?" Alex's tawny eyes glittered brilliantly as he drawled the question languorously.
"Absolutely not!" she snapped.
"In that case, I'll rip all your clothes off you this week and soon have you exactly how I most prefer you," he paused and dropped the word softly into the heated atmosphere, "naked."
"I'll take two," Zena retorted hastily.
"Smart girl," Alex murmured. "Flexibility, my puss, you've flexibility. You'll go far. Come here now and wrap those flexible legs around me, and I'll apologize contritely for my insufferable conduct and rudeness."
Zena hesitated, trying to reconcile her turbulent emotions as Alex's mocking eyes played over her half-nude form.
"Do we start this rape all over again?" asked Alex, lowering his soft voice to the nearly inaudible. "You must learn that frank and willful females are not widely tolerated in the world. Submission, my pet, is the answer. Come here, darling," he whispered and slid his hand around her waist.
She went then.
He pulled her down on the bed. Viewing the quietly distraught woman compassionately, he could understand her distress. He felt a twinge of guilt at the woebegone, humbled look on her face. He knew he had beaten her unfairly; the contest was uneven, and he had all the advantages. But damn it, she'd better become disposed to a woman's role. She couldn't fight it forever. And he wanted her, wanted her for himself. An inexplicable urge to keep her welled up in him.
"Remember, I share you with no one. You're mine," he said with a quiet stiffness. He lay over her. "Are you mine? Answer, woman," he said gruffly.
Zena turned her head away.
Alex shook her gently. "Answer. Are you mine?" he ordered, his voice as cutting as a lash.
"Yes, Sasha," agreed a small whispered voice. Looking up at him she asked sadly, "Am I simply another of your possessions?"
"Not just another possession, ma petite" Alex reasoned. "But in truth my finest acquisition to date."
"You'd keep me here against my will?" she asked incredulously as Alex played with the ribbons of her chemise.
"Why not?" he answered blandly, thinking to himself pragmatically that she wasn't really suffering unduly, and she'd be considerably richer when she finally left. She had no money. He could keep her here indefinitely through lack of funds until such time as he chose to pay her and let her go. What the hell, that little technique—that little form of coercion—in one form or another had been around for three thousand years.
"I won't allow it," Zena responded, hotly jerking away. The long, lean fingers carelessly grasping the ruffled chemise neckline tightened automatically, and the sheer fabric tore under the strain.
"Come, come, my sweet. So many harsh words. I'm not entirely used to such disobliging treatment from females. Rest content now, my pet. Is the captivity so vile?" And his fingers lightly caressed her exposed breast.
Alex's golden eyes began to glow with a sensual, predatory gleam. His arms closed around her, and his mouth came down on hers. She felt the warm desire begin to stir, and she was sick with shame. She fought against him faintly, turning her head from side to side, trying to evade the burning lips while her traitorous body was heating with yearning passion.
Zena tried to recall the antipathy, anger, and humiliation he had roused. But he was all contrite apology now, petting and comforting her, murmuring softly affectionate words of atonement as he brushed his lips down the alabaster column of her throat.
When confronted by those sensual eyes, warmly whispered regrets, and heated, stroking fingers, Zena began to melt. She knew if he continued, all was lost.
But at the moment, as his arms pulled her close, her heart prevailed. She wanted him. She loved him with every fiber of her being. When Sasha held her in his arms, his smoldering eyes searching hers, she knew she would be anything he wanted as long as he kept her near. Her struggles ceased, her lips acquiesced, and she responded to the flame burning in her lover's eyes. Her body arched to him, and her thighs fell apart. And he pleased her then in all the ways he knew best.
5
The next week brought restored content. Alex was utterly charming and quietly accommodating to her abrupt mood changes, which swung dangerously with her love of Alex and her fear of the future for her child, which appeared more of a certainty with each passing day. Alex pampered her in little ways, being accessible not only physically but offering small anecdotes about his youthful holidays spent at the dacha, occasionally opening up enough to respond warmly to Zena s affectionate nuzzles and kisses. He no longer asked, "Why did you do that?" when she would impulsively stand on tiptoe to touch her lips to his cheek. He
only smiled impassively now at these sudden, spontaneous kisses. She loved him, she knew that, and after last week her spirits soared. It seemed that perhaps his cool, impersonal reserve was indeed vulnerable. Could he care a little about her, too? Was it possible? Zena felt a joyful exuberance that would reappear despite momentarily depressing moods. She hopefully considered—indeed, felt almost a surety—that Sasha cherished her as a person and not simply for the comfort of her body in bed.
The pattern of their days lapsed into a familiar, restful routine. Zena was slightly on edge, perhaps quicker to take offense. She was certain she was carrying Alex's child now and terrified of telling him. If Alex had had any experience with pregnant females, he might have recognized the unstable emotional signs of gestation, but since these phenomena were auguries with which he was unacquainted, he unwittingly regarded these quirks of pique as simply female temperament.
Alex's muzhiks had immediately upon their arrival taken to addressing Bobby affectionately as "the little prince." Assuming their master would not bother himself over a young child without paternal considerations and noting the dark hair and light eyes of both, they reached their own conclusions.
Zena had carefully explained initially that the boy was her brother. Blankly polite stares had accepted her explanation, and in her presence they were careful to refrain from referring to Bobby as "the little prince." But away from her vicinity they continued addressing the young boy with the deference due their master's son. Alex was quietly amused at the subtle battle operating between Zena and the servants and allowed them to continue addressing the boy as his. He was altogether familiar with the dogged stubbornness and intractability of the Russian peasant mind. Even if he had forbade them to regard Bobby as his, they would devotedly accede to the batiushka's orders, but their hearts wouldn't change.
In addition, the title bestowed on Bobby served as a subtle means of provoking Zena when he was in a humor to tease her or revenge himself mildly for one of her frequent fits of temper.
He had retaliated at dinner that night, when Zena flashed furiously at him during a trifling disagreement that perhaps she and Bobby should leave. Alex knew her threat was simply offended pride. He took on a suitably distressed and hurt expression. The prince, quite aware of the breathless interest of his household, gratified his pique by woefully lamenting, "I'm devastated, mademoiselle. Would you deprive me of Bobby's company?" The numerous servants attendant to the meal were shocked at the baryshna'% unfeeling attitude to the father of her child and expressed their disapproval in their scandalized expressions.
Alex bit his lip to hide his smile and chuckled to himself while Zena fumed helplessly. She expressed her displeasure by a cold silence through the brandy and excused herself with a headache shortly after.
Alex drank his way leisurely through the rest of the bottle while pondering these frequent and volatile outbursts of Zena's. Although he was well content with her, such a combination of sensuality and spirit had, to date, eluded him in his previous congress with women, and she pleased him mightily; yet the tantrums were more numerous. The quiet, gently complacent child was being displaced. As well, he thought, with a wry understanding; ennui would be arrested that much longer. The tedium of cloying women was all too familiar.
Midway through the second bottle Alex decided he missed the warmth of his companion. Doors opened noiselessly as he progressed from study to bedchamber. Hovering servants shadowed his passage upstairs, although it was well past midnight. Upon entering the bedchamber he turned the latch on the door. With the silent click the crowd of muzhiks melted away. Several lamps were burning low in the large room. Pouring himself another brandy from the bedside decanter, he sauntered slowly around the room and extinguished most of the lamps. Seated by the porcelain stove, he drained several more glasses and undressed leisurely in the quiet room. Zena was sleeping restlessly, moving from side to side on the large bed.
Alex decided she wasn't sleeping so deeply that it would matter if he woke her. He slipped into bed and bent to kiss her lips. All he received for his gentle caress was a kick in the shins and a hissed. "Don't touch me."
"Ouch," he exclaimed, querulously rubbing his leg. "Good Lord, woman. What's come over you?" he inquired in slightly inebriated astonishment. He searched the furious face of the woman beside him. "You're all claws and fangs and threatening abuse lately."
"That's how much I care what you think," Zena hissed unforgivably and snapped her fingers under his nose.
Alex stiffened. His eyes narrowed contemplatively at the affront, and he baited her then for her audacity. "You would do well," he said smoothly, "to cultivate some womanly wiles."
He was retaliating in frustration, for in truth, her utter candor was a delightful and pleasant change from years of viewing all the womanly wiles regularly paraded for his benefit.
"I've never felt the least desire to stoop to such disgusting measures, as you very well know. I'm here precisely because I chose not to debase myself with that pig Scobloff," the cold, haughty, belligerent woman shot back, her chin jutting, her blue-black eyes blazing.
"I see. A man beds you, it appears, at his own risk," Alex drawled ominously.
"If you want a soft and yielding woman," Zena snapped, "there's always that hussy Amalie."
Alex signed. Zena was right, of course. But he didn't want Amalie. He wanted her. "Give me a few minutes, mademoiselle, and I can make you soft and yielding as well," his voice came out assured and arrogant.
"Oh!" choked Zena. "You odious, overbearing . . . Never!"
"Never?" His black brows shot up. "Care to place a small wager on the duration of 'never,' my pet?" drawled his husky voice as he studied her thoughtfully. Zena's eyes were like agates. His golden eyes swept the beautiful, raging figure from head to foot. Zena lay exquisite, defiant, her long auburn hair tumbling in waves about her soft, white shoulders. Her heaving bosom was half exposed above the appliquéd lace, low-cut décolletage of the ivory satin nightgown.
Alex's eyes diminished to glittering slits as the scowl on his fine brow deepened, and he braced his body against the expected onslaught. Rolling over the infuriated woman, he looked down at the flashing eyes and softly breathed through his teeth, "Make ready, my dear. 'Never' has arrived."
Mademoiselle Turku slapped his face. Alex laughed and caught her more firmly in his arms. His mouth found hers in a bruising, ruthless kiss that lasted until all rational considerations were driven from her head. When he finished, Alex stayed scarce a moment in her, rolled over, and soon after was asleep, content, and sated, sleeping off the two bottles of brandy he had consumed.
Zena lay wide awake and troubled, having regained her disordered senses, angry with herself for succumbing once again so easily.
The next morning Alex was all apology and cheerful bantering, holding her close, calling her his own dushka, teasing an answering smile from her. "I'll be a paragon of civility. Just watch. No more raging masculine ego. Friends?" he asked contritely as he kissed her palm.
"Friends," she whispered softly and forgave him all.
She could never describe exactly why she was so drawn to him. He was a mixture of impressions like cynical, mocking, moody, or quizzical and yet teasing, laughing, tender, insouciantly gay. He never posed. He was always himself, quite simple but uncommon in his style. He was learned, too, although he laughed away pretense of any kind. What would he be like if he ever cared about anything intensely, if anything in life really mattered to him?
6
Two days later in the early afternoon they were interrupted while relaxing in Alex's study.
"Guests, Your Excellency," Trevor announced.
Zena gave a start.
Alex cast her a stern look as she opened her mouth to protest. "My turn this time. You stay, no pouting upstairs."
Zena was about to retort heatedly when Alex broke into his winning smile. "It's only fair, isn't it?" he demanded. "I sent them away for you last time." And he had only a week ago given in to
Zena's pouting tantrum and turned Amalie and Princess Baskirseff away when they came to visit. "You be pleasant to them for me this time?"
It was only fair and Zena knew it. "Of course, Sasha," she smiled back ruefully, "you're right." She had every good intention of being pleasant and friendly, but as the afternoon wore on into evening, even her best efforts couldn't withstand Amalie's persistent sweet malice as the hours stretched tediously one into another. No one, thought Zena while viciously studying Amalie's fair face, has the right to be so flawlessly perfect.
Yuri and Amalie had come this time in company with two other friends, Captains Loris Grudtsyn and Peotr Diebitsch. The drinking was deep and heavy. Zena declined spirits since they upset her lately, while Amalie sipped delicately on champagne. The visitors had all been
Alex's friends since childhood, and Zena listened bleakly as the conversation fell into reminiscing.
"Remember, Sasha," said Amalie at her sweetest, "when we all used to swim on those hot summer days in the river. For fourteen-year-old boys you were all quite childishly silly, swinging from ropes and pretending to be Viking pirates."
"Speaking of childish," Loris Grudtsyn interpolated, "who was the one who slipped frogs into everyone's bed at night?" and he cast an amused glance at Amalie.
She blushed prettily. "We were all young then."
"Yuri had one of the chambermaids in bed with him," Sasha explained to Zena, grinning boyishly, "and she let out a shriek heard halfway to Moscow when her foot touched that slimy little creature. Did you ever calm her down, Yuri?" Alex asked innocently.
Kuzan 02 - Lovestorm Page 13
