Forbidden Fire

by Heather Graham

  “I think not,” he interrupted softly.

  There was nothing soft about his gaze.

  Marissa straightened her shoulders, swiftly deciding that indignation would be the best way to play the scene, with perhaps a touch of pathos. “Really, Ian,” she said very quietly. She lowered her lashes to flutter over her cheeks. “After everything, that you can still accuse me—”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything,” he said flatly. “And yet that you answer so quickly and defensively disturbs me.” His gaze was hard and penetrating still. “And you are not guilty. Then what?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she snapped.

  A wry, suspicious smile curved his lips. He left his stance at the fire and strode toward her.

  “I’m going to bed!” she announced haughtily, spinning around, but too late. She knew him; she should have known he wouldn’t have allowed her such an arrogant retreat.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders, and then his fingers were raking through her hair, holding her head so that her eyes met his relentless blue stare.

  “Ian, really—” she began impatiently.

  “Yes, really, my love. Tell me what it is that you keep from me?” His voice was low, but intense and passionate. She felt a trembling begin within her, and she shook her head.

  “Damn you, there’s nothing!”

  “There’s nothing,” he repeated softly.

  “Bloody nothing!”

  “Ah, but then why is your gaze so haunted? You can no longer fear me, I am certain.”

  “I never feared you!”

  “So what is it that you do fear?”

  “Nothing!”

  She bit her lip, meeting his hard, hostile gaze.

  He couldn’t have ceased to want her so quickly! she told herself.

  She had not ceased to want him!

  If only he would hold her close, kiss her hard, let it be! She longed to cry out, to sweep her arms around him, to forget that she lived a lie. She wanted so badly to tell him the truth at that moment.

  But she couldn’t. Not now. Maybe the time would come. Perhaps she could earn his trust, his affection, even his love.

  “Marissa?”

  “There’s nothing!” she repeated, trembling. And then she wrenched away from him, certain that he would come after her. And then she would hold him, and make him forget his demands upon her.

  But he didn’t follow her. He walked to the tall mirrored hall tree by the doorway and picked up his black cape and top hat. “We’ll discuss it when I return,” he told her briefly. “Have an answer by then.” He tipped his hat to her and turned.

  Startled, she stared after him. He strode through the beautiful entryway to the front door.

  Marissa forgot she was on the offensive and tore after him. “Where are you going?” she asked in amazement.

  He smiled. “Out, my dear,” he said, and threw open the front door, then headed toward the carriage house.

  Marissa felt a blush rush to her cheeks. She couldn’t believe the pain and jealousy that seared through her. After the time they had spent together, after the uninhibited abandon she had learned, he was leaving her!

  Heading for the Barbary Coast. And French restaurants!

  She caught the front door before it could close and followed him out in absolute fury and indignation. “Ian! Ian Tremayne!” she called from the beautiful Victorian porch.

  He stopped and spun around.

  “Don’t dare think to question me again!” she warned him, her eyes alive with an emerald fire. “Don’t think to question me—don’t come home, for that matter!” she snapped, forgetting that it was his home. Before he could respond, she turned and slammed her way into the house. She leaned against the front door. She couldn’t believe it! She was about to burst into hysterical tears. How could he leave her? She had fallen in love, and she had given everything to him, and it had meant the world to her, but nothing to him!

  She heard horse’s hooves upon the drive, and she knew he was gone.

  Marissa glanced up just in time to see Lee Kwan slipping from the entryway to the dining room. She didn’t know what the girl had seen or heard, but embarrassment suddenly rippled into her pride just as viciously as pain had torn into her heart.

  She turned and slammed out of the house. She would walk down to the caretakers’ cottage and see Mary and Jimmy, she thought.

  But she didn’t really want to see Mary. She didn’t want to bare her shattered heart or pride.

  She walked into the night. She was startled when the door opened and closed quickly behind her. She spun around to see that Lee had followed her out.

  Lee, with her exotic beauty and mysterious face! Marissa felt even more battered.

  “Mrs. Tremayne! Please.”

  “Please what, Lee?” she responded, watching the woman with wary suspicion.

  “It’s late. Sometimes men—drunk men—wander this way from the dance halls. We are perhaps too close, as the Funstons think. You must come back in the house!”

  Marissa smiled suddenly. “Where is he going, Lee?”

  Lee’s dark lashes covered her exotic eyes. “Just for a ride.”

  “You’re lying. Why do you bother to defend him from me? I could have sworn that you hated me.”

  Lee looked straight at her then, and slowly smiled. “I did hate you,” she admitted.

  “You did? Meaning that you don’t anymore?” Marissa demanded.

  “No, I do not hate you anymore,” Lee said quietly.

  “Well, I admit to being confused. But then, you know where he has gone, don’t you? And I do not.” It was a wild shot, but it seemed that her conversation with Ian’s servant had taken a curve that her heart demanded she follow.

  “Yes, I know where he has gone.”

  “To see the woman by the train.”

  “He is doing nothing that will hurt you.”

  Marissa threw up her hands, ready to laugh, and ready to cry. “How can you possibly know what will hurt me?”

  Lee shook her head and lifted her chin. “I know him better than you.”

  “Obviously. At least, you have known him longer.”

  Lee shook her head again, vehemently. “You are wrong, Mrs. Tremayne. Your husband has never made me his concubine, though I might well have been willing. He has always been a friend to John and me. He treats us as people, when many blame the Chinese for every ill within the city. We had nothing, we starved. We worked for pennies a day, and John was ill when Ian found us in Chinatown and gave us jobs here. So, yes, I love him. But not as you think. I hated you when I believed that you meant to hurt him. Now, if I am not mistaken, you are in love with him. And you will not hurt him. So I bear you no ill will.”

  Marissa stared at the Chinese woman for a long moment, amazed. Lee was not speaking as a serving girl was supposed to speak to her mistress.

  But then Marissa had been a serving girl herself, and she had never forgotten her own pride. Lee had much of it. She stood with the gentle evening breeze just plucking at her turquoise silk shirt and black pants. Her fabulous black hair moved in the wind, as inky dark as a raven’s wing. Her chin was lifted; she was prepared for anything.

  “You have the right to dismiss me now,” Lee told her.

  Marissa shook her head. “Dismiss you?” Then she laughed, and she almost wished that she could tell Lee the truth about herself. “I have no desire to dismiss you, Lee. And if I did,” she admitted, “Ian would certainly not tolerate the act!” She walked toward the woman, smiling, and offered Lee her hand. Lee hesitated, then took it.

  “Thank you,” Marissa told her.

  Lee nodded after a moment.

  “But where did he go?” Marissa asked her. Lee was quiet and Marissa said again, “He went to see that woman. The one at the train station.”

  “There is a show opening tonight. He has gone to support the show, and nothing more.”

  “How can you know that?”

&nbs
p; Lee shrugged. “I know, that is all.” Marissa wanted more, and Lee knew it. “Because he cares for you now. I believe he went because his patronage helps her business. So he will go to see the show.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  Lee smiled. “It will take him time,” she said. “He is his own master.”

  On an impulse Marissa laughed and hugged Lee. For a moment the Chinese woman was stiff, then she warmed and hugged Marissa in return.

  “Thank you!” Marissa said, then she fled to her bedroom.

  The hour was very late. Marissa changed to a nightgown, then began to pace the room. In a sudden fit of anger, she locked the door between the rooms.

  And then she paced the floor again.

  She curled up at the foot of her bed and ran her hand over the spread. Lee had been in the room, it seemed. She had managed to serve dinner and clean the room.

  Marissa hugged her knees to her chest and wondered if Lee was right, if Ian had come to care something about her. She smiled, beginning to weave dreams.

  Then she gasped and leaped to her feet as the door between the rooms suddenly seemed to thunder, then came bursting open.

  Ian had returned.

  She stared at him, and at the door, and he offered her a wry, challenging smile. “It’s my house, my door. I warned you, remember?”

  She met the challenge with fury. “Your house, your door. My determination for privacy!”

  He stripped off his cape, and tossed his hat aside and came striding into the room. She cried out, determined to escape him, but he was too quick. His fingers had already laced around her arms. She began to shake, furious, yet glad that he had come at last. Wanting to shake him, and wanting to hold him.

  “How dare you!” she whispered vehemently, fighting his hold. “How dare you go running to your brothel and come back to me!”

  He swept her into his arms. “I went to no brothel!” he swore, and tossed her hard upon the bed. She started up, but his weight came down upon her too quickly, pinning her there. And his blue gaze was full of both ice and fire.

  “Don’t—” she began, but equally vehemently, he challenged her.

  “How dare you, madam!”

  “How dare I what!” she cried indignantly. She felt the power of his arms, of his thighs. Beneath his trousers she could feel the heat of his body, and more. Against the flimsy fabric of her gown, she could feel the pulse of his desire, growing, insolent, demanding … exciting.

  “Lie to me,” he whispered.

  “I did not run to another!”

  “Nor did I.”

  He caught her lips in a passionate kiss. She surged against him, trying to escape. She was desperate that he understand he could not go to other women and have her, too. She twisted and tossed, and only managed to come closer against him, to become more aware of the promise that lay so boldly between them. She broke free of his kiss. “Ian, I’ll not—”

  “By God, would you still fight me!” He gazed at her with a fire in his eyes that sent her mind reeling and her heart drumming. A pulse ticked hard in his throat, and she felt the rigid pressure of his muscles.

  “I’m not fighting you!” she gasped suddenly. “I’m fighting her!”

  “Her?”

  “That woman.”

  “Madam, there is no one to fight.”

  She believed him. She wanted to believe him. “And—” she whispered.

  “By God, and what!” he thundered in sudden torment.

  “The questions,” she said softly, meeting his eyes.

  A breath escaped him. His head fell back, then he stared at her again. “Damn the questions, Marissa. Just hold me. Let me make love to you.”

  A soft cry escaped her. She wound her arms around him, and when his lips caught hers again, she parted her own beneath him and gave way to the passion of his arms.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In the days that followed, Marissa made no further mention of Ian’s night out. And Ian did not haunt her with questions.

  It was a fascinating time for them both, a time for discovery, a fragile time in which they wanted to relish the amazement and wonder of one another. In her wildest fantasies, Marissa had never imagined what it could be like to love such a man. There were wonderful, tempestuous times in bed, and there were times of laughter, too, such as the occasion he crawled fully suited into a tub with her. And there were the gentle times, the slow, lazy, sensual times when they would sip champagne and eat tiny bites of fruit and cheese in bed.

  There were evening rides, when Marissa discovered more of the city she was coming to love so very much. And there were the times they would go to the emporium. Marissa loved the store, she was terribly proud to see how very well Jimmy was doing, and she and Mary both became good friends with their one-time guide, Sandy, very quickly. Marissa was particularly fascinated with the orphans at the Sunday meal, finding that the little urchins with their feisty pride reminded her very much of herself when she was a child.

  The more she learned about her husband, the greater the pride she came to feel for him. Perhaps he lived on Nob Hill, and perhaps he was welcome among the very best of society. But Ian drew his friends from people he liked. They included builders and policemen as well as the most influential businessmen. He abhorred the politics at City Hall, and would have no part in the bribery that went on there.

  He was as willing to sip tea at the caretakers’ cottage with Jimmy and Mary as he was to attend the most elite function.

  As much as he loved San Francisco, he was not immune to the dangers within the city. One night when they rode, he showed her how close the wildness of the Barbary Coast lay to the quiet of Nob Hill.

  “It’s a city in which to take grave care,” he warned her. They had reined in atop the hill to look down upon the city below. “Murder can be bought for the price of a cheap bottle of whiskey,” he told her. “The police have started using automobiles now to patrol the city better, and it seems we have a decent chief in at last, but this is a place where there is a certain amount of crime. Shanghaiing occurs daily—”

  “What’s that?” she asked him.

  He glanced her way quickly. “Ah, my love, you are an innocent! Shanghaiing is kidnapping. Young men and women are taken, sometimes to work on ships—more often to enter the brothels of the Orient. That’s why the Barbary Coast is a place you should definitely avoid. I imagine that you’d be worth a fortune, with your hair and eyes, to some potbellied old geezer out there.”

  “Well, I like that! I’d be worth a fortune only to a potbellied old geezer?” she demanded.

  He laughed then, huskily, and the bay pawed the ground as Ian moved his horse closer to hers. “No, my love, though I don’t think I’d dare tell you what your value is to me. It might be dangerous information in your hands, and it might well go to your very pretty head.”

  Marissa smiled, pleased with his response. Their marriage still seemed fragile, but it was enough for now.

  “Then you must stay away from the Barbary Coast, too,” she said sweetly.

  “But there are certain pursuits there to be enjoyed by gentlemen.”

  “My curiosity is awakened. Since it is not safe for me to go alone, I shall have to come in your company when you next seek your pursuits.”

  “You, madam, are going to have to learn your proper place as a lady and a wife.”

  “And you as a gentleman.”

  “A Yankee,” he reminded her.

  She sniffed, but after a moment she met his eyes and asked him softly, “Are you then resigned to having a wife once again?” Then she wished she hadn’t spoken, for shadows seemed to cross his features.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to cause you pain.” She nudged her horse and started off at a trot toward the house. Seconds later he was pounding up beside her, then he caught her horse’s reins. Startled, she looked at him.

  “I am much more than resigned to having a wife,” he told her. “I am grateful, for you
made me see that I lived in a dark cavern of self-pity. You have given me the delight of the sun once again.”

  “Oh!” she murmured, stunned by his words.

  “I’m delighted to have a wife. Indeed, come along quickly. Let’s return to the house, and I will show you just how delighted.”

  Ian smiled at the soft flush that touched her cheeks. He was amazed at the change she had wrought in him.

  From the first she had appealed deeply and sharply to his senses. And then she had wedged her way into his soul with her haunting passion and mystery.

  He was in love again. Sometimes it was painful, because he felt that he betrayed Diana. But there was something more, for Marissa had taken him from his misery, and now, though he had not ceased to love the memories of his first wife, he had discovered that he had something to offer the new.

  She had made his life full again.

  And now, as he watched her, he felt the familiar hunger gnawing at his loins. She was part witch, he decided, part vixen to best the harlots of the Barbary Coast, part angel to spread her heavenly hair across the sheets and still blushed a virgin’s rouge when she read his mind. He could not remember ever being so sated and content, then so aroused and thirsting from the sound of a whisper or a brush of her cheek.

  “Come on—home!” he said, and nudged the bay, and suddenly they were both racing pell-mell for the house. He called to John to take the horses as they neared the carriage house, then he swore suddenly. “I gave them the evening off!” he said. “Ah, well!” He leaped down and helped Marissa from her sidesaddle. She followed him as he led the horses to their stalls. The light in the carriage house was muted as he closed the stalls. The scent of the new hay was sweet.

  She had swept off her elegant little bright green riding hat with its dashing feather, and her hair was neither pinned nor tied, but streaming free and wind-tossed down her back in a cascade of gold and flame. In the dim light, her eyes were a beautiful emerald fire. She was very proper in her green riding habit, yet the excitement in her eyes and the curve of her smile were anything but innocent.

  She stood several feet from him, watching him, waiting for him. He leaned against the stall door, and allowed his gaze a leisurely stroll down the length of her.