by Maura Seger
When Meg had fashioned her hair into a soft chignon, and handed her the shawl, fan and gloves that completed the outfit, the older woman pronounced herself satisfied. "I told you this was the right dress. You've never looked better."
Gazing at herself in the mirror, Erin couldn't doubt her. The restrained young woman Storm had seen in the consular office was gone. In her place stood a vibrant beauty whose glowing eyes, perfect skin, sensual mouth and slender but curvaceous body were undeniably provocative.
No outward sign hinted at her hard-won maturity. She looked utterly free and untroubled, as though she had never known a difficult moment in her life. Even as she regretted the impression she was bound to give, Erin was glad that her vulnerability was well hidden. She could not bear to let Storm see how greatly he affected her and how susceptible she would be to anything he might choose to do.
Giving Meg a quick peck on the cheek, she moved carefully from the room, mindful of the need to keep her voluminous skirt from wrinkling, and made her way downstairs.
The Carmody home, situated in the most genteel quarter of Yokohama, had nothing in common with the marvelous descriptions she had read of Japanese housing. It was, however, a very nice wood-and-brick row house of the type favored in Boston, New York and San Francisco.
The rooms were large and high-ceilinged, but rather overfurnished for Erin's taste. She realized she was out of step with fashion when she longed for open space and bare walls. Ned and Elizabeth clearly had no such desires. A full complement of fringed Oriental rugs, potted palms, ornately framed etchings, solid mahogany and oak tables, upholstered chairs and elaborately carved sofas graced each room.
The effect was a bit stifling but still comfortable. Erin was feeling more relaxed as she entered the parlor. Her host and hostess were already there preparing to meet their guests. They were seated so closely together on the couch that she felt reluctant to disturb them, but both rose the instant they caught sight of her.
"How lovely you look," Elizabeth exclaimed. No hint of envy marred the compliment, nor was there any reason why it should. The young Mrs. Carmody was a vision of dainty prettiness.
She was dressed in a gown of pale mauve satin trimmed with lace at the elbows and bodice. Her golden blond hair was swept up in a braided coil that gave her added height while emphasizing the purity of her delicate features.
Green eyes sparkled with happiness as she gazed up at her adoring husband, looking very elegant in a black cutaway, matching trousers and a sparkling white linen shirt lightly ruffled down the front.
"Indeed you do," Ned avowed. "You are only the second lady of my acquaintance to recover so quickly from such an arduous journey." Beaming a loving smile at his wife, he explained, "Elizabeth was the first."
"Your hospitality has a great deal to do with it," Erin assured them both. "I must thank you again for making me feel so much at home."
"I just hope you plan to stay a long time," her hostess said. "I'm so eager for all the news from the States."
Erin attempted to satisfy her curiosity as they settled down in the parlor. Both the Carmodys had left the United States before the end of the Civil War, Ned on his own to take up his present consular posting and Elizabeth to be with her parents, who were missionaries. They had naturally heard about the last days of the war and the murder of President Lincoln, but they knew little of what had happened afterward.
Briefly Erin described the progress of Reconstruction, which, despite what she considered to be Andrew Johnson's valiant effort to carry out the policies of his martyred predecessor, was being controlled by vengeful factions determined to strip the South of all remaining wealth.
As she did so, she was relieved to note that neither Carmody took it at all amiss that she should be interested in political events. Too many people she had met seemed to think a woman should have no thoughts in her head beyond how to set a gracious table and sew a fine seam.
But perhaps because of Ned's diplomatic calling and Elizabeth's upbringing by parents who struggled daily against the abuses of worldly power, both were every bit as eager for information as she herself.
As the rigorously correct Japanese houseman stepped into the parlor to announce that the first guests had arrived, they were forced to break off their discussion, but with promises to continue later.
Erin instantly found herself the center of attention as she was introduced to a Dutch couple involved in the silk trade, a British officer and his wife, who were with the local garrison, a beautiful Portuguese lady and her French husband, who owned a porcelain-exporting firm, and half a dozen others who helped form the small but growing international community that had sprung up over the last decade or so since Admiral Perry "persuaded" the shogun to end Japan's centuries of isolation.
But as absorbing as she found the fascinating men and women who had chosen to make their home in such an exotic corner of the world, her attention kept wandering. Over and over she caught herself glancing toward the door.
As she stood chatting with the French porcelain dealer, a sudden sense of unease swept over her. In the midst of laughing at his very amusing story, she stiffened instinctively.
Storm stood beneath the arch that separated the entry hall from the parlor. The houseman had just relieved him of his black silk cloak. Riveted to every detail of his appearance, Erin could not help but notice that he scorned the customary top hat. The thick pelt of his chestnut hair was left unencumbered. It glistened in the light from the gas-lamp chandelier as he glanced around at the assemblage.
She felt rather than saw his gaze settle on her. Refusing to look at him any more than she already had, Erin struggled to give all her attention to the charming Frenchman. But the image of Storm standing lean and hard in his perfectly tailored black evening clothes kept intruding on her thoughts.
When she had known him eight years before, his overwhelming strength and virility had affected even her immature sensibilities. But now she was deluged by emotions she could hardly credit. Even as she told herself she had the best possible reasons to be wary of him, she could not deny the compelling attraction he had for her.
Beneath the thin silk of her gown, her heart began to beat alarmingly. A spark flared deep within her, struck flame and spread almost
Instantly. Waves of warmth swept over her, making her legs feel weak and bringing a tremor to her hands.
"Mam'selle, are you all right?" Monsieur Chantail inquired solicitously. "Perhaps your journey was more tiring than you realize. Pray allow me to fetch you a restoratif."
"I hardly think that's necessary," a deep voice interjected. "Miss Conroy looks as though a breath of fresh air would do her far more good."
The Frenchman frowned at the sudden interruption, but endeavored to maintain the facade of courtesy so essential to such gatherings. "Ah, of course, that is an excellent suggestion, Captain Davin." Holding out his arm, he smiled encouragingly. "If you would care to accompany me, my dear ..."
She did not, but there seemed to be no way to refuse without being rude. As she reconciled herself to the need to accept, rescue came from an unexpected quarter.
"A word of caution, Chantail," Storm murmured. "Your lovely Rosalinda is looking this way, and doesn't appear at all pleased by what she sees."
The Frenchman paled. He found it prudent to avoid provoking his wife's ire. Besides being able to deliver a formidable tongue-lashing at the slightest hint that she did not possess his utter loyalty and devotion, she also controlled the purse strings.
Sighing regretfully, he bowed to Erin, nodded grudgingly at the tall, sardonic man beside her and departed.
The moment he was gone, Storm took her arm. His touch was light but unmistakably firm. It burned through her gown, searing the soft skin beneath. She tried to pull away, only to stop as his hold inexorably tightened. Without hurting her in the least, he still made it clear that unless she wished to create a scene that would embarrass the Carmodys, she would do as he wished.
"I suggest we
step into the garden. There are some plantings you really should see."
This last was said for the benefit of the sharp-eared matrons standing nearby. They smiled benignly as he ushered a silently fuming Erin through the tall French doors and into the walled enclosure behind the house.
Barely had they gotten a few yards along the gravel path than she yanked her arm free and turned to face him. "Your manners leave a great deal wanting, Captain. Perhaps you would be good enough to explain to me why you felt it necessary to intrude on my conversation with Monsieur Chantail?"
Storm didn't answer at once. He simply stared down at her from his foot or so advantage in height. His expression seemed compounded of equal amounts of amusement and annoyance, with a touch of something that looked remarkably like tenderness. But that couldn't be. She knew better than anyone that he didn't have the slightest reason to feel tenderly toward her, no matter what dreams she might cherish to the contrary.
"Chantail fancies himself a connoisseur of beautiful women. A certain sense of male camaraderie compelled me to stop him from wandering into your web, where you would undoubtedly have made short work of him."
Though she suspected she would greatly regret the question, Erin could not stop herself from asking, "What harm do you think I could possibly do him?"
"A great deal. Unless I gravely misunderstand the situation, you are in dire financial straits. Your privileged existence must be teetering on the edge of penury. Since you were willing to come all this way to try to prevent that disaster, I can only conclude you would not be averse to going a bit further."
He shrugged derisively. "But you really must select a more worthy target. The judicious use of your charms might well convince Chantail to give you the money you need. But that would do you no good, for his wife controls their finances."
Erin gasped, hardly believing that he would insult her in such a way. For all practical purposes, he had accused her of being willing to prostitute herself. The accusation was so unjustified as to border on unreality.
"What do you imagine gives you the right to speak to me in such a vile way? You know nothing about me, yet you presume to judge me contemptibly."
Anger and hurt flushed her cheeks. Her sapphire eyes gleamed coldly. She knew she should walk away from him right-then, seek the shelter of the house and do her best to stay out of his range of fire for the rest of the evening. But something kept her rooted to the spot.
Hard on the heels of her outrage came sadness. The gulf between them was even greater than she had thought. They might have been strangers for all the understanding between them.
Her head drooped slightly as she murmured, "I remember you as an honorable man, Storm. What happened to that sense of rightness that was once the keystone of your life?"
The moment the words were said, she thought she had gone too far. Beneath his rugged tan, he paled. His quicksilver eyes glowed with a molten light. A jagged pulse began to beat in the corded column of his bronzed throat.
"You are a strange one to speak of honor," he muttered. "I remember you had little. Your idea of what was right went no further than the indulgence of your every whim."
His mouth tightened as he took a step toward her. "Do you ever regret leading so shallow an existence, Erin? Have you ever felt the slightest desire to give something to the world, instead of merely taking?"
Burnished hands fastened on her arms beneath the bell-shaped sleeves. "Even the butterfly contributes more than sheer beauty. Nature has a use for her beyond the purely ornamental. And for you, too, though you may not have deigned to admit it yet."
Frightened by the implacable determination she sensed in him, Erin tried to take a step back. But he would not permit it. Slowly, inexorably, he drew her to him.
A piercing sensation—half fear, half longing —shot through her. Her lips parted on a soundless gasp.
That was all the invitation he needed. A rueful laugh escaped him, as though in acknowledgment of his own susceptibility, before his tall head swooped and his mouth claimed hers with completeness that drove the breath from her.
If she had allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to kiss him again, she would have expected roughness and complete disregard for her feelings in place of the erotic skill that had once so confused her. But Storm's touch was not at all like that. Even as he burned with long-denied hunger, he seemed determined she would acknowledge that her need was no less than his.
One big hand cupped the back of her head as the other slipped tantalizingly along the curve of her waist upward toward the swelling fullness of her breast. When he felt the tremor that ran through her, his mouth gentled. Light, teasing kisses nibbled at her lips, making her yearn for more.
No thought of resistance remained in her as his tongue coaxingly traced the sensitive inner flesh of her mouth before plunging with rapierlike swiftness past the barrier of her small white teeth to fully possess the moist cavern within.
A purely female moan sounded deep inside her as he provoked her to join in an erotic duel that made her limp with yearning. When his mouth left hers to trail feather-light kisses down the silken column of her throat, she could not resist the need to return the pleasure he was giving her.
Her hands stroked the wide, hard sweep of his shoulders, relishing how his powerful muscles tensed beneath her gentle touch. Gaining courage, she let her fingers caress the nape of his neck, where chestnut curls brushed the crisp collar of his shirt.
The essentially male scent of shaving soap, fine wool and tobacco filled her breath. She savored the faintly salty taste of his skin as her tongue darted out along the slight roughness of his jaw.
Years before when he kissed her, she had always sensed he was holding something back, as though understanding that she was not ready to know the full force of his masculinity. Now he felt no such restraint. His mouth left off its enticing torment of her throat and returned to close on hers with captivating ferocity.
Again his tongue plunged deeply, licking at the roof of her mouth and the delicate inner flesh of her cheeks until she writhed against him. A guttural sound of satisfaction rippled from him.
"You're like fire . . . sweet, entrancing fire____"
The blaze threatened to consume them both. Only the steely strength of Storm's arms enabled her to stand upright. She was turning to shimmering light inside, all form and substance dissolving in the heat of desire more intense than she had ever imagined could exist.
Not until his hands slipped below her waist to urge her even closer did the impossibility of the situation reach them. The metal hoops blocked the contact they both so ardently wanted, while forcing them to recall their surroundings.
At any moment one of the other guests might stroll into the garden, or the houseman might come to announce dinner. Erin flushed as she thought how her reputation would be shredded if she was found in such compromising circumstances.
For herself, she did not particularly care. She had long since stopped living her life according to the dictates of others. But she was not about to subject Elizabeth and Ned to such embarrassment.
"Let me go, Storm." The breathless pleading of her voice made her sound as though she was asking for something quite different. But she could not help that. At all cost, she had to put some distance between them.
When he did not comply immediately, she raised her fists, pushing against the wall of his chest. The gesture was singularly futile. Though her active life and excellent health made her unusually strong for a woman, she could no more force him to move than she could shift a mountain.
Seizing both her hands in one of his, he compelled her to admit the uselessness of her effort. She resisted until she realized that he was carefully controlling his great strength to keep from hurting her. Somehow, his consideration made it possible for her to yield. When she once again stood quietly beneath his touch, he tipped back her chin and coaxed her into meeting his gaze.
His rugged features were oddly gentle as he murmured, "You can't esc
ape me, Erin. What started between us eight years ago is going to be concluded before very much longer. Somehow, I always suspected it would be. ..."
"H-how? You couldn't have known we would ever see each other again."
"I never thought about it one way or the other. You were always meant to be mine, and now you can't run from that anymore."
The implacable determination she could feel coursing through him frightened her almost as much as the clamoring of her own body. A creature she had never sensed before was stirring to life within her. An ancient female being driven solely by the most primitive desires.
The clarity of her own needs shocked her. For the first time in her twenty-four years, she understood exactly what it meant to yearn for total physical union with a man. Not just any man. Only Storm. Only his possession could satisfy the burning need that raged within her.
But what for her would be the supreme act. of love would be for him no more than a weapon for achieving vengeance. How could she look into his eyes afterward and see the callous satisfaction she was certain would be there?
As badly as she wanted to make up for what she had done to him, she was not willing to destroy herself in the process. And destruction would surely be the bitter fruit of their joining. A fruit she would need to taste only once to know the full venom of despair.
Unaware that the tear-filled glow of her eyes had made his throat tighten painfully, she yanked herself away from him. Caught unawares, he did not move quickly enough to hold her. A soft curse broke from him as her silk-shod feet darted along the gravel path back to the house.
Yet even as she fled, she sensed that he was right. There would be no escape.
Chapter Three
After the tumultuous scene in the garden, Erin seriously doubted she would be able to face Storm at dinner. She retreated to her room, grateful that Meg was elsewhere. Seated at the dressing table, she struggled to restore some degree of order to hair tangled by long, lean fingers.
