Sins of the Flesh

by Fern Michaels

  Rubbing sleep from his eyes, a man whose code name was Fish motioned to Mickey. It was her turn to sleep. Over the past few months she had learned how to sleep at odd times of the day, but lately her sleep wasn’t restful. Instead, it was tortured with memories, memories she deliberately dwelled upon, the way she would do now when she settled herself in the corner of the farm kitchen.

  The rag rug was her mattress, her knapsack her pillow. If she didn’t think about Reuben, she would fall asleep instantly. She knew she should close her eyes and blot everything else from her mind, but if she did that, Reuben would start to fade from her mind and her heart. Now that she had a sense of her mortality, it was crucial to remember every little detail of their love.

  Her head in the crook of her arm, Mickey forced her thoughts back to the past. Her tired brain sifted and shifted the happenings in chronological order. The last time she’d slept, she’d gotten as far as Reuben and Daniel’s arrival at the château and the game she’d played with Reuben, teasing him in her own way, tantalizing him until she could hardly bear the ache within her.

  She’d gone to her room early that evening to hide from her desires and emotions….

  First, she’d turned off the lamps, remembering how good the darkness felt. One could hide in the darkness of a room or in the darkness of one’s mind. One could hide from the world in any number of ways, and that world would pass by.

  She was feeling sorry for herself. In the whole of her life she’d never felt this way. That large world out there was full of emotional cripples, it didn’t need one more. Go after him, take what you want. Give what you want but never give all of yourself, for when it’s time to walk away there will be no reserve to carry you through. She smiled wickedly. All right, Reuben Tarz, you shall have 90 percent of me. Right now!

  Her room was bathed in moonlight, the bed turned down, her silky white nightgown folded neatly on her pillow.

  She ripped at her clothes, fingers feverish in their haste. The silky nightgown rustled softly as it fell about her. She looked in the mirror to see how much this night had ravished her. With lightning-quick motions she removed what little makeup remained, washed her face, and applied a light dusting of powder. She washed her mouth as well as her hands to rid herself of the smell of nicotine and wine. A light spritz of her favorite perfume, and she was finished.

  All the lamps were off with only the thin remnants of moonlight streaming through the windows, creating silver shadows everywhere. The room looked exquisite, she decided, perfect for making love.

  Impatiently she waited until the sounds she heard outside her door were right. Then, feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl, she stepped down the hall to Reuben’s room. Softly she opened the door. His room was also bathed in moonlight, which lay across his bed in a giant beam. It seemed to Mickey that the young American glowed in the near darkness. She wondered fleetingly if it meant anything, if it was a sign of some sort. In the end, she simply didn’t care.

  Kneeling by his bed, she whispered in his ear, her fingers trailing gently the length of his cheek and down his neck. The coverlet had slipped from his neck. How broad his chest was, how muscular his arms. How very, very young.

  “Come, chéri,” she whispered.

  Reuben woke, instantly aware of her presence. He lay quietly, giving himself up to her touch and her scent. When he shuddered, she smiled, her teeth flashing in the moonlight.

  “Come with me now, to my room.”

  Reuben swung his legs over the side of the bed, his hands clutching the edge of the plump mattress. Mickey dropped her head into his lap, whispering as her tongue did strange things to him—things he wanted never to end. He drew in his breath, expelling it in a loud hiss. With all the force he could muster, he grasped her shoulders and pushed her backward. He stood in his nakedness, staring down at her. At last he reached for her and drew her up close. With one fluid motion he enfolded her into his arms and in seconds they were both in bed.

  Eager to be close to him, Mickey abandoned herself to sensation. Her fingers tore at her gown as she hurried him with hushed whispers and moist kisses, eager to lie with him and teach him her special secrets.

  His mouth sought hers, his arms locked her in a hard embrace. Wave after wave of desire coursed through her as she answered his kisses and inspired his caresses. Her tongue darted into the warm recesses of his mouth, her arms wound around him, making him her prisoner. Soft hands caressed and stroked her back, smoothing along the curve of her waist to the fullness of her hips and bottom, pressing her close to her desire. Her breasts were taut and full beneath his hands. Soft moans of ecstasy escaped her parted lips as he aroused her to the heights of passion. He devoured her with his eyes, covered her with his lips, igniting her sensuality with teasing touches of his tongue against her fiery skin. His fingertips grazed the sleekness of her inner thighs, and, helpless, she felt her body arch against his hand with a will of its own, to aid in his explorations.

  His mouth became part of her own, and she heard her heart beat in wild and rapid rhythms. They strained toward each other, imprisoned by the designs of yearning, caught in an embrace that ascended the obstacles of the flesh and strove to join breath and blood, body and spirit.

  Gently, in the darkened room, he laid her back against the pillows, leaning over her, nuzzling her neck, inhaling the heady fragrance that was hers alone. Blazing a trail from her throat, his lips covered her unguarded breast, and she shivered with exquisite anticipation. She became unaware of her surroundings, oblivious to time and place; she knew only that her body was reacting to this man, pleasure radiating outward from some hidden depth within her. She allowed herself to be transported by it, incapable of stopping the forward thrust of his desires, spinning out of time and space into the soft consuming mists of her sensuality.

  Her emotions careened and clashed, grew confused and wild, her perceptions thrumming and beating wherever he touched her. And when he moved away from her she felt alone. When he returned, she was whole again, wanting and needing, wanting to be needed in return. The feverish heat of his skin seemed to singe her fingers as she traced inquisitive patterns over his arms and back and down over his sleek, muscular thighs.

  He had never touched a woman this way, but somehow he knew he could touch a thousand women and none would feel the same to him as this one. None could have the unexpectedly smooth skin that tantalized his fingers and tempted him to seek more secret places.

  Suddenly the room grew dark, jealously keeping the sight of him from her eyes. She wanted to see him, to know him, behold the places her fingers yearned to find and her lips hungered to kiss. “The lamp,” she whispered, hardly daring to make a sound, afraid to break the spell. She barely recognized her voice; it sounded husky, throaty, sensuous, even to her own ears. “I want to see you. I want to know you, like this…naked. All of you.” It was a plea, a demand, exciting him with its fervor, arousing his desires for her to a fever pitch.

  Soft golden light flooded the room, and he stood before her, just out of reach. Her gaze covered him, sizzling and searing, lingering at the swell of his manhood and gazing over his flat, hard stomach. Dark patterns of lustrous and black curling hair molded his form into planes and valleys, covering his chest and narrowing to a thin, elongated arrow that seemed to point below. Thighs thick with muscle supported him, the scars of his wound breaking her heart. His torso tapered and broadened again for the width of his chest. Her arms stretched out for him, beckoning him to her.

  He was filled with an exhilarating power that came from the knowledge that she wanted him, unabashed and unashamed…the power that a woman can give a man only when she reveals her desire for him, welcoming him into her embrace, giving as well as taking, trusting him to lead her to the realms of the highest star, where passion is food for the gods and satisfaction its own reward.

  In the lamplight he gazed down at her, possessing her, held in the spell of the moment, reveling in watching her eyes travel the length of his body. Her lips parted,
full and ripe, revealing the pink tip of her tongue as she moistened them. She was leaning back against the pillows, one knee bent, hiding her most secret place from his sight. Breasts proud, their coral tips erect, she invited his hands and his lips. As he reached out to touch her, an answering voluptuous stretch revealed her womanhood where a fine feathering of downy hair caught the light, gilding her body with a soft, shimmering glow. She was beautiful, this lioness with the hungry eyes, beautiful and desirable, setting his pulses pounding anew, unleashing a driving need in him to satiate himself in her charms, to quell this hunger she created in him and to salve an appetite for her that was ravenous, voracious.

  He stepped into her embrace, felt her arms surround his hips, aware that she rested her cheek sweetly against the flat of his stomach, rubbing against his soft, curling hairs. His hands found the pins in her hair, impatiently pulling them, removing them, eager to see its dark wealth tumble to her shoulders and curl around her breasts. Silky chestnut strands, scented and shining, rippled through his fingers, tumbling and cascading from his hands, down the smooth length of her back and onto the pillows. She lifted her head, looking at him with eyes heavy with passion. He had been right in likening her to a lioness, a wild cat of the jungle. Dark lashes created shadows on her high cheekbones; upward-winging brows delineated her features. The full, ripe body, tinged with gilt, tempted his hands, invited his lips.

  Her teasing touches fleetingly grazed his buttocks and the backs of his thighs, slipping between them and rising higher and higher. She took in with her eyes all she touched with her fingers, the masculine hardness of him, feeling it pulsate with anticipation of her touch, and when her hand closed over him, a deep rumbling sounded in his chest, escaping his lips in a barely audible moan.

  He lay down beside her, reaching for her, covering her breasts with his hands, seeking them with his lips. But her appetite for him had not been satisfied, and she lifted herself onto her elbow, leaning over him, her hair falling, draping over her shoulder, creating a curtain between them.

  She touched him again, running the tips of her fingers down his chest, hearing his small gasp of pleasure. The flat of her palm grazed his belly, and her lips blazed a trail following her hand’s downward slope.

  The swell of her hips and the rounded fullness of her bottom filled him with a throbbing urgency. Nothing short of having her, of losing himself in her, would satisfy. He was afraid the touch of her lips would drive him over the edge, past the point of no return. Impatiently he drew her upward, pushing her back against the pillows, trapping her with his weight. He wanted to plunder her, drive himself into her, slake his thirst, knowing his needs could be met only in her.

  Her mouth was swollen, bruised, and tasting of himself. Her arms wound around him, holding him close as she pressed her nakedness against him. His hand made an intimate search over her breast, skimming its tip, and his lips followed hungrily, tasting and teasing until a golden warmth spread through her veins, heating her erratic pulses. Her hair became entangled around his neck, and he brushed it aside before resuming the moist exploration with his lips, lingering now in the place where her arm joined her body before tracing a path again to her full, heaving breasts. She clung to the hard, sinewy muscles of his arms, holding on to him for support, afraid she would fall into a yawning abyss where flames were fed by passion.

  His hands spanned her waist, tightening their grip and lifting her above him. His mouth tortured her with teasing flicks of his tongue, making her shudder with unreleased passions. She curled her fingers into his night-dark hair, pushing him backward, away, pleading that he end the torment, only to follow his greedy mouth with her body, pressing her flesh against his.

  A throbbing ache spread through her, demanding to be satisfied, settling uncontrollably in her loins, causing her to seek relief by the involuntary roll of her hips against the length of his thigh. He held her there, her bottom forward, driving her pelvis against him.

  Suddenly he shifted, throwing her backward and settling on top of her, looming over her. For a thousand times, it seemed, his lips and hands traveled her body, starting at the pulse point near her throat and ending at her toes.

  He whispered French words of love, words she’d taught him, praising her beauty, celebrating her sensuality. Her body seemed to have a life of its own, and she succumbed to it, turning, opening, like the petals of a flower. His searching fingers adored her, his hungry mouth worshiped her. Lower and lower his kisses trailed, covering the tautness of her belly and slipping down to the softness between her thighs.

  She felt him move upon her, demanding her response, tantalizing her with his mouth, bringing her ever closer to that which had always eluded her and kept itself nameless for her. Her body flamed beneath his kiss, offering itself to him, arching and writhing, reveling in the sensation that was within her grasp, reveling in her own femininity. She felt as though she were separated from herself, that the world was comprised only of her aching need and his lips. Exotically sweet, thunderously compelling, her need urged him on, the same need that lifted her upward, upward, soaring and victorious, defeating her barriers, conquering her reserves, bringing her beyond the threshold of a delicious rapture that she had never dreamed of or suspected, even in her fantasies.

  And when his mouth closed over hers once again, he had proved her a woman and had not cursed her for it. He had allowed her to rise victorious in her passions, leaving her breathless and with the knowledge that there was more, much more. She was satisfied yet discontented, fed and yet famished. She wanted to share the ecstasy he had given her, participate in the sharing, and only with him.

  Grasping her hips, he lifted her as though she were weightless. He brought her parted thighs around him, and when he drove downward, she felt as if she were being consumed by a totally different fire—a fire that burned cooler, leaving the sensibilities intact. Yet there was that same driving need deep within her, deeper and more elusive than she had experienced the first time. She struggled to bring herself closer, needing to be part of him now, needing him to be part of herself. These fires burned deeper, brighter, fed by the fuel of his need for her, of his hunger to be satisfied.

  Tears glistened on her cheeks. She was triumphant, powerful—a woman. In this man’s arms she knew she had been born for this moment, that all her life had been leading up to what she was experiencing with this magnificent American. Together they had found the secrets of the universe.

  The purple dawn was wrapping its arms around the château when she crept from Reuben’s bed and made her way down the hall to her own room.

  How cold and forlorn her bed felt. She wanted to be back in Reuben’s bed with her head on his shoulder. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She’d known it would be like this. And now there was nothing she could do. She’d tasted her fill of the American, and like an alcoholic she wanted more. Would always want more. Better to say she was “addicted” than in love with a man half her age. More than half. She’d lied when she said she was forty; she was actually forty-three. Old enough to be his mother. Old enough to be a grandmother. Mon Dieu!

  How long would she be able to keep him? Six months, a year? Would he be the one to ask to leave, or would she be the one to send him on his way? Where in the world would she get that kind of strength? She’d known. Why hadn’t she listened to herself, to that little voice that warned her?

  Yvette crept close to Mickey. With a gentle finger she brushed at the tears on her friend’s cheek. How much she’d given and how little she’d gotten in return. And now this trek with the children to lead them to safety. Her heart told her it would be Mickey’s undoing. Guiltily she made the sign of the cross. “Please,” she whispered, “don’t let anything happen to her. Help me to help her.” Was it a foolish prayer? Was it ordained somewhere that this would be a fateful trip?

  Yvette swore then that she saw Death enter, grimly stalking the perimeters of the room. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see the dark shadow move forward and then stop.


  She slept, her sleep full of demons from the past, the present, and the future.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The sweet smell of orange blossoms and the tang of salt sea air flirted with Nellie’s nostrils. She savored it for a moment as she drank in the sight of her father and her uncle Reuben together. Misty eyes, good-ol’-boy slapping, and then the bear hug made her own eyes narrow, but only for a second. Blinking in the bright sun, she looked around, hoping that Philippe had come to welcome her to California. For the whole of the trip she’d kept her fingers crossed, something she’d always done as a child when she wanted something desperately. Over the Grand Canyon she’d made a wish that Philippe would be the first person she saw and that he would sweep her off her feet and plant a warm, welcoming kiss on her mouth. Wishes were for little children, she thought sourly.

  “I think my daughter has a burr in her undies,” Daniel murmured into Reuben’s ear. “I think she was expecting Philippe to be here.”

  Reuben slapped his forehead. “Jesus, I didn’t think, or I would have asked him along. To tell you the truth, we don’t do a whole lot together these days, and I’m not…I haven’t been at the studio for several days now. But we can talk about that later. She’s a knockout, Daniel. When did she grow up? It wasn’t all that long ago that I saw her in Washington. Jesus, she’s a young lady!” Reuben’s voice held stunned surprise.

  Daniel kept his voice low so it wouldn’t carry to the young girl walking ahead of them. “I came home from work one day and there she was, with a new hairstyle, high heels, and this dress that looked as if it were made of gossamer. She had a date with a young man who drooled when he saw her. I don’t mind telling you I had a few bad moments, and the lecture I handed that young man is probably still ringing in his ears.”