Tempted Tigress

by Jade Lee

  She pressed her lips tightly together as she toyed with the mud-caked brush in her hand. “I will go to my family in England,” she said.

  “Of course.” His tone sounded light, but a quick glance at his face showed his skin to be white and his jaw clenched. “Where else would you go?”

  She shook her head. “Nowhere.” There was nowhere else to go.

  Zhi-Gang was dreaming. He was standing in the middle of a Shanghai whorehouse, looking at the “flowers” and smelling the sweet opium stench that pervaded the air.

  He heard a customer grunt in release and imagined the feel of a bawd’s tears slipping unnoticed down her cheek. He knew it all with stark clarity, and yet he also knew this was a dream.

  He stepped deeper into the darkness, surprised that he didn’t choke in the foggy smoke. He peered through the blackness to the back room and saw exactly what he knew would be there: the madame buying a mulish, frightened little girl. It was his little sister, and she was being dragged away. Her screams echoed in his head, and he winced at their shrill power.

  At this point in the dream, he usually pulled out his knives and rescued his sister. She ran gratefully into his arms and he carried her home. Except, they never made it. Instead, he carried her to another garden of delights where she was suddenly not in his arms anymore but being sold again. And again he rescued her only to end up at another house. And another. Until he woke bathed in his own sweat.

  Not this time. He would not repeat that nightmare over and over. He decided to change the dream even as he dreamt it. But nothing changed as he planned.

  This time, when he pulled out his knives to rescue his sister, he saw a second woman: Anna. She was dressed as a high-class whore, all silk elegance with bright red lips, taut full breasts and long, long legs. As he watched, she put an opium pipe to her lips and closed her eyes in ecstasy. The sight sickened him, and he gripped his knives tighter, preparing to kill everyone in the room except for the girls. He could hear his sister screaming, knew exactly where she was and how to rescue her. And it would be no problem at all to knock the pipe from Anna’s hand, to smash it under his heels, then drag her out. Even in this dream state, he knew how easy it would be.

  And yet, he didn’t do it. His sister continued to scream, Anna continued to smoke, and he slowly put away his knives since they had become like bricks in his hands: too heavy to carry, too unwieldy to use. He put them away and turned, heading for the door.

  “What are you doing?” bellowed his conscious mind. “Save them!”

  His dream self simply shrugged and looked him in the eye. It made no sense, but that was the beauty and horror of a nightmare. His dream self pulled out his knives and dropped them on the ground in a pool of blood. “They’re too heavy,” he said.

  “But they need your help!” Zhi-Gang cried back. “They need you.”

  His dream self had no answer. He simply pointed at the knives and repeated himself. “They’re too heavy.” Then he stepped over the knives, sloshed through the expanding pool of blood, and continued out of the pleasure garden.

  Zhi-Gang’s conscious mind remained behind, screaming, ordering, bellowing, doing anything he could think of to make his dream self turn around. But nothing worked. His dream self kept walking. Bit by bit, the Dream Enforcer climbed out of the blood, shucked his gore-soaked clothing, and hailed a rickshaw. In this pristine and naked state, Dream Zhi-Gang left Conscious Zhi-Gang behind. He didn’t even look back to wave. Dream Zhi-Gang was focused completely ahead on an emerald-green field of rice on the horizon. The baby shoots had just broken above the waterline, and both Zhi-Gangs grinned at the sight.

  But then it faded. Everything disappeared: the green rice paddy, the bawdy house, even Anna and his sister’s screams. All disappeared, leaving Conscious Zhi-Gang standing in the middle of nothing. He kept screaming, of course. He was still trying to bring Dream Zhi-Gang back. Then he was trying to return to the bawdy house to rescue his sister and Anna. Then he was simply screaming to be heard. But soon even his voice disappeared, then his thoughts, then the image of himself. It—he—faded into nothing. A huge expanse of gray nothing.

  Gone.

  He remained gone for a very, very, very long time.

  “Zhi-Gang! Zhi-Gang!”

  A voice came to him through the gray. He barely heard it except as an echo or perhaps a memory. It didn’t matter. It was not nothing. It was something, and he ran for it with all his strength.

  “Zhi-Gang!”

  “Anna!”

  He gasped awake, his body incredibly heavy as he struggled upright and into her arms. She caught him easily, which was fortunate because he hadn’t the control to grab her. His arms were like blocks of black rock—heavy, dark, and completely useless. And yet he flung them around her and clung with all his strength.

  She held him equally tight, equally strong, until feeling gradually returned. With her warmth, the rock softened, became fluid, and eventually he found hands instead of blocks, fingers instead of stone chips.

  He held her. He breathed in her scent. And with one swift move, he pushed her on her back and spread her legs.

  She gasped in surprise, but didn’t resist. Her eyes held tender sympathy as she spoke. “I don’t think you’re quite ready for that yet.”

  He wasn’t. Her power hadn’t reached his organ yet, but that was rapidly changing. In a moment he would have potency enough to bury himself inside of her. And when he was there, when she surrounded him completely with her sweet, sensuous beauty, then he could forget the dream and all it represented.

  He looked down at her, relishing the pale luminescence of her skin in moonlight. Just outside their tent, he heard the soft snores of the other men in their party, and beyond that he heard the nighttime noises of locusts and crickets.

  She quirked an eyebrow at him. “I don’t suppose you want to talk about your nightmare instead of just wiping it away?”

  In response, he abruptly pulled off the rough tunic that covered her body. She had not worn the pants to bed, and so with her shirt off, she was completely naked beneath him. He smiled as her breasts puckered in the sudden chill. Her hair tumbled wildly about her head and crackled as the fabric pulled away, but she was smiling as her head tumbled back down to the single pillow they shared.

  “I guess that means no,” she said, a smile softening her features. “But really, Zhi-Gang—” Her words ended on a gasp as he pulled a nipple into his mouth. It pebbled into a tiny peak that lengthened as he sucked then teased up and down with his tongue. Her legs went around his, tightening around his thighs, and her musky scent blew through his thoughts, clearing away other dream-smells and the memory of gray nothing.

  “Only you,” she gasped as she arched beneath him. “No one else has ever made me feel this way.”

  He gave her one last sucking kiss on her nipple before lifting his head. “What way?”

  She met his gaze with wide, honest eyes. “Like I want it. Like I want you.”

  She gripped his hips and arched. He could not resist. Her words had sent a white-hot heat through his body, and he flexed his buttocks in answer to her pull. One full thrust and he was as deep as he could go inside her.

  She groaned. “Yes!”

  He grinned and allowed sensation to wash over him, obliterating everything else. Then he opened his eyes, wanting to see if she looked at him. She did, and he rapidly became mesmerized by the roundness of her eyes, the gentle upsweep of her cheekbones, the full red of her lips.

  “You are beautiful,” he whispered.

  “You say that like you mean it,” she said, awe coloring her tone.

  “I do.” Then he dropped a tender kiss on her nose. “This isn’t just to forget,” he said, surprised that he spoke the complete truth. “I have wanted you since the first moment I saw you.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” He shifted his hand to tenderly brush the hair from her face. “I have never wanted a white woman before. But you chal
lenge me, you interest me. You…” He shook his head, at a loss for words. “You are you. And I cannot be away from you—even in my dreams—without wanting to be back.”

  She blinked, and he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. Then there were no more words as she squeezed him from deep inside. He had no idea if the movement was conscious or not, but it didn’t matter. Heat boiled through his system and his body began to flex.

  She arched beneath him, opening herself fully to his desires. He raised up enough to give himself room to move, then drove into her in long, powerful strokes. Again and again he lost himself in her while she gasped in delight.

  He felt contractions roar through her, beginning deep inside around his organ, but it seemed to expand, taking her whole body into a shiver of joy. He wanted to watch. He wanted to see her beauty shimmer during her ecstasy, but his own needs drove him harder.

  He felt the power grow deep in his belly. His masculine strength—his essence—hovered just at the threshold. Then with his conscious will, he released it. He gave it to her; he poured it into her so that he could reside there inside her long after the moment. So he could be with her forever.

  And in that moment, he was completely, wholly happy.

  Anna smiled, her body still in that weightless shimmering that came with fulfillment. She wondered how it was that this feeling only came with Zhi-Gang. She had experienced sexual release before. Chinese women whispered of such things in private, and she had learned then what to do.

  But only Zhi-Gang gave her this feeling of flight. With him, the sweet contractions became a soaring joy. She rolled her head to look at where he had collapsed beside her. The light cotton tent muted the moonlight, but she could still see the chiseled shape of his face. And what she couldn’t see, she remembered: his piercing black eyes, the slight twist of his lips when he was amused, the anger that could suddenly cut through his features.

  All of these things she saw as she looked at him now. And as she stroked the black silk hair from his face, she wondered why things were different with him. Why did he give her a feeling of such lightness when they were together of such happiness well beyond what her body felt and did.

  The answer hovered at the edge of her understanding. It teased her conscious mind but did not cross over into awareness. Not until she leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his lips. Not until she caressed his beard-roughened cheek as he slept.

  She loved him. She loved that he cared enough to want to make her forget her need for opium. She loved that he knew who she was, what she had done, and still seemed to worship her. His eyes followed her wherever she went, and she felt his presence even when she couldn’t see him. He touched her with reverence. Even better, he kissed her with need—raw, elemental need. For her. And that thought alone left her weak with lust. And love.

  No, no one else had ever wanted her like he did. No one else had ever truly cared about her. Certainly, no one else would brave her father’s organization and kill for her. She bit her lip to keep it from quivering. She would not cry. And yet, the knowledge of what this man would do for her made her eyes water with gratitude.

  She struggled with these unfamiliar emotions, trying to convince herself that simple gratitude was not love. It couldn’t be. Unfortunately, what she felt wasn’t simple thanks. She was in love with the Enforcer, and that thought terrified her as much as it warmed her.

  She thought about telling him. She thought about kissing him awake to share her most amazing news, but she couldn’t make herself do it. The feeling was too raw. What would she do if he laughed at her? What was she going to do when he put her on a boat and waved good-bye?

  A temptation to stay in China burned inside her. She desperately wanted to believe it was possible, that she could live with Zhi-Gang forever. That they could make a home, have children, be in love. She wanted to grab him and tell him and to make it true by sheer force of will.

  But she didn’t. She turned away from the temptation. She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. She had almost convinced herself she had dreamt the emotions, pretended to feelings that weren’t real, when she felt his hand. She doubted he even opened his eyes. Certainly the rhythm of his breath hadn’t changed. But she felt his fingers slipping beneath her elbow to slide around her ribcage. Within moments, he had tugged her tight to his belly, and they rested like two spoons, her back against his chest, his nose tucked into her shoulder.

  She nearly said it then. She nearly whispered, “I love you,” into the darkness. But she held the thought in, only to find worse words slip out instead.

  “What was your nightmare, Zhi-Gang?”

  He sighed. She could almost hear the thoughts inside his head: keep quiet, pretend to sleep, and eventually the question will go away. But he surprised her. He spoke in a gravelly whisper that shivered into her skin.

  “I dreamed I left China. I thought I left it all behind to start new somewhere else.”

  She bit her lip, barely daring to probe further. But she couldn’t stop herself. “That was a nightmare?”

  He nodded against her back. “The worst kind.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He took a deep breath and then exhaled in a sigh. She felt his heat brush down her spine. “Would you give it all up?” he asked. “Would you stop everything you are, throw away everything you’ve been just to start over?”

  She nodded. “In a heartbeat.”

  He pressed his lips into the space between shoulder and neck. “That is why you are leaving China. And why I cannot leave with you.”

  “You won’t change your mind? Even to visit England with me? Just for—”

  “I cannot.” His voice was heavy with regret. “Anna. This is my home, my country. I need to stay and fight for it.”

  She didn’t respond. Instead, she closed her eyes and visualized her love and her hopes. She poured all her emotions, all her strength into that image—a shining light that she cradled in her two hands. She held it gently, feeling its warmth even as she added her need to confess all to him. Indeed, she even added his image into her imagination. He stood before her, watching what she held, standing tall and proud as the emotionless Enforcer.

  Then, with a sudden and abrupt resolve, she smashed her hands together. She crushed it all flat. She felt it shatter in her hands, disintegrating into a thousand tiny shards. Then she threw it away.

  From Anna Marie Thompson’s journal:

  June 8, 1886

  I have my gold. It is a necklace of little links that Samuel gave me as pay. It is beautiful and I am wearing it right now. I have never had anything so wonderful, and yet I want to throw it into the Shanghai mud. But that would be stupid. I chose this life. I don’t want to be a nun. I don’t want to.

  I didn’t want to do what I did, either.

  Samuel told me that the mandarin might want to eel’ ebrate. He said that after we got the money—if the mandarin wanted to share—that we could share. And that’s what happened.

  The mandarin wanted to celebrate. He boiled the opium and gave me a taste. It was like always. It was wonderful. And the world was beautiful, and Halfy was shy, just like before. Except, Halfy wasn’t shy. He was very strong. And the mandarin celebrated in his own way inside me while Halfy held me down. And I cried because it hurt. It hurt so bad, but Halfy was nice and gave me more opium because it hurt.

  Then it was Halfy’s turn. And the money man’s. Maybe more, I don’t know. I couldn’t fight so I took the pipe instead and let them do as they would.

  I don’t want to be a nun, so I’m selling the necklace and keeping the money in a bank. And I’ll never, ever do a run with Halfy again.

  No drug, not even alcohol, causes the fundamental ills of society. If we’re looking for the sources of our troubles, we shouldn’t test people for drugs, we should test them for stupidity, ignorance, greed and love of power.

  —P. J. O’Rourke

  Chapter Fifteen

  Shanghai had its own peculiar shape and scent, and
though Zhi-Gang curled his lip at the smell, it wasn’t the yellow mud that turned his stomach; it was Madame Ting’s Garden of Perfumed Flowers. That and the way Halfy fondled every girl in the place.

  Apparently, Halfy now ran the whorehouse, after the mysterious disappearance of Madame Ting. He was therefore the best source of information on the girls who might or might not have been brought here ten years ago. Unfortunately, Zhi-Gang didn’t think he could talk with the man much longer without killing him. Yet he couldn’t very well pass the task on to Anna, and Jing-Li was back in Jiangsu.

  Which meant he had to sit in a tiny back room with this bastard he’d almost killed, smelling the man’s sour sweat as it mixed with the nauseating scents of old tobacco, opium, and sex. Anna was with a few of the “flowers,” to clean up and get a fresh set of clothes. He worried that she wouldn’t be safe, that she would run, that if he left her alone for five minutes, he would never see her again.

  But the fear was illogical. Over the last few days, her desire for revenge against her adopted father had taken on a life of its own. It was all she talked about now, in whispers in their bed, in veiled comments about a horse named Betrayer, even in idle doodles she made with a stick in the dirt. She seemed to believe that once Samuel was dead, her life would suddenly return to a sweet perfection where all was rainbows and flowers.

  But that wouldn’t happen. She must know. Even if she really were that naive, he had pointed out the truth often enough. No death—even a righteous one—could restore innocence. But the moment he tried to suggest such a thing, she began spinning a tale of what would happen when she arrived in England. Of the parties her family would throw on her behalf, the gifts she would receive, even the suitors that would vie for her hand.

  The stories always set his teeth on edge, but he had allowed her to pretend. Better she let her mind remain in a fictional life in England than the ugly reality of what they planned for her adopted father. And so they had continued into Shanghai, and now here they were at Halfy’s brothel. Zhi-Gang sat in the tiny back office listening to the half-white bastard brag about his privileges with the girls while chewing greasy dumplings with an open mouth.