The Lady and the Robber Baron

by Joyce Brandon

  Simone started to cry. Fat tears welled up and spilled over, making shiny tracks on her dirty cheeks.

  Her tears surprised Peter. He wanted to find Jenn, but he couldn’t walk away with Simone crying. He waited for her to stop, but she cried harder. He heaved a sigh. Without warning Simone hit him in the chest with her fist. She hit him again and again.

  He caught her arms and pinned them behind her. She was strong for such a small, delicately made woman. She squirmed against him so hard he almost laughed, but he knew better than to laugh out loud.

  She glared at him, hating him suddenly. “You don’t care about anything, do you?” she said, panting as if she had run a mile.

  “I care about finding my sister.” Simone’s dark, tear-wet eyes reproached him. His mind flashed a picture of her lying naked beside a swimming pool at sunset, her slender back pink and delicately curved in the reddish evening glow.

  The summer he was sixteen, Simone had lain naked beside the pool half a dozen times at the Van Vleet family’s summer resort house in Martinguas. His friend Edwina had teased him about Simone, claiming the girl was posing for him and him alone. Edwina had said that Simone might be the mistress of the father, but she pined for the son. At sixteen, Peter could not possibly have imagined himself approaching his father’s mistress.

  In the fiery glow from the burning theater, Simone’s full, trembling lips glistened with her tears. Without thinking, Peter bent his head and kissed them. Her sudden indrawn breath caused him to realize he’d made a terrible mistake—kissing a girl who didn’t want to be kissed.

  He tried to straighten, to correct his mistake, but Simone’s mouth surged upward, twisted into his, and heat pounded into his loins with surprising strength. His arms seemed to be taking orders from his swelling manhood. He pulled her roughly against him and pinned her hips against his. He kissed her hard for a long time, and she sagged in his arms. He continued to kiss her, pouring in all the energy and passion he hadn’t been able to contain at sixteen, until at last he remembered where they were and what he was supposed to be doing. He wrenched his mouth from Simone’s.

  “I have to find my sister.” His voice sounded thick.

  Simone’s eyes widened and she gasped, “Oh, mon Dieu, you must go. Yes.”

  Peter was suddenly aware that others were staring at them, that he was doing something out of the ordinary. He wanted to turn Simone loose, to walk away, but his body needed to feel her there, needed her softness and warmth, and groped toward it.

  Carefully, he lowered Simone down until her feet were planted firmly on the wet sidewalk. Her hands fell away from him. A sense of loss moved into him, but he let go of her and walked toward the front of the building to find his sister.

  Chapter Two

  The raindrops that had fallen on her while she ran to his carriage cooled Jennifer’s hot face. The darkness inside the coach was dank and cold, but the contrast felt good. The coach began to roll. She leaned back and took in a cautious, nervous breath, deeply aware of the heavy masculine energy of the man beside her. Ordinarily she would not think of getting into a stranger’s coach, but for some reason she had become accustomed to following his lead. Besides, he was a respectable ballet fan. He would take her home, be sure she was safe, and that would be the end of it.

  The carriage took the corner a little too fast, and Jennifer was thrown against his shoulder. He lifted his arm out of the way and pulled her close to him. She started to protest, but she craved closeness and protection. She gave in to the feeling and pressed her cheek and nose against his damp shirt. In spite of the smoke that clung to everything, the scent of his warm, wet skin mesmerized her.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked, lifting one of his hands. In the darkness his hand looked big and square and beautifully made. She had always admired strong, capable-looking hands. This one was endowed with a magnetism that made her want to keep touching it.

  “I don’t think so,” he said.

  “I’m sorry…?” she asked, puzzled.

  “You asked if I was hurt. I said I didn’t think so.”

  “Oh, of course,” she said, unwilling to admit that she’d been so engrossed in the feel of his hand that she’d forgotten her question. “I meant that you must have burned your hands, putting that fire out on my costume…” Something dark and sweet pooled low in her belly and distracted her, so her words trailed off.

  “No,” he said. “I’m fine.”

  Unable to stop herself, she lifted his hand close to her face and peered at it in the near darkness of the carriage. “Is that a burn spot?”

  “It’s dirt,” he whispered, his mouth so close she felt the warmth of his breath tingling her cheek. She shivered. His voice seemed thicker and his breath came quicker. She wondered if her fascination with his hand was affecting him as much as it was her.

  Jennifer caught sight of a building in the opposite direction of her home, and she suddenly snapped to her senses. “Where is he taking us?”

  “Nowhere.” The man’s voice was husky. In spite of the darkness, she could tell he was looking at her intently. His lips were only inches from her own. Her lips tingled, and she wet them. He groaned softly and lowered his mouth to within a hair’s breadth of hers.

  “He must be taking us somewhere,” she said, horribly, painfully aware of the thumping of her heart. She’d never felt so aware of herself or of any man before.

  “No.”

  “No what?” she asked in helpless confusion.

  Her head spun—who was this man? What did he want from her? She searched his face. All she could see was his eyes sparkling with silent humor.

  Slowly and deliberately, he lifted her chin, looked into her eyes for a long moment, and kissed her. Lightly at first, just a simple brushing of lips against lips.

  “I knew it would be like this,” he whispered. “I even knew how you would taste.” Then he lifted her onto his lap and turned her so that she was fully available to him. She knew she should say something to stop him, but she couldn’t. Neither her brain nor her mouth seemed to work.

  The second kiss was soft and sweet. Just a little more adhesive and tingling. His mouth tasted smoky on the outside and like warm, sweet figs on the inside. Her mouth opened to his probing lips, and his kiss deepened.

  As if some switch had been thrown in her, she was suddenly overcome with a desire to feel and taste him. Her body strained against him. His body felt hard and hot and hungry against hers. Her head spun in tight circles. He, too, seemed to go out of control, kissing her as if he couldn’t stop. Finally, when she was so breathless she felt faint, his lips burned a trail to her throat.

  “He must…be taking us somewhere,” she panted, struggling for control, fuzzily aware that she needed it, but no longer sure why.

  “I told him to drive.” His voice was thick with desire.

  His lips found hers again, and his kisses became more demanding. She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and bit it. He groaned and deepened his thrusting. That satisfied her mouth, but it did nothing for the rest of her body, which was putting up its own wild clamor. The fire that had almost taken their lives seemed to have lit its own fire in her. Moaning, she pressed against him.

  He groaned and his strong hands pulled her hips against the swell of his hardness. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. He kissed her mouth, her throat, and finally, when he had reduced her to gasping, trembling need, he kissed her breasts. The feel of his hot mouth on her sensitive, naked skin startled her, and she cried out. Somehow her costume had been pushed down around her waist. His strong hands held her still and helpless while his hot mouth sucked at one breast, then the other, causing such a burning in her that she let her head drop back.

  Then, as if he were determined to torture all of her at the same time, his mouth moved down to her belly and slowly up to her mouth. He kissed her so hungrily and so hard she forgot everything except his mouth, his warm body, and the heavy throb of desire between her thighs.

 
“I want you,” he whispered.

  A spear of heat stabbed her. She realized she was trembling all over. And only seconds away from being taken in a darkened coach by a man she’d never seen before tonight. “I must go home,” she whispered, struggling to free herself from his grip.

  “No…please…I can’t let you go.” He kissed her again, bringing her to such heat and madness that she knew that in one more second he wouldn’t have to do anything. She would do it for him.

  “Take me home,” she whispered.

  Reluctantly, he let her go.

  She felt deprived. Her skin seemed to ache for his touch, which had been so incredibly warm and sweet and dark…it created such a hunger within her.

  He glanced down at her naked breasts, which she had forgotten. “You should never be allowed to wear anything that covers such beauty,” he whispered. “They’re sweet and tender and perfectly shaped.” Regretfully, he pulled a carriage robe around her and nestled her close. “So you don’t catch your death,” he whispered.

  She sat on his lap, and she was still painfully aware of the swell of his hardness pressing against her left thigh. “I doubt I could die here,” she said, feeling as if she’d never be cold again. He had an odd smile on his handsome face, and he was peering through the darkness at her with such intent interest that she felt a wave of sudden shyness. She put her head against his shoulder, closed her eyes, and listened to the heavy throb of his heart.

  “We mustn’t kiss anymore,” she said softly. “This was…I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Shocking,” he agreed affably.

  “Are you making fun of me?” she demanded suddenly, straightening so she could glare at him.

  “Absolutely not. I’m agreeing with you.”

  “I’m not sure I like the way you agree with me.”

  He chuckled softly. “Would you prefer I disagree with you?”

  His deft fingers unfastened the pins she’d put in her hair to hold her bun in place. Hair fell down around her face, silky against her shoulders and back, soft against the swell of her breasts above the blanket she clutched.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, puzzled.

  Her head was awhirl. This man had the ability to confuse all of her at once. She’d known men who could confuse her mind, and a few who could confuse her body, but never one who confused all of her. Bellini said dancers were different from other people. They learned their movements with their muscles, not with their heads, and so they were more divided. This dark stranger had somehow united her body and mind, and conquered both. Obviously a dangerous man.

  She wiggled around and pulled up her costume. “Check my buttons,” she said firmly, presenting him with her back.

  His warm hands lowered the blanket and fumbled with the fabric of her costume for a moment. “Ahhh,” he whispered, then leaned down and pressed his warm lips to the back of her neck. Chills raced down the length of her spine. She felt her body arching as if it had a will of its own, which of course it did, but that was supposed to be only for dancing. His warm hands slipped around and cupped her breasts, and her body turned of its own accord so that his lips could reach her suddenly hungry mouth.

  His tongue teased her lips. Moaning, she turned in his arms and let him kiss her for a long, slow time.

  “You have the most incredible skin,” he whispered, pushing her costume down once again and running his hands over her breasts and waist and hips.

  She felt hypnotized by the feel of his hands on her. She knew she had to stop him, but her body urged her to wait just a few more seconds. There was no hurry. He was only touching her…

  “What a beautiful, charming, seductive little witch you are.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. The soft underflesh of his bottom lip tasted as sweet and intoxicating as smooth red wine, leading her on, making thunder in her blood. She wondered if there was such a thing as fig-flavored wine.

  He kissed her again, and her head spun in tighter circles. After a time she heard a soft mewling sound and realized it came from her. The handsome stranger lay atop her, taking most of his weight on his arms and kissing her as if he were as mesmerized as she. She didn’t remember how they had come to be lying down.

  Slowly, while he continued to kiss her, his thigh wedged itself between her legs, and she felt the swell of his hardness pressing against her pelvic bone. An odd thing happened. Her body flooded with warmth, and her heart felt as though it opened all the way down to her loins.

  Over the years, Bellini had told her a dozen times or more that in classical ballet, the dancer turns out the entire body, opening from the heart. She had never known what he meant by that. To her, a turnout started at the pelvis and was reflected in the legs and feet.

  But somehow even without entering her, just from the feel of his manhood pressed against her pelvic bone, her body had opened from the heart. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did. Tears flooded her eyes. She blinked them back, but he had seen them, or his lips had tasted them.

  “Oh, God,” he said, groaning, kissing her eyes, her lips, her throat.

  She felt crazed with need. Her hands tore at his shirt and finally found the warm, adhesive flesh she’d been aching to feel. His broad back was strong and damp and heavily muscled. His hand slid down and slipped between her legs. The shocking touch sent a spear of heat shooting through her. Startled, she felt her loins flush with fiery heat and then herself spasming. She’d touched herself for relief before, so she knew what was happening, but she prayed to God that he didn’t know. Panting, she waited until the spasms subsided. He was still kissing her with great urgency, but slowly she opened her eyes.

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered.

  He opened his eyes, and they were still dazed by desire. “What?”

  “I can’t do this.”

  “I can’t not do it.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said regretfully.

  He groaned, sighed, shook his head as if to clear it, and sat up. “Don’t tell me. Out of all the ballerinas in New York, I got the one who isn’t wild and abandoned.”

  Jennifer’s eyes clouded for a moment, then she laughed nervously. Something flickered in his eyes, a warning. But before it fully registered in her, he’d pulled her hard against him, and the laughter caught in her throat.

  His mouth covered hers. He kissed her hard and hungrily, doing with his lips and tongue what he could not with his body. Dizziness overwhelmed her, and even though she had gotten her own release, heat rose up in her, and she could hear her blood roaring through her temples.

  Abruptly, he released her. His eyes reflected none of the confusion she felt. He looked like a man who knew exactly what he wanted and how he would get it. “I’ll let you go this time, bewitching ballerina,” he said, his voice a low growl of desire, “but next time…”

  Chapter Three

  Slowly and carefully, Jennifer opened the front door to the Van Vleet town house. To her chagrin, Peter was sitting in a chair in the entry hall, his head in his hands. As she closed the door softly, he looked up. The despair she saw on his face sent a hot flush of guilt and shame stabbing through her.

  “Jenn!” he cried, leaping to his feet.

  “Peter,” she said, praying that he wouldn’t notice that her lips were swollen from the stranger’s kisses.

  Peter rushed forward, his face haggard. As he reached her, relief and then joy washed over his handsome features. “God, Jenn!” he whispered, the words half strangled. He clasped her in his arms and hugged her so tightly she nearly couldn’t breathe. “I thought you’d died in that fire.” His voice shook. “Simone told me you got out, but I couldn’t find you.”

  “I’m sorry, Peter. I had no idea you’d know about the fire.”

  He loosened his hold on her and looked down at her. “How did you get out? Where were you?”

  “Just lucky, I guess. Did anyone die?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  “A few…God…I’ve never been s
o scared in my life. It was…amazing how quickly that theater went up. Like a bonfire,” he said, pulling her into his arms.

  “Any dancers? Any of my friends?” she demanded.

  “No, not that I heard.”

  “I got out safely, thanks to…God,” she ended lamely.

  “I should have been there. How did you get home? I looked everywhere for you.”

  She looked down so he wouldn’t see the lie in her eyes. “I shared a cab with Simone. She was so distraught…she needed to talk.”

  She told him about the fire, but omitted any mention of the dark stranger. When she finished, Peter shook his head, frowning. He had a wonderful frown. His blue eyes narrowed down to slits, and his handsome brow seemed to cling more tightly to his skull. The ridge of his eyebrows seemed more prominent, more glowering and formidable.

  “Do you suppose that fire was set deliberately?” he asked.

  “Who’d do such a thing?”

  “The owner of the theater, for one.” Peter looked at her as if gauging whether to share some important news with her. “I probably shouldn’t bother you with this tonight, but…I found out yesterday that Chantry Kincaid the Third bought the Bellini Theatre three days ago. He has plans, secret plans, to raze the theater and rebuild on that site.”

  “Build what?”

  “Derek wasn’t sure, but we think cheap housing. Commodore Laurey owns the whole next block and is planning an extremely expensive development. Kincaid’s plans will destroy the value of the Commodore’s project. So Laurey will have no choice but to buy Kincaid off—at an extravagant price, no doubt. It’s blackmail, and would be criminal if there were any justice at all.”

  Jennifer frowned. Sudden, hot anger rose up in her. She didn’t know which she hated more—Peter still being friendly with Derek, who was lower than pond scum, or that her life was once again being disrupted by this robber baron Kincaid. She had never met the man, but she hated him almost as much as Peter did. Chantry Kincaid was totally unscrupulous. Both she and Peter believed he’d had their parents killed three months ago. The two of them had gone to the police with their suspicions, but Kincaid had covered his tracks exceptionally well. The police investigated and found nothing tangible to use against Kincaid in court, and he’d had an alibi, but Peter claimed he had bought off the police. Given the widespread corruption on the force and in other departments of city government, it was probably true.