Sweet Seduction hmtl

by Patricia Pellicane

  She wasn't going to be here at one o'clock, but she sorely wanted this man to know what it felt like to be made a fool. He had to come to know at least a small part of the anger she felt.

  Meg shook her head in frustration. It was impossible. She hadn't the slightest idea how to act the seductress. There was nothing she could do but allow this man to walk away.

  Tristan grinned as he watched her. Damn, but she was a beauty. Flashing dark eyes were filled with some inner fire. For a moment there he thought it was rage that glittered, but of course he was mistaken. It was the lack of light in here. Because he wanted it to be so, Tristan believed it was passion he saw in their depths. He trembled with the thought of her burning for his touch. If he touched her, would she melt in his arms? Could it be he wouldn't have to wait till one o'clock after all? Tristan uttered a low, aching curse. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to find out right now.

  Meg gave no objection as he moved toward her. His large hands reached for her arms and pulled her to her feet. Her knees wobbled, and her breathing increased to an alarming rate, for Meg was no fool. She knew exactly what this man was about. She expected no less from his sort. But what most astounded her was the fact that she was allowing this to happen. His head lowered, and he brazenly touched lips to hers while Meg simply stood there and watched.

  Sweet. Oh Jesus, so sweet. The word filled his soul, clouded his mind, and brought on a trembling, the likes of which he'd never known. He withstood the gentle torture of barely touching her for as long as he could until the agony of her seductive, chaste response began to drive him mad. His arms reached around her diminutive waist and raised her slight weight until her feet dangled helplessly above the ground. He held her firmly along the length of him, delighting in the feel of her, belly to belly, thigh to thigh. A low, ragged groan slipped from his lips at her exquisite softness. With no more than a virginal kiss,, he knew he could lose himself forever in the taste and feel of this woman. Lord, what would happen if she really kissed him?

  His mouth instinctively, mindlessly deepened the kiss, showing her the delights of what a real kiss entailed. His tongue ran over the softness of her closed mouth as he gently prodded her lips apart.

  God, she felt so good. He couldn't remember holding anything this soft before. Her head nestled in the palm of one hand as his mouth forced her lips open. Delicious. His mind swam with the taste of her. Did anything compare to the dark, exotic nectar of this mouth?

  Slowly he ran his tongue over the moist sensitive flesh just inside and then over small, clean teeth to the mysterious rich heaven beyond. He groaned again, his breath filling her lungs.

  His hips moved seductively against hers, causing a previously unknown ache to form deep in her belly.

  Meg trembled. What was happening here? Yes, she'd known before the feel of a man's mouth against hers. But a kiss had never before brought on such a yearning for something she could not name. It filled her now to overflowing. What was it she wanted? Kisses, she thought. Lord, but this man knew how to kiss. She'd never known a kiss could be quite so thrilling, so all encompassing, nor that a man could taste so good. Being in his arms was making her lose all sense of time, reason, and place. She tried to fight the need but soon realized she was a willing prisoner, loving every minute she spent in this man's arms.

  She should have been mortified, horrified at her actions, but all Meg could think of was more. She wanted more. She had to have more. Her arms hanging useless at her sides now moved up the length of his arms and around his neck. They clung as she spread her fingers deep into the richness of his hair.

  Jesus, he was playing with fire. Too long without a woman, Tristan felt his semihard state blossom into full-grown arousal. He pressed harder against her, moving himself deliciously against the soft cavity of hips, knowing there would never be satisfaction until he claimed this woman as his own.

  Her clean scent mingled with expensive perfume. It rocked his senses. Idly he wondered how a Gypsy came to afford French perfume. Had she stolen it? Or did her asking price allow for such luxuries?

  Tristan felt a pang of remorse. For one wild, crazy noment he wished she wasn't the experienced woman knew her to be. He wished she'd never known another man. He wished he was her first.

  Tristan almost smiled at the ridiculous thought.

  What did it matter her experience? If anything, experience would only make their coming together better. Besides, nothing mattered but that he have this woman. And that he have her again and again.

  He couldn't remember a time when at the touch of a mouth passion had built so quickly, so wildly out of control. Tristan tore his lips away, knowing this was happening too fast. This wasn't the place, nor the time. When he took this woman, it would be a slow torturous taking in the luxury of a bed. His bed. Nothing less would satisfy.

  Meg gasped, her mind reeling as he put her away from him. She felt her knees buckle, and his hands were instantly at her waist to steady her. She tried to calm her breathing as she wondered what in the world had come over her. She longed to throw hideous insults, to lay the blame at his feet, but knew in her heart she was equally at fault for this wild moment of sinful debauchery. She couldn't face him. Her cheeks flamed in embarrassment, knowing she'd been so caught up in the kiss that she'd lost control of the situation. She was desperate to get away. Now!

  "I'm sorry. I cannot . . ." she began, hoping he would understand and yet knowing he would not. She couldn't see him again. She couldn't even pretend she would.

  "Oh Christ," Tristan groaned, misunderstanding her intent as he interrupted her softly spoken words. Quickly he searched through his pockets. From a roll of bills, he dropped fifty pounds on the table. It was only money, and if it made her happy, what the hell difference did it make if he paid her now or later?

  Like all women she thought of her own needs first. He wouldn't get a bit of rest till he had her, and he knew he wasn't about to have her till he paid up. "I must be out of my mind," Tristan grumbled as he stalked out of the tent.

  He might have left the money, but he definitely had no intentions of trusting her to fulfill her end of their bargain. The touch of her mouth against his had affected him far more than it should have, but he wasn't so caught under her spell that he believed her. Tristan knew enough about the reputation of Gypsies to know they'd steal one's eyeteeth if given a chance. There was no way he was going to let this woman out of his sight tonight. Not until one o'clock and then, he grinned, most assuredly not then.

  Chapter Three

  How in the world had she done such a thing? Meg shivered with revulsion, her cheeks flamed with humiliation to think that she would have allowed such liberties. She'd longed for revenge and had hoped to teach him a lesson, but somehow things had gotten out of control. He had kissed her! Meg groaned at the memory of how his mouth had moved on hers. Why, in God's name, had she permitted that kiss?

  Everything had grown so needlessly complicated. He had been mistaken in his beliefs, and his manner had been most insulting. Why then hadn't she simply enlightened him to the error of his ways? Why had she taken it upon herself to teach him a badly needed lesson? She should have known better than to try. She'd had no experience along these lines. In the end, because of her absurd behavior, she'd only convinced him his assumptions to be correct.

  Meg shook her head in misery. Lord, she prayed she'd never have the misfortune of meeting him again. The fact that she didn't even know his name, nor he hers, brought no sense of comfort. It only intensified her remorse, her guilt. To think she could have kissed a man, and despite her desperate wish to the opposite, she had to admit that she had indeed kissed him back while never knowing who or what he was. Lord, but this was surely beyond belief.

  She'd never done a thing like this in her life. Why she had chosen now to act so out of character she couldn't have said.

  Meg wasn't watching where she was going. So engrossed was she in the horror of her situation, almost walked into another of her cousins.

/>   Anton grabbed her in a playful hug. "You think tiny girl like you can knock over Anton?"

  And when Meg only looked up at this dark giant with confusion, he laughed. "You

  look like the problems of the world lay heavy on your shoulders."

  "They do," she said before she thought how ridiculous those words would seem.

  Anton laughed again. "Tell Anton. He will fix."

  "Anton, I've done something very foolish." Meg felt her cheeks burn again. This wasn't going to be easy, but if she was going to get help, and she probably never needed help more in her life than she did at this moment, she'd have to tell him what she'd done.

  Anton's dark eyes narrowed as he watched her carefully. "What? What could a little girl like you done?"

  "A man came to see me, to have his fortune told. I was very angry. I promised to meet him later."

  Anton's eyes widened with surprise and sparkled with humor. "Do you always meet men who anger you?"

  "No. Of course not." She shook her head. "It was just . . . Oh Lord, he was so annoying, so obnoxiously overconfident, I thought I would . . ." She shook her head again, unable to go on.

  "Trick him?"

  Meg nodded, suddenly ashamed. "I made him give me fifty pounds."

  "Fifty pounds! And you made him give it to you?" Anton asked with some amazement. "How?"

  "Well," she shrugged, decidedly uncomfortable at the telling, "he asked how much, and I was furious, so I said . . ."

  Anton laughed, understanding at last her meaning. "So, this dog thinks to touch my cousin, does he?" Anton's eyes filled with deadly menace. Meg couldn't believe how protective these people were. It didn't seem to matter that they had only met yesterday. She was family and that was enough to ensure her safety.

  "It was my fault. I should have told him — "

  "It was his fault," Anton interrupted. "He thinks because you are Gypsy, he can treat you with no respect." Anton's mouth formed a hard, wolflike smile as white teeth flashed in the shadows.

  Little was known by outsiders of the Gypsy way of life. A Gypsy might believe it his right to pick another's pocket. Petty swindles were a matter of pride and often bragged upon. Even horse thievery was considered a great accomplishment, but Gypsy women, like no other, prided themselves on their purity. None, although they may act the free spirit as they teased and taunted a would-be lover, indulged in the act of love before marriage. That this man had dared to dishonor his cousin with such an offer, no matter that she might be only one quarter Gypsy blood, made Anton long to place his hands around the bastard's neck. "I will take care of it." His voice was tight with anger.

  " You need not worry, Meggie. "Where is he?"

  Meg looked around the camp and breathed a great sigh of relief. Unless he was hiding in the shadows, the man was gone. "I don't see him. Maybe he found someone else. Maybe he left."

  "Maybe," Anton nodded. "But we take no chances, eh?" His thick-fingered hand clamped to her arm. "I will take you back to camp."

  "But if he sees me leave, won't he follow?"

  "He won't see you leave. Go into the tent."

  A half-hour later Meg had exchanged her clothes with her cousin Tasha and was sitting huddled in the corner of a wooden wagon that rattled hanging copper pots as it rolled over the cobblestone streets of London, driving slowly out of great, noisy city.

  Tristan stood just outside the tent. From the shadows he'd watched her enter the tent again, but as before, a curtain was drawn over the entrance, blocking his view. A woman walked inside, and he grinned as the curtain was momentarily pushed aside. The Gypsy's back was to him, but he'd recognize that red blouse and yellow skirt anywhere. Long black hair fell over her back, disguising its slimness as she recited in a low, husky voice exactly what the customer had in mind to hear. Tristan couldn't wait for one o'clock. He knew what he wanted to hear. Her soft cries of pleasure as he sank himself deep into her sweetness were just about all he could think of for the last two hours. It made the waiting, among other things, hard. He checked his timepiece again. Only a half-hour to go before he could hold her in his arms.

  Tristan couldn't remember the last time a woman had affected him so. Had he ever been so anxious? There had been many women over the years, but he'd never known before this particular intense longing for one specific woman.

  The customer left with a smile on his face, and another entered the tent. Tristan glanced again inside. He wouldn't put it past any Gypsy to take his money and run. He laughed softly. She might try, but she wasn't going to get the chance.

  He shouldn't have paid in advance. Now that his mind was no longer dazed with her taste, he knew it was a damn fool impulse. Tristan was amazed, for he'd never before found himself caught under a woman's spell. She'd started a fire, and only having her beneath him in bed would ease the flame.

  Ten to the hour. Lord, but it had been a long night. Tristan wasn't a patient man. He didn't take to this waiting, but for her he would. For the magic he'd glimpsed in her arms, this waiting was worth every minute.

  The street party gave no sign of winding down, The folks in this city were making most of the chance to revel with abandon, all in the name of their new Queen. Tristan guessed it would be yet another five hours or more before things would begin to quiet.

  One o'clock at last. God, he couldn't remember longer night. Tristan entered the tent. "It's one o'clock."

  A heavyset giant of a man was suddenly at his side. He nodded his dark head. "Time for us to leave."

  Tristan didn't say anything. No doubt the man's presence was purposely planned, Tristan smiled. Did they think to frighten him off?

  He looked toward the woman and then groaned. He knew the Gypsy reputation for lying and thievery. He shouldn't have been surprised when the woman in the red blouse and yellow skirt turned to face him. He should have known. God damn it! They had made a switch.

  Tristan forced back the curse that came to his lips as the hulking giant moved to face him. "You want something, mister?"

  Tristan was wise enough to know when he'd been temporarily outsmarted. His smile was cool as he promised himself retaliation. But even in his anger he realized retaliation wasn't possible unless he knew where to find her. It was a good bet she was already back at their camp. What he needed to know was where that camp was. "I'm in the market for horseflesh. Word has it there is no better than what a Gypsy owns."

  Nicoli puffed out his chest with pride. The man spoke the truth. There were no better horses in all of England than his. "We talk tomorrow." Without a qualm, Nicoli gave Tristan directions to their camp. He wasn't positive, but it was likely that this was the scum Anton had told him about, the one who had insulted his cousin. Only tomorrow would tell. Tomorrow when this stranger came to their camp, he would watch and see.

  Edward had long since left to visit his actress friend. Tristan denounced himself for all kinds of a fool. If he hadn't been so obsessed with one tiny Gypsy, he would right now be enjoying his own actress instead of walking back to his ship alone. God damn her!

  Tristan's eyes glittered with thoughts of vengeance. He hadn't quite figured out how he was going to do it, but this lying Gypsy was going to pay.

  Later that night, Meg laughed as she fingered two gold coins and the many bills that lay in her lap. The farther she'd gotten from London, the more safe she felt. Now, in camp, her growing sense of safety brought on a decidedly cocky attitude.

  Meg giggled and showed her grandmother the money as she told her story.

  "It is wise not to tempt a man too much, Meggie."

  "Oh I didn't . . ." Meg hesitated and then corrected herself as she remembered that kiss. Her cheeks flamed again at the thought. "Well, maybe I did a little, but it was his arrogance that forced me to do it." She laughed again. "I wish I could have seen his face when Tasha turned around."

  "It is better you're not within a hundred miles of a man that angry."

  "Was he? Was he truly angry?" Satisfaction flashed in her dark eyes.
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br />   Nanna shrugged. "I didn't see him, but I was told he hid his feelings well."

  Meg shrugged. "Too bad. Next time he might think twice before he insults a lady."

  "You sleep now. Tomorrow a man comes to look at the horses. You will have to brush them early in the morning."

  Meg grinned as she slid under the covers. So while she stayed, caring for the horses was to be her job. Good. She loved horses and couldn't imagine a more pleasant way to spend the day than currying them.

  Meg was soon asleep, her breathing even and deep as her great-grandmother lay on the bed opposite hers, thinking of the man. She hadn't seen him in person, but if he was the same one she'd seen when she'd touched Meggie's hand earlier tonight, he was the one who didn't know yet his love. A smile split her thin lips as she imagined what the future held for these two. Meggie wouldn't have it easy, not with a man like that, but in the end no one would know a greater love than her little granddaughter.

  Content with her knowledge, the old lady slipped peacefully off to sleep.

  It wasn't yet light when Meg heard the sound of her great-grandmother's movements. A cracking joint, a soft grunt, a swish of cloth. A moment later the door to the wagon opened and closed, and Meg was left to sleep a few more minutes. It was the smell of food that brought her awake the second time. She smiled as she stretched with lazy enjoyment upon the soft bed. Meg couldn't remember when she'd slept so well. Even her own bed at home didn't feel this good.

  She dressed in the same clothes she'd worn last night, finding them neatly folded and placed just inside the door of the wagon. She made a mental note to ask Nanna for something else. After she finished with the horses, she was sure to need a change of clothes.