Because You're Mine

by Nan Ryan

  Sabella suddenly experienced a terrific pang of guilt as she looked at the happy, unsuspecting Gena. She hated the thought that she must hurt badly the gracious young woman who had never done her any harm. But it couldn’t be helped. Gena would have to go.

  Sabella was sorry that she hadn’t gotten to Burt Burnett before Gena de Temple had fallen in love with him. Before he had asked Gena to marry him. It would have been so much easier. Then no one would have gotten hurt except those who deserved to suffer.

  Sabella gritted her teeth and hardened her heart.

  Wondering why the eager fiancé was not at Gena’s side, Sabella looked away from the dark-haired woman. Again her eyes moved slowly, questioningly over the well-heeled crowd, searching for Burton J. Burnett.

  She hadn’t seen him yet, although he must surely be present. The thought occurred that perhaps she had seen him. Maybe she was looking directly at him this very minute and just didn’t realize it.

  All at once there was a disturbance at the big ballroom’s arched entrance. A strange hush fell over the filled room. Conversations lowered and died away. A low buzz of twittering excitement seemed to spread quickly through the crowd.

  Curious, longing to find out what all the commotion was about, Sabella, whispering “excuse me, please,” moved in front of two stocky, diamond-draped women.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped into view. He paused directly beneath one of the many-faceted chandeliers. Sabella’s dark eyes widened and her lips fell open in astonishment.

  She stared helplessly at the compelling latecomer whose well-brushed hair—gleaming in the light from the chandelier above his head—was as midnight black as the smartly tailored tuxedo draping his tall, lean frame. A stiff-collared shirt of fine white cotton contrasted sharply with the darkness of his smooth, suntanned face.

  Towering giantlike over all the others, the strikingly handsome man easily eclipsed everyone around him. All were lost in his large shadow. Obscured by the magnetic force of his strong masculine presence. Forgotten in the electric flurry of excitement he so effortlessly aroused.

  Without being told, Sabella knew. This big, darkly handsome man exuding power, wealth, and poise was Burt Burnett.

  Late for his own engagement party!

  Five

  BURT FLASHED A QUICK grin, his twinkling, slate-gray eyes burning into those around him, and all was instantly forgiven.

  In apology, Burt bent to kiss the soft pale cheek Gena turned up to him, whispering softly, “Sorry, darlin’. I’ll explain later. Forgive me?”

  Gena simply nodded, her eyes aglow with adoration and relief. Burt’s long arm went around her slender waist and he moved with her through the crowd, smiling that celebrated Burnett smile, shaking hands, greeting old friends, bringing his own special brand of excitement to the occasion.

  Now the party could really begin, everyone happily agreed.

  But even as he left admirers thoroughly charmed in his wake, Burt Burnett’s attention was not really on the obligatory task at hand. He was nearly oblivious to the throngs of glowing guests, many of whom had traveled great distances for this gala event.

  Burt was barely aware of Gena clinging to his arm and guiding him through the crush of well-wishers eager to see him, talk to him, touch him. Distractedly, he nodded, continued to smile, and made easy conversation with the guests.

  Burt Burnett saw only one guest, had eyes for only one stunningly beautiful young woman. She stood across the crowded ballroom, but Burt saw her. Only her.

  An exquisite young goddess with silky blond hair and golden tanned skin and a slender, feminine figure swathed in shimmering white silk. A real heavenly body.

  From an incredibly lovely face, the largest, darkest eyes he had ever seen were looking boldly at him. Each time he stole a quick glance at her, those gleaming black eyes were on him, a strange fever-hot light burning brightly in their dark depths.

  Burt was drawn to her as though she were sending out a silent signal to him. Come to me, she seemed to be saying. Come closer if you dare. Desperate to reach her, Burt impatiently shook reaching hands without knowing or caring whose, and anxiously gravitated toward the beautiful blond vision in white.

  He became unreasonably irritated as Gena kept tugging on his arm and stopping for more hellos. His chest tight, his legs weak, he felt as though he were swimming against the tide and in imminent danger of drowning.

  “Mrs. Dorsey, so good to see you … Why, Teddy Campbell, you old reprobate, how in the world are you? … Miss Eller, you’re looking well. How’s your mama? Good, good. Thank you so much for coming … ” Burt continued the pleasantries, all the while making sure he was heading directly toward the one guest whom he longed to greet.

  He was almost to her.

  Only a few more steps and he would be facing her, standing so close he could reach out and take her hand in his. His fingers tingled with anticipation at the thought.

  Another round of regards offered and accepted, and Burt looked up again. Then did a double take.

  She was no longer there.

  Sabella knew instinctively from the very first moment when he looked up and saw her that she had so thoroughly captured Burt Burnett’s attention that he was drawn to her, would come to her. The message was written clearly in his flashing eyes and in the aggressive attitude of his big, sleek body.

  The crowd slowed his progress. Which made him all the more eager, edgy. Halfway to her, he began tossing his dark head back and forth, like an impatient thoroughbred at the starting gate.

  She knew to stand her ground until the last possible second.

  Sabella was totally confident of her effect on Burt Burnett. She was confident, as well, that none of the other guests were aware of the secret drama unfolding before their very eyes. Not even Gena de Temple. No one knew except the two who were the major players. She and Burt Burnett. They might as well have been alone in that crowded ballroom for all the seeming attention he paid the others. She alone knew his heart wasn’t in it. It was to her he genuinely wished to speak. It was her hand he wanted to shake. Her eyes he longed to look into.

  Chin lifting slightly, breasts rising and falling against the soft fabric of her white silk ball gown, Sabella purposely waited until Burt was only a few steps away. She allowed her dark gaze to clash with his one last time before someone grabbed at him, distracting him for a second.

  Sabella seized the time to hurriedly make her exit through the open double doors directly behind her. Cynthia Douglas followed, puzzled and concerned.

  “Are you all right, Sabella?” her new friend asked worriedly.

  “Actually I feel a little faint,” said Sabella, pressing the back of her hand to her brow. “Would you think me terribly rude if I returned to the inn?”

  “Certainly not.” Cynthia was understanding. “Shall I go with you and—”

  “No, no, you stay and enjoy the party.”

  “You sure? I could easily—”

  “I insist. It’s nothing, really. I’ve just been getting too much sun lately.”

  Cynthia patted her hand. “I’ll have our driver bring the carriage around. Old Roberto will take you back to the inn immediately.”

  “Thanks, so much. If you’ll kindly make my apologies to our host and hostess, I won’t bother to go back inside.”

  Burt finally freed himself from a grasping, slightly tipsy guest. He turned and shot an anxious look at the spot where his blond dream girl had been standing. And stood no more.

  Feeling almost panicky, Burt searched, his gray gaze roving restlessly over the crowd like a moving beacon, searching for a sign of the glorious golden hair, the shimmering white dress, the dark, dazzling eyes.

  But the beautiful woman was gone.

  With Gena still clinging to his arm, Burt reached the two young girls he had seen near the blond beauty. Burt had known Cynthia Douglas and Janie Desmond all their lives. Since both were barely twenty, he thought of them as cute little girls, just children really
. He always teased and flirted with them, all in good fun. Like children, they always giggled and blushed and hit at him with their fists, loving every minute of his attention.

  Tonight was no exception. He kidded the girls, gave each a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, and assured them he would miss them something awful when they reminded him they’d be leaving early Monday morning to spend the summer in San Francisco. And he attempted, as smoothly as possible, to find out who their new friend was. And where she was.

  But an uncharacteristically jealous Gena dragged him away before Burt could learn anything. Even her name. Cynthia was about to tell him, but she never got the chance.

  Burt spent the remainder of the long, frustrating party searching for the elusive blonde in the white silk gown. Wondering who she was, where she had come from. Burt knew better than to ask any further questions and risk exposing his unreasonable interest in her.

  He continued to quietly, hopefully, search for her throughout endless dances, turning about on the polished, white marble floor with a wide variety of partners in his arms. While countless champagne toasts were proposed to Gena and him, each one punctuated with a kiss between them, his gray eyes fitfully drifted over the crowd, searching for her. When a tempting midnight feast was served, Burt held a filled china plate in his hands, but barely touched the food. He was too preoccupied with looking for the mysterious, beautiful woman in white.

  He didn’t see her again.

  But he didn’t forget her.

  Six

  WHEN THE ENGAGEMENT PARTY finally broke up, it was well past three a.m. As soon as the front door was closed behind the last revellers, the tired senator, yawning, said good night to Gena and Burt, and climbed the stairs to his room.

  Wishing he could leave, knowing he couldn’t, Burt allowed a mellow, happy Gena to draw him into the dimly lit drawing room. They sat on the long, cream brocade sofa before the cold fireplace. Burt put a long arm around Gena’s pale bare shoulders.

  “So lovely, don’t you agree?” Gena said, pressing her dark head to his shoulder.

  “Perfect,” said Burt in low, level tones and realized guiltily he meant the mysterious woman, not the party.

  Hoping Gena hadn’t read his thoughts, he put a hand under her chin, tilted her face up to his, and kissed her. When their lips separated, Gena playfully tugged on his black silk tie. It came undone. She finished untying it while Burt sprinkled kisses over her bare shoulders and up the side of her throat. Gena sighed and squirmed happily as his lips spread heat over her sensitive flesh. Her nimble, long-nailed fingers flipped open the tiny buttons going the center of Burt’s white shirt.

  “I wish,” she said dreamily, pushing the open shirt apart and raking her nails down his naked chest, “that we were already married so we could go upstairs to bed.” She leaned to him, bent her head, and kissed his chest. “What hypocrites we are, darling,” she breathed, then bit him gently. “We’ve been intimate for years. Why skip the night we’ve finally become officially engaged?” She lifted her head and looked into his gray eyes.

  “Because,” said Burt, with a straight face, “there are still some rules of decorum that must be obeyed.”

  Gena sighed with frustration. It was true. They couldn’t sleep together in her own house with her father just down the hall. But, oh, how she wished they could. She wished with all her heart she could get Burt upstairs tonight and make love to him until he was totally drained and spent. She had a nagging premonition that it was dangerous to let him leave.

  Instinctively she felt that she needed to put her stamp on him tonight of all nights. She could read it in his smoky, heavy-lidded eyes, could feel it in the coiled tenseness of his body: a potent sexual hunger. A hunger far wilder, stronger than any she’d sensed in him for ages.

  It frightened her.

  She was hesitant to let him go without satisfying that raw need. She was almost frantic to keep him here with her. She fought the strong impulse to scrape her long nails down the bare flesh of his chest until she drew blood. She hated that she had to let him get away without leaving her scent on him.

  “You’re right, of course,” Gena finally murmured, but she again bent to his chest, pushed the white shirt aside, and licked a wet, warm circle around a flat brown nipple. She felt a responsive little shudder surge through Burt’s tensed body, and was then determined, decorum or not, to satisfy his animal hunger.

  “Damn it, Gena, don’t,” Burt whispered into her dark hair.

  “Shhhh,” she murmured, her lips and tongue playing on his chest. Her hand touched his knee, slid up the inside of his lean thigh to his groin. Her breath caught when she felt the half-hard flesh straining the fine fabric of his tuxedo trousers. She couldn’t let him leave like this. She wouldn’t.

  Gena began to stroke him through his trousers, coaxingly toying with him, tenderly molding the beautiful growing erection. Even as she caressed him, felt his male flesh expanding to enormous proportions, she had the nagging suspicion that the throbbing tumescence beneath her possessive fingers had little or nothing to do with her.

  The terrible uncertainty escalated when Burt drew her hand away and he again said, “Don’t, Gena. Stop now.” Smiling, he tried to make light of the situation by teasingly adding, “You want me to go home suffering?”

  “No, my love,” Gena told him huskily, “I don’t. And I won’t let you suffer. Not ever.”

  Her lips went back to his naked chest, while her dexterous fingers unbuttoned the fly of his black trousers.

  “Oh, Jesus,” moaned Burt as his straining masculinity sprang free.

  He put a covering hand on the thrusting flesh, but didn’t fight her very convincingly when Gena brushed his hand away.

  “Allow me,” she said, wrapping soft white fingers around him, feeling her feminine power return as he surged within her gentle grip. She kissed his mouth while she manipulated him with her hand, sliding her stroking fingers up and down the pulsing shaft until she was absolutely certain he wouldn’t be able to get up and walk away from her.

  It took only seconds until he was powerless. Putty in her hands. Hers to do with as she pleased. Hers to either pleasure or punish. It thrilled her so totally she trembled with excitement. For now, she, only a small, soft, defenseless woman had complete domination over this big, strong, rugged man.

  Feeling almost giddy with triumph, Gena tore her lips from Burt’s. Her hand never leaving him, she slid off the brocade sofa to the plushly carpeted floor. She turned about in a swirl of rustling gold taffeta and was between his spread legs. She sat back on her heels, smiled wickedly up at him, licked the tip of her forefinger, and ran it over the smooth rocket-shaped head of his impressive erection.

  “Know what would feel really good to you, darling?” She put out her tongue and licked her lips wetly.

  “Christ, Gena, the servants … your father.

  “Are asleep. No one is awake but the two of us. And this,” She nodded to the swollen flesh she cupped in her hands. “Shall I put it to sleep?” She laughed sexily.

  She bent quickly to him, pressed a kiss to the engorged flesh, then opened her mouth wide, and took him inside.

  “Aaaah,” Burt groaned involuntarily in surrender, clasped the sides of her head in his hands, and began to lift his hips rhythmically, surging up to meet the wet warmth of her drawing mouth.

  Heart hammering, Burt sat there on the brocade sofa in the elegant de Temple drawing room, looking down at the dark, moving head of Gena who, because she loved him so much, was on her knees between his legs, eagerly providing him with lusty carnal pleasure. Burt watched for a long moment, then guiltily closed his eyes against the dark head and imagined a golden head in its place.

  The beautiful stranger in the white silk gown was now gloriously naked and kneeling between his spread knees, her unbound blond hair spilling over his bare thighs, and her warm lips tugging sweetly, sensuously on him.

  The fantasy was too real, too potent.

  Burt shuddered
with a deep, wrenching climax, unable to stop himself. Spent, he collapsed against the high-backed sofa, his spine limber, his limbs limp, his eyes tightly shut.

  Jubilant in her conquering, the sly, smiling Gena lifted the rustling taffeta hem of her full skirts and wiped her mouth, uncaring that she soiled the expensive designer gown. She rose to her feet as Burt’s glazed gray eyes came slowly open.

  “Now, darling,” she said, looking down at him lovingly, “you may go if you really must.”

  Swiftly adjusting his trousers, Burt didn’t bother with his open shirt. Shakily he rose to his feet, and followed Gena out into the silent corridor where she turned to face him.

  “You must be exhausted,” she said. He nodded sheepishly. “Are you staying in town at the Mission Inn?”

  “No,” Burt said, choosing to eschew the convenience of the empty suite at the nearby Mission Inn lest Gena insist on slipping down to join him. Inexplicably anxious to leave, he looked forward to driving the six long miles to Lindo Vista in the moonlight. “I’ll go home.”

  He took her bare arm, drew her close, bent and kissed her, biting for an instant on her full bottom lip with sharp white teeth. “Will you be all right?” he whispered. “I mean you got cheated while I … ” He shrugged wide shoulders.

  “No, darling, I didn’t. Satisfying you satisfied me.”

  Burt grinned, kissed her again, turned her about, pointed her toward the grand staircase, and said, “Then go up to bed.” He gave her taffeta-covered bottom a harmless little swat with his open hand.

  Gena laughed, kicked off her dancing slippers, lifted her long rustling skirts, and started up the marble stairs. But she paused a few steps up, turned to look down at him, and said, “I love you, Burt. I love you, and now that we are engaged, I refuse to share you. You belong to me, darling.” She kissed her fingertips, blowing him a kiss. “Never forget that.”

  “Get to bed, Gena,” Burt said, smiling easily.

  His smile fled the moment Gena was out of sight. Oddly, her little lovely warning—although she had meant nothing by it—rankled him. He wondered why. She’d said those same teasing words to him a thousand times and it had never bothered him before.