The Tiger Lily

by Shirlee Busbee

  Feverishly Sabrina pressed up against him, the ache in her loins driving every thought but one from her mind. She wanted him. She was consumed by an insatiable need to have him take her again, to know again the rapture only he could give her. This, she thought dreamily, was what being a woman meant, what it meant to make love. Remembering what he had done to her in the lake, remembering the swelling pressure, the magnificent size of him, created a pulsating warmth in her loins, and she returned his kiss with a compelling hungriness.

  Startled by the blatant passion of her kiss, Brett glanced down at her, one eyebrow rising quizzically. He fondled her breast, feeling the nipple's tightness. His voice suddenly husky, he asked, "Does this mean what I think it does? What I hope it does?"

  Sabrina flushed, but her eyes were bright with unmistakable desire, and Brett laughed exultantly. His lips caught hers, pressing more intimately this time, more insistently. When her mouth opened, her tongue seeking his, it was as if an inferno had been instantly unloosed, elemental desire blinding them to everything but the joy to be found in each other's body. And this time when Brett took her, when he lay embedded deep within her, when his body thrust powerfully into hers, there was no pain, only pleasure, only mindless exquisite ecstasy.

  Afterward, passion spent, they sought out the lake again, this time swimming contentedly next to each other, a sweet, companionable silence between them. And then later, when they had dressed, they walked slowly, reluctantly back toward the hacienda, Brett's arm draped possessively across her shoulders, their bodies brushing against one another with every step they took.

  Silently, like two conspirators, they entered the hacienda, creeping up the stairs, a slight, breathless giggle escaping from Sabrina. Brett hushed it with a fervent kiss and then, with obvious unwillingness, released her. They regarded each other somberly a moment, and then Brett said roughly, "We'll talk later. After I have spoken with your father."

  Mutely Sabrina nodded, a tremulous smile on her mouth. Compulsively Brett traced the outline of her lips with one finger and muttered almost angrily, "You'd better go to your own room, or I won't be responsible for my actions!"

  A mischievous grin curved her mouth, and she leaned into him, faintly touching his lean cheek with her warm lips, her slender fingers deliberately touching him below the waist. He groaned and started to reach for her, but with a smothered laugh, Sabrina danced away from him. She blew him an impudent kiss and then disappeared down the shadowy hall.

  Brett stood there for several minutes after she had gone, a bemused smile on his harsh face, an oddly tender light gleaming in the dark green eyes. Then, with a light step, he turned away and swiftly entered his bedchamber.

  After lighting a candle, he poured himself half a glass of brandy, holding it loosely in his hands, sipping it with appreciation. He was pleasantly tired, both his mind and body at peace, and yet the thought of bed and sleep were out of the question.

  He shrugged out of his shirt, lit a cheroot, and settled down comfortably in a nearby chair to contemplate the events of the night. The candlelight flickered across the room, illuminating the streaks of blood on his discarded shirt where it lay on his bed, and for a long, astonished moment he stared at it. If he had doubted what his own body had told him when he possessed Sabrina tonight, there before his very eyes was tangible proof of her virginity.

  He swallowed painfully, a strange sort of savage joy mingling with a sudden, cynical suspicion. Sabrina's cousin had obviously lied about being her lover—but that didn't mean he had lied about everything. It didn't mean that Carlos hadn't been telling the truth about Sabrina wanting the Dangermond fortune or that she hadn't been angling for a marriage proposal from the richer of the two men.

  An ugly expression on his handsome face, Brett tossed down the rest of the brandy, hoping the liquor would drive out the sudden nasty taste in his mouth. The memory of Sabrina writhing under Carlos in the gazebo came back with a vengeance to shatter his contented mood. It was true that Carlos had not possessed Sabrina, but, Brett reminded himself grimly, only because of his timely, or untimely, interruption. If he hadn't appeared then, there was no doubt in his mind that Carlos would have experienced what he had tonight.

  Filled with an unexpected violence, Brett stood up and poured himself a full glass of brandy this time. Had Sabrina been cleverly playing them off one against the other? And tonight, had she finally decided that he was the better catch? The one to whom she would at last surrender her virginity?

  Unemotionally he viewed the past several weeks, the way Sabrina had blown hot and then cold. The way she would charm him one week and then treat him with contempt and indifference the next. Even knowing the supposed reasons behind her capricious actions didn't still the devils that were now fully alive within his brain. Carlos's hints and poisonous words and his own antipathy toward women now joined forces in his mind, awakening all his dormant cynicism.

  Had Sabrina calculatingly planned tonight? It was certainly one positive way of wringing a proposal from a reluctant swain. Brett's chiseled mouth twisted. What man, after tasting the delights he had tonight, would, or even could, for that matter, turn his back on an enchantress like Sabrina? He couldn't. Even if she had deliberately entrapped him. He wanted her, and he knew that in spite of all the suspicions and doubts that churned in his brain, today, at the first opportunity, he was going to ask Alejandro for Sabrina's hand in marriage.

  That decision should have brought him joy, but instead he was engulfed by a feeling of bitter defeat. He would never know the reasons behind Sabrina's actions tonight; there would always be a lingering suspicion that Carlos had spoken the truth, that the Dangermond fortune was what had attracted Sabrina to him.

  Revolted and angry with himself for what he was thinking, he pulled on a pair of boots and yanked out a clean shirt from a heavy mahogany wardrobe. He needed to escape the confines of his room, desperately needed to escape his own sordid thoughts.

  Dawn wasn't far off when he slipped silently from the hacienda. He wandered aimlessly through the forest, the pink and gold light of the rising sun banishing the murky shadows of the night.

  Brett walked for a long time, lost in his own unhappy thoughts. One moment he was positive that Sabrina was the woman he had always secretly hoped would appear in his life; the next, he was equally positive that he had fallen into a trap as old as time, had been ensnared by a scheming, greedy little hussy with all the charms of Venus.

  There was, he realized furiously, no simple solution to his dilemma. Unless, of course, he was willing to throw away the precepts of a lifetime. Taking Sabrina on blind trust was his only solution, and that, he admitted acidly, would be insanity. And yet, what other path lay open to him? He had taken her virginity, abused the trust of a man he respected highly, and the only honorable way out of his position was marriage. Besides, he didn't really think he could live without Sabrina. She had come to mean too much to him. For his own sanity and any hope of happiness he had to marry her.

  But what sort of marriage would they have? he wondered bleakly. One such as that shared by his father and Gillian? Or could they miraculously find the joy that Hugh had with Sofia?

  Unhappily Brett sighed. God! What a tangle! And yet, despite all his reservations, he was aware of a reckless disregard rising up through him. Always a gambler, he suddenly realized that in spite of all the odds he was going to marry Sabrina del Torres, that he was more than willing to take the risks, willing to face the possibility of pain and disaster. It might even be worth it, he admitted with a soft smile, remembering Sabrina's sweet mouth under his. She had bewitched him, and for the moment at least, he had no desire to shatter the spell she had woven around him.

  The demons momentarily laid to rest, a faint smile on his lips, Brett began to walk swiftly back toward the hacienda. The sun had by now splashed its golden rays through the canopy of the forest, and with pleasure he glanced around him, noticing for the first time the luxurious undergrowth, the myriad vines and young t
rees and bushes that choked the forest floor. Looking skyward he caught a glimpse of the shiny red and yellow fruit of a Chickasaw plum tree; nearby grew a wild cherry tree, the ripening fruit shining purple-black through the saw-toothed leaves. Flowers, too, were abundant this time of year, providing a rainbow of color—the deep pink clusters of milkweed, the delicate blue of a patch of wild asters, the cheerful yellow of black-eyed Susans, all were scattered here and there. But it was the tall, eye-catching, bright orange wood lilies with their dusting of purple spots that he actually stopped to admire.

  A huge clump of the exotic lilies grew near the edge of the forest, and staring at the tall, elegant plants, the slender stalks heavy with vivid orange flowers, Brett was reminded inexplicably of Sabrina. It might have been the bright color that made him think of her glorious red-gold hair; it could have been their very flamboyance, their exotic air, that called her to mind. At any rate, he stood there staring at them, thinking of Sabrina. The petals were velvet soft, and as he gently cupped one particularly beautiful bloom, a whimsical smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. He must have gone mad to compare her with a lily—she was far more like a tigress than a lily! A lily with the spirit of a tiger, he thought amusedly, recalling the day in the meadow when she had slashed his arm with her knife. A tiger lily, he mused slowly. His tiger lily.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sabrina had found sleep no easier to obtain than Brett had, but at least she wasn't driven by the same demons. She did, however, have doubts of her own.

  She didn't regret what had happened tonight. And even though she lay sleepless in her bed, her body aching from Brett's lovemaking, a warm feeling of happiness surrounded her. She had become a woman tonight, Brett's woman, and nothing could ever diminish that joy. But in the back of her mind there was a faint, niggling worry, a worry that as time passed became larger and more dominant.

  Brett had said he would speak to her father, and it was only natural that she assumed he meant to ask for her hand in marriage. Soon she would be his wife, and while she was flooded with joyous anticipation, she could not entirely banish a persistent feeling of anxiety ... of foreboding.

  At first she suspected it was the memory of all the gloomy things that Tia Sofia had written about Brett that disturbed her. But finally, after much twisting and turning, she decided that it wasn't those letters and what they contained that was behind her sensation of uneasiness. It was Brett himself. She wasn't naive enough to think that he was going to change overnight into a perfect suitor or even husband; she was aware that there were bound to be obstacles in their path to happiness. But if they loved one another . . .

  Love .They had made love tonight, wildly passionate love, and she had no reservations about the depth of his wanting—his body betrayed it, and even he had admitted it. But wanting wasn't loving, and not once tonight, even in the throes of his deepest passion, had he mentioned or hinted that he loved her.

  Restlessly she turned over in her bed. What did that matter? she asked herself rebelliously. She hadn't mentioned love either! But I do love him, she thought fiercely. So much so that I cannot even bear to think of life without him. But does he love me?

  She wanted to believe that he did. It was incomprehensible to her that he could have acted as he had, done the things he had to her, and yet not love her. But he hadn't said so, her brain insisted slyly. He had said he wanted her, and men were vastly different from women. They didn't need love to make love.

  Sabrina sat up in bed, and pulling her knees to her chest, she stared blankly through the dawn-filled room. Could she marry a man who didn't love her, who only wanted her? And was it only her body he wanted, or did the del Torres fortune have any influence upon him?

  Angry for even thinking such a thing, she pushed that unpleasant thought aside. Carlos's suspicions have begun to haunt me, she thought reluctantly. And she wondered, for the first time, what her cousin had meant by his comments about Constanza.

  Assailed by the memory of Brett dancing with Constanza, Sabrina was startled at the wave of jealous fury that swept over her. He was hers, and she would not share him! But how did one tame such a man, bind such a man so tightly, so strongly, that he would never ever wish for another woman?

  She didn't know the answer, but with a determined expression on her exquisite face, she made a grim little vow that she would find a solution. There was much, she realized, that she would forgive him, but another woman was not one of those things—his past she could live with, but his future . . .

  Suddenly she giggled. She was just going to have to make him want her so desperately, so powerfully, that he would never have a second in which to even think of another woman! And perhaps, just maybe, she could make him love her as much as she loved him—then nothing could ever come between them; their love would conquer any difficulty they might confront in the future.

  Satisfied within herself, Sabrina yawned and slid thankfully back between her sheets. She smiled and drifted gently off to dream of Brett, of the wonderful life that was going to be theirs.

  That morning, Alejandro was surprised to discover that he would be breakfasting alone. Sabrina, Bonita informed him, was sleeping soundly, no doubt worn out from yesterday's festivities, and Ollie had said that his master was doing the same. Somewhat thoughtfully, Alejandro ate his morning meal. He had been up as late as the others, he was much older than the others, and yet he had found it no trouble to rise by mid-morning. Suddenly he smiled, remembering certain moonlit conversations with Elena during the halcyon time of their courtship. Ah, if only . . .

  That lazy afternoon, he was to have his fondest wish come true. A polite note from Brett requesting to meet him in the library at three o'clock sent his hopes spinning wildly, and when at the appointed hour Brett presented himself and formally requested Sabrina's hand in marriage, Alejandro could hardly contain himself.

  A wide, affectionate grin splitting his handsome face, Alejandro said joyously, "But of course you have my permission to marry my daughter! It is what I have hoped for, dreamed of since . . ." He stopped and sent Brett, standing politely in front of the sofa where he sat, a sheepish look. A slightly embarrassed flush stained his cheeks, and almost shamefacedly he admitted, "When I sent you the invitation to visit with us, to discuss the planting of sugar, I have to confess that I hoped that you and Sabrina would fall in love and wish to marry. The sugar was only an excuse to invite you." An irresistible twinkle in his eyes, he murmured, "I trust you will forgive you father-in-law-to-be for this deception?"

  An answering twinkle in the jade-green eyes, Brett said ironically, "You know, I wondered about that invitation—and your apparently tepid interest in the growing of sugar." He bowed mockingly and added dryly, "You played your cards very close to your chest, I'll grant you that. Remind me to be more wary of you in the future—especially when you send me invitations!"

  Even though Brett had told Sabrina he would speak to her father, he hadn't been as certain about the outcome as he would have liked. And as the hour had approached for him to face Alejandro and actually bring up the subject of marriage, Brett had been aware of a feeling of uncertainty and nervousness—he who was always confident and assured and never nervous. It had occurred unpleasantly to him that Alejandro might withhold his approval of the match, and he had been shocked at the tight ball of tension that had lodged in his chest when he finally met with Alejandro. Unnaturally relieved to have the business done with, Brett relaxed and allowed himself to be caught up in Alejandro's enthusiasm.

  They discussed the possible dates for the announcement, then the possible places and dates for the wedding itself It was at that point that Brett remembered something of vital importance. A rueful smile curving his chiseled mouth, he said lightly, ''I think before we proceed much further, sir, that I had better ask your daughter what she feels about the situation." Wryly he continued, "She could, you know, turn me down."

  "Unthinkable!" Alejandro burst out in dismay. Almost beseechingly, he asked, "She won
't, will she? You won't let her refuse you?"

  Amused, Brett drawled, "I believe you are the one to give me encouragement, not the other way around!"

  Alejandro pulled a face. "I know, but with Sabrina I am often helpless." He shot Brett an appraising look. "You know," he said quietly, "it was because I thought you could control her, tame her if you will, that I first considered you as a son-in-law. I wanted someone strong for her, someone she would not lead around like a pet bull." A slight smile crossed his face. "And you, amigo, were the only person I could think of. The only man I wanted for my daughter. I wanted her safe and I wanted her loved, and I believe that you will do both—protect her and love her."