The Tiger Lily

by Shirlee Busbee

  Sabrina shrugged. "He is Tia Sofia's stepson. And I suppose the topic of his visit never came up before." Not for the world would she reveal how surprised she had been at Brett's arrival!

  His curiosity evident, Carlos prodded, "Will he be staying with you long?"

  Again Sabrina shrugged. "I don't know."

  His gaze sharpening, with deceptive idleness Carlos questioned, "Is he handsome? Will the ladies adore him?"

  "I don't know," Sabrina repeated unhelpfully.

  Dissatisfied, Carlos frowned. "What do you know about him?" he finally demanded with exasperation.

  Neither one of them was aware of the tall man who was approaching, or that upon seeing them he stopped abruptly. Before he could make his presence known, Sabrina spoke.

  She had instinctively recognized the reason behind Carlos's probing, and while not normally a vain young woman, the knowledge that he was jealous of Brett gave her pleasure. The past five days had been disruptive ones for her, and Carlos's obvious jealousy acted as a balm upon her lacerated emotions. Smiling with uncharacteristic coquettishness, she said teasingly, "I know that you are far more handsome than he is." She wasn't lying either; Carlos was handsomer, with his perfect features and genial manners. But there was something about Brett. . . .

  Pleased by her words, Carlos relaxed slightly, his eyes on her soft mouth. "And?" he questioned huskily.

  Sabrina did not usually encourage Carlos's attempts to flirt with her, but Brett's arrival had awakened feelings within her that she didn't yet know how to control—didn't even exactly understand—and she eyed her cousin speculatively. He was handsome, his olive skin smooth and unblemished, his eyes flashing pools of ebony, and she knew that he held her in great affection—that at the slightest sign from her, he would boldly cross the distance she had always kept between them. Would Carlos kiss her as Brett had? she suddenly wondered. And more importantly, would his kiss unleash all the wild, turbulent feelings she had experienced when Brett had kissed her? Surprising both of them, she blurted out, "Would you kiss me?"

  Carlos recovered himself instantly, and his eyes filled with an ardent light, he murmured, ''With pleasure, querida! With pleasure!"

  His mouth was warm and tender on hers, his arms strong and possessive as he passionately crushed her against his hard chest. He even smelled faintly of tobacco and horses as Brett had, but for Sabrina there was no breathless ecstasy in his touch. She felt nothing more than a mild enjoyment in his embrace, and gently, when he would have deepened the kiss, she stepped back from him, her eyes shadowed.

  Carlos was breathing rapidly, and there was a faint flush on his cheeks. ''Querida, you must know how I feel about you!" he began, but Sabrina put her fingers up to his mouth, silencing him.

  Ashamed at the way she had used him, appalled at how little his kiss had affected her, she whispered regretfully, "Hush, mi amigo. I should not have asked such a thing of you. It was unkind."

  He started to protest heatedly, but irritably aware that this was not the time or place, he muttered thickly, "We shall talk of this later."

  Sabrina smiled at him repentantly, shaking her head slowly. "No. You must forget my foolishness—what just happened changes nothing between us. It cannot."

  He looked at her steadily for a long moment and then lithely swung up onto his horse. Sending her an unsmiling glance, he said harshly, "For the moment I will bow to your wishes. But it will not always be so. Remember that!"

  Unhappily she watched him gallop away. Carlos was her friend, and she had taken advantage of that friendship, she thought wretchedly. If only Brett had never kissed her, this wouldn't have happened! It was all his fault! she decided irrationally.

  She spun on her heel, intending to return to the courtyard, when she caught sight of the object of her thoughts leaning negligently against the mottled trunk of a large sycamore tree. She froze and glared at him, wondering how long he had been there.

  The expression in his eyes was hard to define as he walked up to her, but his voice was filled with mockery. "Lover's spat?" he inquired interestedly.

  "That is none of your affair!" she snapped. "And if you were any sort of gentleman, you would have made your presence known." Her breasts heaving beneath the thin cotton shirt, she demanded angrily, "How long were you there?"

  "Long enough," Brett returned dryly. "Who is he, infant? Someone your father doesn't approve of? Is that why you were sneaking out here to meet?"

  All the resentment that had been simmering just under the surface erupted. "How dare you!" she hissed. "That was my cousin Carlos, and we weren't sneaking anywhere! He'd been to see my father, and I was merely saying goodbye!" Her eyes glittering like golden stars, she said hotly, "As for my father's approval—there has long been talk of a marriage between us." Just why she told Brett that information she wasn't certain, nor was she certain why she didn't tell him that Carlos would never be more than a dearly beloved friend to her. But she had, and slyly, insistently, her mind questioned her reasons. Had she told him because women married, not infants? Might the knowledge that she was old enough to talk of marriage make him see her as a woman? And if Carlos could be moved to jealousy, could Brett? She knew that last idea was ridiculous—didn't he treat her with barely concealed tolerance? Contemptuously she thrust away the other thoughts.

  Brett's face was unreadable as he stared down at her, his thumbs hooked carelessly in the broad leather belt around his lean waist. "Marriage? Aren't you a trifle young?" he drawled.

  Her fingers curving into claws at her sides, she said tightly, "I will be eighteen in less than four months."

  "Such a great age," he teased, a gentle smile hovering on his lips. Lightly he flicked a tanned finger down her smooth cheek. "Don't rush into an3rthing, infant—even eighteen isn't that old. You'd still be a babe."

  A challenging sparkle in her amber-gold eyes, she said breathlessly, "Carlos didn't think I was a babe . . . neither did you when you kissed me."

  A muscle twitched in his lean jaw, and his smile vanished. "No, I didn't," he admitted reluctantly. His eyes narrowed suddenly as an ugly thought occurred to him, and, his voice grim, he demanded, "Is that what you were doing? Comparing us? Seeing which one of us treated you less like a child?"

  Sabrina's eyes were huge as she stared up at his dark face, a guilty flush staining her cheeks as she realized that she had indeed been comparing them. Not deliberately perhaps, but she had wanted to know if Carlos could affect her the same way that Brett did. Attempting to brazen out the situation, she gave what she fervently hoped was a sophisticated shrug and returned carelessly, "And if I was?"

  Since he had kissed her in the meadow, Brett had purposely kept his distance from Sabrina. Intentionally he had made himself as derisive as possible, doing everything he could to destroy the almost overwhelming desire within him that demanded he do the exact opposite. Without volition, he had found himself responding violently to her warmth and charm, and daily he battled not to succumb to the increasing surge of attraction he felt for her. At night in his rooms, he dreamed of her, her bewitching smile beckoning him toward untold delights, her slender body driving him half mad with longing. But waking each dawn, he would furiously deny the images and yearnings of the night. The painful lesson that all women were false was too deeply ingrained for him to forget it, and viciously he had sworn that he would not be drawn into the treacherous enchantment that she represented.

  The sight of Sabrina in the arms of another man, however, had stunned him, sending a savage flood of conflicting emotions through his body. He was at once grimly satisfied that she was proving to be as vainly flirtatious as he knew women to be, but there was also an odd sense of betrayal, of crushing disappointment and some other powerful emotion . . . jealousy? Stung by his thoughts, he had jerked away from pursuing them further.

  He was already angered by his reactions, and Sabrina's flippant words were too provocative to ignore. A glitter in his jade-green eyes, he reached for her, yanking her brutally agai
nst him. His mouth inches from hers, he snarled softly, "If it's comparisons you're making, add this to your samples!"

  Ruthlessly his lips came down on hers, and the touch of that warm, hard mouth engulfed Sabrina in a maelstrom of intoxicating, bewildering sensations. Ah, but it was sweet to have him kiss her again, to be once more in his arms, to have that taunting mouth moving so urgently on hers, to feel the thunderous beat of his heart against her breast. She was hazily aware that she had wanted this to happen. She pressed her slender body closer to his, seeking more than this half-savage, half-gentle assault upon her senses. Unknowingly she slid her arms up around his neck, her head tilted backward as she shamelessly, innocently offered herself to him.

  At her sudden surrender, Brett's anger vanished, and he forgot everything but the bewitching soft body in his arms. All the hungry desires that he had kept so tightly leashed sprang free, and his arms tightened around her, crushing her fiercely against him. His mouth moved with increasing demand across hers, but it soon wasn't enough, and huskily he commanded, "Open you mouth to me. I want the taste of you on my tongue."

  The words sent a quiver of excitement through Sabrina, and when his lips touched hers, she obediently opened her mouth. His tongue plunged hotly between her parted lips, filling her mouth as he slowly, sensuously explored the inner warmth.

  Stiffening with shocked, pleasurable astonishment, Sabrina wondered giddily what he was doing to her. Her knees felt weak, her head was swimming, and there was an increasingly painful yearning in her loins that the touch of his probing tongue in her mouth only intensified. Her nipples were unbearably sensitive, and she moaned softly, wanting incredibly for him to touch her there, to feel his hard, knowing hands on her breasts.

  Brett had been weeks without a woman, and his body was one long ache of desire. His manhood was hard and throbbing between their bodies, his blood was thundering in his brain, and Sabrina's artless response to his lovemaking nearly smashed his control. Nearly made him forget who she was, who he was, and why it was both ungallant and dangerous to be kissing her this way. He might treat women callously and with contempt, but he had made an ironclad vow ages ago never to chose his ladybirds from among the female relatives of his friends. Nor was it his custom to share his bed with young girls like Sabrina; his preference ran to older, experienced women who knew what they could expect from him: skilled lovemaking and generous settlement—no emotions.

  Realizing sickly how close he was to throwing scruples to the winds, with a smothered curse, he thrust Sabrina from him. His breath labored, he said sardonically, "I think that was sample enough, don't you?"

  It took Sabrina a moment to slide back into reality, to leave behind the sensuous world she had glimpsed in his embrace. She stared up at him blankly, her mouth slightly swollen from his kiss, her eyes still drowsy "with desire, but then the import of his words sunk in.

  For a second she glared up at him, and then before he could guess her intentions, she drew back her arm and slapped his dark face as hard as she could. "You blackguard!" she spat wrathfully.

  Gingerly he reached up to touch the cheek she had just slapped, and mockery creeping into his eyes, he said mildly, "For an infant, you certainly pack a wallop!"

  Sabrina gritted her teeth and said thickly, "Don't call me 'infant'! I am not an infant!"

  He suddenly grinned and murmured, "I'll have to admit—you certainly don't kiss like an infant!"

  Choking back a gasp of fury, Sabrina spun on her heel and stormed through the iron gate into the courtyard. Fortunately it was empty, and as she marched angrily toward her room, she wondered blackly how she was going to endure Brett's infuriating presence for an indefinite amount of time. She was either going to explode with rage—or murder him!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  If Alejandro noticed, as they inspected the various sites for a sugar mill, that his daughter treated their guest with icy disdain, he made no comment. Nor had he commented on the suspicious scarlet mark on Brett's cheek. But he speculated.

  Sabrina speculated about nothing. She was so furious, so ashamed and alarmed by her reactions to Brett, that she refused to even think of what had happened between them.

  Still ruffled by the morning's events, she declined to accompany the men when they rode over to the de la Vega ranch that evening. Besides, she told herself sourly, she didn't want to sit through a grueling inquisition by Tia Francisca and all the other curious ladies.

  Sabrina might have escaped Francisca de la Vega's merciless interrogation, but Brett did not. Alejandro had gently warned him about his sister, but even Brett hadn't been prepared for such blunt questions.

  They had arrived at the de le Vega ranch a few minutes early, and Francisca had used that time to good effect. Barely allowing the introductions to be made, she had instantly launched her questions. When had he arrived? How long was he staying? Why was he here? What were his prospects? Was he unmarried? Why wasn't he married? Was he on the lookout for a bride?

  Even if Brett hadn't heard from Sabrina about the possibility of a marriage between her and Carlos, Francisca's barely disguised hostility and rude questions would have indicated where the land lay. That and Carlos's even less thinly veiled dislike.

  There had been almost a tangible air of tension between the two men when they had been introduced. Brett had sized up Carlos immediately—arrogant, selfish, and cruel . . . and displeased that a possible rival was on the scene. Carlos was also quick to take his opponent's measure—a rich, ruthless gringo, and one who was far too blatantly masculine not to have an effect upon Sabrina. The americano was also too confident and had too easy a relationship with Alejandro for Carlos's liking.

  Almost by unspoken assent, the two men moved away from the others and toward the courtyard. Carlos instantly opened the hostilities. His black eyes cold and unfriendly, he murmured softly, "How strange that you should appear so suddenly in our midst. Alejandro has said nothing of your impending arrival. We were surprised even to learn of your existence—my uncle seldom speaks of his dead wife's family, but I am certain that he has never mentioned you before. Nor has Sabrina. I wonder why?" The words in themselves were innocuous, but Carlos's tone of voice implied that there was something unsavory and sinister about the entire thing.

  Brett quirked an eyebrow, well aware that he was being baited. "Oh?" he said mildly. "Perhaps the reason my name has not been the topic of conversation is simply that Alejandro does not gossip. As for Sabrina"—Brett shrugged his broad shoulders, a mocking light leaping to his eyes—"women do not tell all their secrets . . . especially to other men."

  As Brett watched interestedly, Carlos flushed angrily, his hand clenching into a fist. "It is not gossip, " he ground out, "when one merely acknowledges the existence of a relative—no matter how distant the connection!"

  It was very apparent that as far as Carlos was concerned, the connection wasn't distant enough. Senor Dangermond annoyed him, and there was also something elusive about those jade-green eyes and that reckless mouth that bothered him—where had he seen this man before? As he stared at Brett, he had the most curious sensation that he had met him before. But where? And when?

  Brett had the same sensation—I've met this Spaniard before. Somewhere our paths have crossed, but where? And when? New Orleans was the most logical place. There, or Spain?

  As Brett made no reply to his earlier comment, Carlos, realizing the uselessness of open warfare, forced a smile and said smoothly, "You must forgive my seeming rudeness, but Sabrina is my novia, and I am not unnaturally concerned that a virtual stranger has taken residence in her home."

  "Your fiancee?" Brett questioned sharply, aware of a sudden inexplicable knot forming in his gut. A slight frown darkening his brow, he added, "I was under the impression that nothing formal had been decided upon—Alejandro did not tell me that Sabrina had been formally betrothed." Nor had Sabrina, he reminded himself dryly.

  Carlos sent him a superior smile. Malice gleaming in the black eyes, he said menda
ciously, "Between Sabrina and myself it has long been settled, the announcement is a mere formality. Our parents know and wholeheartedly approve of the match. In fact, they are eager for it—almost as eager as Sabrina and I."

  "I see," Brett said slowly. He distrusted Carlos's words, and yet . . . This morning he'd seen Sabrina in this man's embrace, and Sabrina herself had alluded to the possibility of a marriage between them, so why did he resist the idea? Because Sabrina hadn't kissed him like a young woman engaged to another man? He smiled cynically. Now that was a foolish notion. She wouldn't be the first to act so—hadn't the lovely Diana done the same thing, and with him?

  Alejandro called to Brett just then, and there was no chance for further conversation with Carlos. Which was just as well, Brett thought wryly. The more I know of him, the more I find myself holding him in extreme aversion! Almost with relief he joined Alejandro and was introduced to some gentlemen who had just arrived. Shortly they all adjourned to the library, leaving Francisca to reign over the ladies who had accompanied their husbands and sons.