The couch was soft beneath them, but never disrupting their kiss, Brett slid slowly to the floor, pulling her unresisting body with him. They landed with Sabrina on top, but gently he rolled her over until they were lying side by side, his tall, muscled length straining against hers. He continued to kiss her, long, drugging kisses that left Sabrina weak and dazed. But kissing didn't satisfy the blazing hunger that raged through him, and swiftly he unlaced the green ribbons of her bodice. Before Sabrina realized what he had done, she was stunned to feel his warm, seeking fingers on her naked breast. It was incredibly erotic as lightly, teasingly, his long fingers stroked and caressed her small nipple, and she moaned low in her throat with pleasure.
At her small sound he reluctantly stopped kissing her.
His voice thick with desire, he got out, "Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to, but . . . oh, Jesus, Sabrina, you're driving me insane! I must have you! I must!"
Somberly they stared at one another, and seeing the wondering passion in her lovely eyes, he muttered something under his breath and urgently sought out her mouth. Sabrina was lost, she was drowning in his lovemaking, her young untaught body aflame with needs she had never envisioned, aw6u*e of nothing but the magic of his touch.
For the first time in his life, Brett was totally ruled by his emotions, Sabrina affecting him in a way no other woman ever had—perhaps ever would. He knew he should halt this wild madness, but he simply could not. He wanted her too badly, she was too tempting, too warm and responsive in his arms, for him to gain control of the fierce desire that was dictating his actions. Compulsively his hand once again closed over her breast, his thumb moving rhythmically over the pulsating nipple. Pushing her onto her back, he slid his mouth sensuously down her throat, across her chest, to the breast he had bared. Tantalizingly, savoringly, his tongue curled around the nipple, his teeth lightly grazing it.
The hot ache of desire that had been coiling within Sabrina's stomach tightened unbearably at the touch of the knowing mouth on her nipple, and convulsively her fingers clenched in the dark hair of his head, pulling him even closer to her. Shockingly the thought occurred to her that she wished they were entirely naked, that her hands could roam at will over his hard body, that she could put her lips to his breast and do the wonderful things to him that he was doing to her.
As if guessing her thoughts, Brett lifted his head, and with infinite slowness he undid the remainder of the lacings, shoving the bodice of the gown down around her waist. His gaze seemed bewitched by the smooth golden flesh that he had exposed, the firm breasts jutting proudly under his look, the coral nipples full and erect.
Shyly Sabrina watched the expressions that chased across his face, the wanting and the passion that were so clearly revealed, and she shivered with both joy and fear. He wanted her as a man wanted a woman! And, oh, dear God, it might be wrong, her soul might be damned for all eternity, but she desperately wanted him to complete her initiation into womanhood. No matter what happened in the future, she would have this to remember—the sweetness of his touch, the passion of his mouth, and the ecstasy of his possession.
And yet, when at last his hand slid up her thigh, his fingers seeking that most intimate part of her, she stiffened. What exactly went on between a man and woman making love was a mystery to her, and despite her arousal, despite wanting him to be the one to teach her, she was totally unprepared for what possession really meant. His fingers caressing her inner thigh suddenly frightened her, and when he touched the soft red-gold curls between her legs, her heart beat with a suffocating tempo.
He was kissing her passionately, but Sabrina was oblivious of it, all her concentration on that searching hand. What was he doing to her? Her fingers painfully clutched his broad shoulders, her throat tight with apprehension as gently his exploring fingers parted the springy curls and softly stroked the tender flesh.
A flood of heat and desire swept through her body at the probing intimacy he was wreaking on her, but it warred with a growing feeling of alarm. Moaning with a curious blend of fright and pleasure, she began to struggle against his invading fingers, her hands pushing him away, her body rejecting his advances.
Tearing her mouth from his, she said breathlessly, "Please, Senor , please stop! I ... I don't want you to . . . Oh, please stop!"
Through a red haze of passion, Brett heard her words, heard the faint undertone of panic, and with an agonizing effort he painfully brought himself back to reality. For a long moment he stared blindly down at her, forcing his breathing back to normal, forcing his brain to think coherently. Almost with surprise he noted their positions on the carpet, the rumpled disarray his searching hands had created with her yellow gown, and suddenly aware of the enormity of what had nearly happened, he was engulfed by a wave of revulsion and disgust. His eyes closing with repugnance at his actions, writhing with embarrassment and fury at how easily he would have betrayed his own ironclad rules and Alejandro's trust, he flung himself away from Sabrina. Lying on his back, one arm thrown across his eyes, he muttered, "Dear God in heaven! What possessed me?"
Sabrina made some inarticulate sound, appalled and as shocked as he was by what had transpired. Her face flaming with shame, she was fumbling with her gown, trying miserably to cover her naked breasts.
Brett heard her, and putting his arm down, he glanced over in that direction. Passion gone now, filled with anger and disgust at himself, he sat up and with less than gentle movements quickly and efficiently made short work of the green ribbon lacing. In a matter of seconds, Sabrina was correctly clothed, the only sign of their passionate interlude her still swollen mouth and some suspicious creases in the yellow silk gown.
She could barely bring herself to look at him she was so embarrassed, and when she finally did, her heart sank. His face was cold and implacable, the dark green eyes shuttered and unfriendly, and the full, sensuous mouth had a grim slant to it.
She wanted to say something to break the increasingly hostile silence that grew between them, but the words stuck in her throat, and Brett's expression didn't help. Once they were standing, she risked another glance at him, wondering with a dull ache in her heart at how swiftly the teasing, mocking, passionate lover had disappeared, leaving only this hard-faced stranger.
Never a particularly kind man, distrustful of women and unused to denying himself anything he wanted, Brett was at odds within himself. The unpleasant thought occurred to him that this entire episode might have been cleverly planned, and yet he didn't want to believe such a thing of either Sabrina or Alejandro. He wasn't a conceited man, but he would have had to be both blind and deaf not to know that he was considered a more than eligible party, and Sabrina wouldn't be the first gently reared young lady to use her body as a way to snare a husband. What made him angriest, though, was the galling knowledge that he had almost fallen into the trap, if indeed it had been a trap.
The jade-green eyes hard and icy, he looked across at her and said evenly, **I will not apologize for what just happened—or nearly happened. However, I will admit that my conduct was both insane and inexcusable." His voice bitter, he added, "You can rest assured that I will not forget myself again—no matter what the provocation!"
Stiffly he bowed and without another word stalked from the room, leaving Sabrina to stare after him in stunned dismay.
CHAPTER NINE
It was nearly dawn before Sabrina finally fell asleep. Embarrassment and shame had given way to confusion and bewilderment at first, but then even that had faded, and she was left with only humiliated anger. She couldn't lay all the blame for what had happened at Brett's feet either—she had certainly not discouraged his very improper advances! No, she remembered with shame, she had blatantly courted them.
Her thoughts tormented her. One moment she was appalled at herself, and the next she was assailed by a feeling of sharp disappointment that she hadn't experienced fully what being a woman meant. Even now, several hours later, just the thought of the way he had caressed her caused her body to ache for
the touch of his hands and mouth. With a muffled sob, she turned her head angrily into the pillow, wondering miserably why he alone affected her as he did. No one had ever aroused within her the fierce, terrifying emotions that he did, not even Carlos, and with a jolt she suddenly realized why.
Her tears drying, she uttered softly, disbelievingly, "I'm in love with him! That's why I've been such a goose since he arrived. I love him!" The knowledge should have brought her joy, but it didn't. She might have stupidly fallen in love with him, but it was glaringly apparent that she was caught in a situation that could only bring her pain—had already brought her pain. She turned her face once again into the pillow, realizing now so many things—why his indifference had hurt, why she had been so eager for his touch . . . and why Carlos or any other man had never touched her heart or emotions.
Restless and unhappy she rose from her bed, unwilling to spend more time in the fruitless search for sleep. Instinctively, like a wounded animal, she sought a place in which to soothe her pain, and a few minutes later, dressed in a white cotton shirt and calzoneras, she slipped quietly from the house.
Intent upon reaching the one place that spelled solace for her, she hurried through the darkened pine-wood forest, oblivious to the night sounds and the movements of the wild creatures. There was the barest glimmer of the dawn light to guide her, but Sabrina was as familiar with these woods as she was the hacienda, and shortly she reached her destination—a tiny clearing at the edge of the small lake that could be glimpsed from her balcony.
It had been a favorite spot of her parents also when Elena had been alive, and the place held happy memories for Sabrina. The family had come here often, and Alejandro had even overseen the construction of a small, graceful gazebo for their further enjoyment. Sabrina could remember long, hot summer afternoons spent here, laughing meals held alfresco, her mother smiling and merry, her father's face full of the love he felt for them both.
Alejandro never came here anymore, but he had maintained the gazebo, knowing that Sabrina took comfort from the place. Inside was a small round iron table, and built against the lower walls were wide wooden benches. The benches were covered with comfortable cushions of vivid orange, and large, soft pillows of bright yellow and green were scattered about. With a sigh, Sabrina sank down onto one of the cushions, unknowingly wrapping her arms tightly around a yellow pillow.
The bottom half of the octagonal gazebo and the roof were of solid whitewashed wood, but the upper half of the charming building was made of a delicate latticework. The doorway was a tall, wide archway cut into one of the walls, the other seven being broken by long, narrow open arches in the latticed walls. Honeysuckle and trumpet vines completely covered two sides of the gazebo, the sweet scent of the honeysuckle filling the air as Sabrina stared blindly out of one of the arches.
She sat there for a long time, her mind blank, letting the peacefulness and tranquility of the place seep into her body. The lake lapped gently at the shore, a hunting owl hooted in the distance, and there was the faint rustle of a light breeze.
Sitting there in the chill of the April dawn, staring numbly at the silver glitter of the lake as the rising sun struck it, she admitted bitterly that she had always loved Brett Dangermond. She had loved him as a child in Natchez, and unconsciously she had carried that memory of him with her always. Flinging the pillow away from her, she clenched her fist in angry denial. How ridiculous! she berated herself savagely. Children didn't fall in love! But they did, a part of her persisted sadly. They did . . . you did!
Her lovely face pensive, her fist slowly unclenched in defeat, and with a low moan she threw herself facedown on the orange cushion. She might have learned that she loved him, but it changed nothing; he was not in love with her . ... or ever likely to be, she thought wistfully, remembering the cold look in his eyes tonight just before he had stalked from the library. Various phrases of Tia Sofia's letters came back to haunt her. ... "I worry continually about Brett—he is so cold and distant with women. I sometimes feel that he actually hates us all." . . . "We had hoped that he would make a match of it with a suitable young lady when he visited Spain last year, but nothing came of it. When Hugh asked him about it, Brett just got that contemptuous look I so dislike on his face and said something awful about a wife being needed only for an heir and that Hugh had plenty of those! I could have boxed his ears!" In another letter she wrote, "Brett has all the young ladies in the area atwitter—he is so handsome and manly that I am not surprised, but he cares nothing for any of them. He sneers about love and has made it plain that women have only two uses (most improper of me to mention that to you, but I'm certain I'll be forgiven). He stated flatly on his last visit home that he doesn't need the one and the other can be easily obtained without love or marriage! How Gillian's rejection has eaten into his heart!
And then there was that terrible affair with some English girl. I doubt very much that he will ever experience love or even consider marriage—pity the woman, Sabrina, who makes the fatal mistake of loving him! He would be a devil! People call him 'Devil' Dangermond sometimes, and I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that a woman coined that name!"
Sabrina's face twisted. Half of what Tia Sofia had written had gone over her head at the time she had read those letters, but not any longer. Now she knew what Tia Sofia had been referring to. How could her foolish heart love so unwisely? Sabrina wondered helplessly. Her plight was hopeless, and knowing what she did about him, how could she even dare to think that he might suddenly fall in love with her? He'd had the choice of every beautiful, eligible young woman in Europe and America, so why should he single out an unsophisticated young lady like herself for his attentions? Especially one who greeted him with a knife!
Sitting up ramrod straight, Sabrina faced her problem squarely. It was both unwise and idiotic to love Brett Dangermond. She must somehow protect her unruly heart and teach it not to love him. She didn't want to love him, and she was quite positive that he would never love her. So. A lifetime of unrequited love holding absolutely no appeal at all, she reluctantly and painfully concluded that her safest and most sensible course was to armor herself against his dangerous, insidious charm. She wouldn't love him! She would not!
Finally having gained some measure of peace, she drifted off into uneasy sleep just as the sun rose fully above the tree tops. Brett was not so fortunate.
When he strode swiftly into his rooms after leaving Sabrina so precipitously in the library, Ollie, who had been waiting up for him as usual, took one look at the black scowl on Brett's face and bit back the impertinent greeting that had been on his lips. Instead he walked over to the tray of liquors that sat upon a heavy mahogany chest and splashed an overly generous measure of brandy into a glass. Handing it to Brett, who stood rigidly staring out the opened balcony doors at the courtyard below, and treading where no proper servant would have dared, Ollie asked brazenly, "Something wrong, guvnor?"
Brett swallowed the brandy in one long gulp, and passing the glass back to Ollie, he muttered, "Shut up, Ollie, and give me another one."
Silently Ollie did as he was told. When he turned around with the refilled glass, he found Brett lounging carelessly in a large chair of red Cordova leather. His long legs stretched out in front of him, his dark head resting on the back of the chair, Brett appeared to be absorbed in studying the open-beamed ceiling, but when Ollie approached, he looked at him and demanded grimly, "As long as you've known me, have I ever seduced an honorable young girl?"
His lips pursing thoughtfully, Ollie finally said, "Can't say that you ever 'ave, guvnor. There's been many a rum doxy you've set up as your mistress for a brief spell, but I can't recall that there was ever one that wasn't already in the trade, so to speak. Now then, there 'ave," he added fairly, "been one or two leg-shackled gentry morts among your ladybirds, but never one that you could call honorable."
Brett tossed down the second glass of brandy as quickly as the first, and slamming the empty glass on the table, he snarled,
"Then why in the hell am I on the point of doing it now, for God's sake? My very kind and honorable host's own daughter at that!"
"Never say your fancy's lit upon that red-haired termagant!" Ollie gasped incredulously, his first unfavorable impression of Sabrina having faded little during their stay.
Brett sent him a look that made Ollie wish he had not been quite so forthright in his speech, and in a tone of voice that did nothing to calm him, Brett asked silkily, "And if it has?"
Ollie swallowed. In the many years that he had served his master there had been several sharp exchanges; Brett allowed him unthinkable license, and Ollie was not at all inclined to keep a civil tongue between his teeth. But for the first time in their odd association, Ollie was aware that he was treading on dangerous ground. Warily he eyed Brett's set features. Obviously there was more to this queer situation than Brett was telling him—women never cut the guvnor up rough, but that she-viper, Sabrina, apparently had. Concluding that a conciliatory reply was his wisest course at the moment, at least until he could get to the bottom of this, Ollie answered cautiously, "If that's the way the wind sits, guvnor, it's no bread and butter of mine." Piously he averred, "It's certainly not for your most 'umble servant to tell you 'ow to go on."
The Tiger Lily Page 13
