The eerie strains of the Russian folk song blended with the ringmaster’s hushed voice, and as the light grew brighter, the audience listened, spellbound. “Over the years a legend formed around this man, a legend his rescuers insist to this very day is true.”
The music grew louder.
“They believe that he is the only direct descendent of the murdered Czar Nicholas II and his wife Alexandra.” His voice grew louder. “Ladies and gentlemen, that would make the man you will see here tonight . . .” A drumroll. “. . . the heir to the imperial crown of Russia!”
Daisy felt a shiver of excitement, despite the fact that she didn’t believe a word of the story she was hearing.
The ringmaster’s voice boomed through the tent. “Quest Brothers Circus is proud to present . . . the incomparable Alexi the Cossack!”
The lights came up, the music grew fierce, and Alex charged dramatically into the arena, his black horse at full gallop. The sleeves of his white shirt billowed, and the jewels encrusting his sash blazed like bloodred droplets. The mighty horse reared. Defying gravity, Alexi raised his arms far above his head, staying mounted only by the pressure of his powerful legs.
The horse came down, and Alexi disappeared. Daisy gasped only to see him reappear, dangling gracefully from the saddle. As the mount galloped around the arena, he performed a series of skillfully executed feats that were both daring and dramatic. Finally swinging back up into the saddle, he took the bullwhip that had been hanging from the pommel and cracked it in a great arc over his head, the sound so loud that the people in front of her jumped.
Props had been set up in the dark during the ringmaster’s introduction: a row of beribboned hoops topped with scarlet balloons. Circling the arena, he popped the balloons one by one, and an explosion of crimson glitter, like drops of blood, flew up into the air with each snap of the whip.
One of the showgirls lit an enormous six-pronged candelabra. He whirled the whip in a hypnotic arc over his head, then put out the flames one by one.
The audience applauded, and those in the back stood to get a better look. Alex leaped gracefully to the ground, and the horse trotted out of the tent. The lights dimmed until he was left standing alone in a bloodred spotlight. He picked up a second whip and started snapping both of them in rhythm, one arm up, one arm down, behind him, in front of him. And then he began to dance over the whips, performing the intricate movements with a deadly masculine grace that left her breathless. The dance built to a crescendo, his movements quickened, and as if by magic, the two whips became a single giant one. With a mighty twist of his arm, he cracked it above his head only to have it burst into flames.
The audience gasped, the lights went out, and the fire whip danced a mad mazurka in the dark.
When the lights came up, Alexi the Cossack had vanished.
4
What in the hell are you doing out here?”
Daisy’s eyelids sprang open, and she looked up into the same golden eyes that had plagued her nightmare. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was, and then it all came crashing back to her: Alex, the wedding, the fire whip.
She grew aware of his hands on her shoulders, the only thing that had prevented her from falling out of his pickup when he’d opened the door. She’d come here to hide because she didn’t have the courage to sleep in a trailer with only one bed and a stranger with a mysterious past who brandished whips.
She carefully extricated herself from his grasp, and in the process moved toward the center of the seat, as far away from him as she could manage. “What time is it?”
“Past midnight.” He rested one hand on top of the door frame and gazed at her with those strange amber eyes that had plagued her nightmare. Instead of his Cossack’s costume, he wore ancient jeans and a faded black T-shirt, but that didn’t make him any less threatening.
“Angel face, you are a damn sight more trouble than you’re worth.”
She pretended to straighten her clothing in an effort to buy herself time. After the final performance, she’d gone to the trailer only to see the whips he’d used in his act lying on the bed, almost as if he’d left them out for further use. She’d tried not to look at them as she’d stood at the window and watched the tent being taken down.
Alex had both directed the men and worked alongside them, and as she’d watched the muscles in his arms bunch as he loaded stacks of seats onto the forklift and hauled on the rigging, she’d remembered those veiled threats he’d made earlier, warnings of unpleasant consequences if she didn’t do as he said. Exhausted and feeling alone, she could no longer regard the whips lying on the bed as mere performance props. They were a threat to her, and that was when she’d known she didn’t have the courage to fall asleep in his trailer, not even on the couch.
“Come on, we’re going to bed.”
The last of the sleep-induced cobwebs vanished, and she was instantly on guard. She couldn’t see anyone else around. Most of the trucks had pulled out, and the workers seemed to have gone with them. “I’ve decided to sleep here.”
“I don’t think so. In case you haven’t noticed, your teeth are chattering.”
He was right. It had been warm in the truck when she’d first gotten in, but the temperature had dropped since then. “I’m perfectly comfortable,” she lied.
He hunched his shoulder and wiped the side of his face with the sleeve of his T-shirt. “Consider this a friendly warning. I’ve hardly slept in three days. First we had a nasty storm and nearly lost the top, then I’ve had to make two trips to New York. I’m not the easiest person to get along with under the best of circumstances, but I really turn mean when I’m sleep-deprived. Now get your sweet little butt out here.”
“No.”
He lifted the arm he’d been holding at his side, and she gave a hiss of alarm as she saw a coiled whip clasped in his hand. He punched it toward the trailer. “Now!”
She scrambled from the truck, her heart pounding. The threat of the whip was no longer abstract, and she realized it was one thing to tell herself in broad daylight that she wouldn’t let him touch her, but it was quite another late at night when they were alone in the middle of a darkened field someplace in rural South Carolina.
She gasped as he took her arm and led her across the lot. As the damp weeds slapped at her sandaled feet, she knew she couldn’t let herself go to her fate without a struggle.
“I’m warning you right now that if you try to hurt me in any way, I’ll scream.”
He yawned.
“I mean it,” she said as he pulled her forward. “I want to think the best of you, but it’s hard to do when you keep making all these threats.”
He opened the trailer door and gave her a light slap on the rear to nudge her inside. “Could we postpone this until morning?”
Was it only her imagination or had the interior shrunk since she’d first seen it? “I don’t think we can. And please don’t touch me like that again.”
“I’m too damned tired to attack you tonight, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
His words failed to reassure her. “If you don’t intend to attack me, why are you threatening me with that whip?”
He looked down at the coil of braided leather as if he’d forgotten it was there, which she didn’t believe for a minute. How could he be so casual about it? And why was he carrying a whip this late at night if he wasn’t trying to threaten her? Another thought struck her, one that sent chills through her bloodstream. She’d heard plenty of stories about men who used whips as part of their sex play. She even knew some specific examples. Was that what he had in mind?
He muttered something under his breath, closed the door, and walked over to sit on the bed. The whip uncoiled onto the floor, but the butt dangled over his knee.
She eyed it apprehensively. On one hand, she’d promised to honor her marriage vows, and he hadn’t actually hurt her. But on the other hand, he certainly had frightened her. Confrontation wasn’t something she was good at, but
she knew she had to do it. She braced herself.
“I think we need to clear the air. I have to tell you that I’m not going to be able to live with you intimidating me.”
“Intimidating?” He inspected the butt of the whip. “What are you talking about?”
Her nervousness grew, but she forced herself to keep going. “I suppose you can’t help how you are. It’s probably because of the way you were raised, not that I believe for a moment that Cossack story is true.” She paused. “It isn’t, is it?”
He looked up at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“No, of course not,” she said hastily. “When I refer to intimidation, I’m alluding to your threats and that”—she took a deep breath—“that whip.”
“What about it?”
“I know a little about aberrant behavior, if you have sadistic tendencies, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me right now instead of just hinting around.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re both adults, and there’s no reason to pretend you don’t understand.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to spell it out.”
She couldn’t believe how obtuse he was being. “I’m referring to your hints of—of—sexual perversion.”
“Sexual perversion?”
As he continued to regard her blankly, she cried out in frustration. “For goodness sake! If you think you can beat me and then have sex with me, just come out and say it. Say, ‘Daisy, I get my kicks from whipping women I have sex with, and you’re next on my list.’ At least I’d know what’s going on in your head.”
His eyebrows lifted. “That would make you feel better?”
She nodded.
“You’re sure?”
“We have to begin communicating.”
“Well, all right then.” His eyes glittered. “I get my kicks whipping women I have sex with, and you’re next on my list. Now I’m going to take a shower.”
He disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door.
Daisy caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Somehow that hadn’t gone quite as she’d planned.
Alex chuckled as the water sluiced over him. That beautiful little airhead had given him more genuine amusement in one day than he’d had in the past year. Maybe longer than that. In his experience life was a serious business. Laughter was a luxury he hadn’t been able to afford when he was growing up, so he’d never developed the habit. Still, it felt good, even though he’d been forced to put up with a whole truckload of aggravation for every laugh.
He remembered her comment about sexual perversion. Even though she wasn’t his type, he couldn’t deny that he’d been having sexual thoughts about her. But he didn’t think they were all that perverted. A man would have been hard pressed not to think about sex when he was confronted with those crushed violet eyes and that soft mouth that seemed to have been made for deep kisses.
It would have ruined the fun if he’d told her that he always carried a whip when he knew the workers had been drinking. Traveling circuses resembled the Wild West when it came to handling trouble—they took care of their own problems—and just the sight of the whip was a powerful deterrent to hot tempers and old grudges.
She didn’t know that, of course, and he wasn’t in any hurry to tell her. For both their sakes, he intended to keep Little Miss Rich Girl right under his thumb.
As much as he’d enjoyed their last encounter, he had the feeling his amusement was going to be short-lived. What had Max Petroff been thinking of when he’d handed over his daughter? Did he hate her so much that he had willingly submitted her to a life that was so far beyond her realm of experience? When Max had insisted on this marriage, he’d said Daisy needed a fast course in reality, but Alex had a hard time believing he had anything more than punishment in mind.
Daisy’s naïveté, coupled with her rich girl’s cockeyed value system, made a dangerous combination. He’d be surprised if she lasted more than a few days with him, but he’d promised he’d do his best with her, and he’d keep his word. When she decided to leave, it would be because she’d given up, not because he was kicking her out or paying her off to get rid of her. He might not like Max, but he owed him.
This was his year for paying off big debts, first with his deathbed promise to Owen Quest to take the circus out for its last season under the Quest name, and then by agreeing to marry Max’s daughter. In all these years Max had never asked one thing of him as repayment for having saved Alex’s life, but when he’d finally gotten around to it, he’d asked for a doozy.
Alex had tried to convince Max that he could accomplish the same objective just by letting Daisy live with him, but Max was too stodgy. Originally Max had insisted that the marriage last a year, but that had been more than even Alex’s gratitude could tolerate. They had compromised on six months, a period that would end at the same time as this final Quest Brothers tour.
As Alex lathered his chest, he thought about the two men who had been such a powerful force in his life, Owen Quest and Max Petroff. Max had rescued him from an existence of physical and emotional abuse, while Owen had guided him into manhood.
On the day he’d met Max, Alex was twelve and had been traveling with his Uncle Sergey in a scruffy circus that was spending the summer playing every Atlantic coast resort from Daytona Beach to Cape Cod. He’d never forget that hot August afternoon when Max had appeared like an avenging angel to rip the bullwhip out of Sergey’s fist and save Alex from another savage beating.
Now he understood the reasons for Sergey’s acts of sadism, but at the time he hadn’t comprehended the attraction twisted men feel for little boys and how far they’d go to deny that attraction. In an impulsive gesture of generosity, Max had paid off Sergey and taken Alex away. He’d put him in military school and provided the financial, if not the emotional, resources that let Alex survive until he could take care of himself.
But it was Owen Quest who had given Alex lessons on manhood during Alex’s school vacations when he’d traveled with the circus to make money, and then later into Alex’s adulthood as every few years he left the rest of his life behind and gave in to an urge to go on the road for a few months. The part of Alex’s character that hadn’t been shaped by his uncle’s whip had been formed by Owen’s long-winded lectures and generally astute observations about how screwed up the world was and how tough a man had to be in order to survive. Life was a dangerous business in Owen’s view, and he didn’t see much place for laughter or frivolity. A man worked hard, kept his guard up, and always held on to his pride.
Alex turned off the shower and reached for a towel. Both men had their selfish reasons for helping out a troubled kid. Max saw himself as a benefactor and enjoyed bragging about his various charitable projects—including Alex Markov—to his upper-crust friends. Owen, on the other hand, had a monstrous ego, and he relished having an impressionable audience waiting breathlessly for his dark insights on life. But regardless of their motivations, they’d been the only people in his young life who’d ever given a damn about him, and neither of them had once asked for anything in return, not until this past year.
Now Alex had a ragtag circus on his hands, along with a silly, sexy ditz of a wife, who was going to do her best to drive him crazy. He wouldn’t let it happen, of course. Circumstances had made him who he was—tough and stubborn, a man who lived by his own code and no longer had any illusions left about himself. Daisy Devreaux didn’t have a chance.
He wrapped the towel around his waist, picked up another to dry his hair, and opened the bathroom door.
Daisy gulped as the door swung open and he came out. Oh, Lord, he was gorgeous. With his head buried in a towel while he rubbed it dry, she could look her fill, and she saw that his body was her idea of perfect, with muscles that were well-defined but not overly pumped up. He also had something she had never seen on any of Lani’s toy boys—a working man’s tan. His broad chest was dusted with dark hair, and some kind of gold medal nested there, but she w
as too entranced with the overall vista to take in much detail.
His hips were significantly narrower than his shoulders, his stomach flat. She followed the straight arrow of hair that began just above his navel and continued down into the low-slung knot on his yellow bath towel. Heat fanned through her as she wondered what he’d look like without it.
He finished drying his hair and glanced over at her. “You can sleep with me or you can sleep on the couch. Right now I’m too tired to care which one.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch!” Her voice held a tiny squeak, whether from his words or the sight before her eyes, she wasn’t certain.
He spoiled her view of his front by walking to the bed where he turned his back on her to coil the whips and place them in a wooden case he pulled out from beneath the bed. With the whips out of sight, she found herself able to enjoy the view of his back much more.
Once again, he turned to face her. “In exactly five seconds I’m going to drop this towel.”
He waited, and as more than five seconds passed, she realized what he meant. “Oh. You want me to look away.”
He laughed. “Let me get just one good night’s sleep, angel face, and, I promise, you can look all you want.”
Now she’d done it. She’d given him completely the wrong impression, and she had to correct it. “I’m afraid you misinterpreted.”
“I sure hope not.”
“But you did. I was just curious . . . not curious, exactly, but—well, yes, I guess curious. . . . That’s only natural. But you shouldn’t assume—”
“Daisy?”
“Yes?”
“If you say another word, I’m going to pull out one of those whips you’re so worried about and see if I can get into that perversion thing.”
She snatched up a clean pair of panties and a faded University of North Carolina T-shirt she’d pulled from his drawer while he was in the shower, then flounced into the bathroom. She closed the door with a satisfying bang.
Kiss an Angel Page 5
