Panther's Prey

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “And Beatrice will have the vapors again,” Sarah sighed. “Guaranteed.”

  He grinned. “Beatrice has the vapors if the temperature rises five degrees. Did you see the way she was looking at me when she was with us? As if I were some headhunter out of the jungle, about to strip off and attack her.”

  “Maybe she was just hoping you would,” Sarah said, and he chuckled.

  “Speaking of stripping off...” he said, undoing the buttons at the back of her shirtwaist.

  “Here?” Sarah said, looking around the room.

  “Why not? I’ll tell the guards we’re not to be disturbed.” He went to the door and Sarah’s mind wandered back to what she had just done.

  She wasn’t as confident about telling Malik where Amy was as she tried to appear.

  Had she done the right thing?

  Malik wasn’t the type to delay using the information.

  She would know very soon.

  * * *

  Malik crouched on the branch of the tree and watched the gaslight dim and then disappear in the Woolcott master bedroom. Amy’s aunt was going to sleep. But there was still a light in the first floor den, which meant that her uncle was working there, and in Amy’s room, where he could see her reading in bed.

  He would have to wait.

  The desire to just rush into her room and take his chances was overwhelming; it seemed a century since he had touched her, but he knew it was much wiser to bide his time until the uncle retired. Malik had been watching the house for several nights and knew the routine. The servants, who rose early, also retired early. The aunt went to bed next, and the uncle usually worked until about eleven-thirty in his office. By midnight Amy’s light was the only one left burning, and that’s exactly the way Malik wanted it.

  He settled back into the crotch of the tree and wished he could have a cigarette. Waiting was so difficult; he had planned every aspect of this visit as if he were designing an assault on Topkapi and wanted to go forward with it. He had selected a tree whose limbs were stout enough to hold his weight and which grew close enough to the house to enable him to reach it with a rope. He planned to swing onto the porch from the tree and then enter Amy’s bedroom through the twin French doors.

  It sounded simple, but he knew that anything could go wrong at any time. If Amy’s aunt couldn’t sleep and decided to get a breath of air, if her uncle forgot something downstairs and got up to retrieve it, if Amy, despite the pashana’s reassurances, had decided she hated him…

  He sighed and resolved not to think about it. Any risky course of action always needed an element of luck, and he had to believe that luck would be with him this night.

  The light in the den finally went out, and Malik waited half an hour after that before he climbed to a higher limb, uncoiled the rope from his waist, and screwed the hook on its end into the trunk of the maple. He dropped a few feet, testing the rope, and then began to swing in slowly increasing arcs, getting closer to the balcony of the Woolcott home each time. The house was screened from the street by a heavy growth of shrubbery and a grove of trees, but at such a height there was still the risk of being seen by a passing janissary on patrol. For that reason he had worn dark clothing and chosen, not the tree just next to the house, but the one most likely to land him in the correct position quickly.

  He kicked his legs repeatedly and finally achieved a high enough arc to soar over the railing of the balcony. He let go of the rope suddenly and landed heavily on the porch, stumbling and crashing into the wall. He recovered his balance and flattened himself against the side of the house, his heart pounding, waiting for the lights and the voices and discovery.

  Nothing happened. He waited for his pulse rate to return to normal, then threw the rope back toward the tree so it wouldn’t be seen dangling from the second floor. He crept along the balcony to Amy’s room, looking quickly inside and then stepping back.

  She was lying on her side in bed with her back to him, reading by the light of a lowered gas jet. His respiration quickened again as he stepped forward once more and tapped on the glass.

  Amy turned toward him convulsively, frightened by the unlikely sound of someone knocking on her balcony doors, but when she saw who it was she threw back her coverlet and leaped from the bed. She ran barefoot in her nightgown across the carpet and yanked open the doors, throwing herself into Malik’s arms.

  “Thank God,” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him all over his face and clinging to him tightly, as if to make sure he was really there.

  Malik closed his eyes in exquisite relief and pressed his cheek against her hair.

  Chapter 9

  “Come inside,” Amy said suddenly, stepping back and tugging on his hands. “Someone might see us from the street.” She led him through the doors and closed them, drawing heavy drapes across the glass. Then she whirled and embraced him once more.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” Amy whispered, burying her face against his shoulder. “Am I sleeping? Is this a dream?”

  “It’s not a dream. I had to see you,” he said huskily, bending to pull her closer. “I missed you so much.” He could feel her warmth and softness through the thin batiste nightgown she wore as if she were naked.

  Amy raised her head to look at him in the soft light. His expression was unguarded, open, more vulnerable than she had ever seen it.

  “Amelia, I have to explain...” he began, but she stopped him by putting a finger to his lips.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re here now, we have tonight. Let’s not waste any of it going over the past. I had plenty of time to think when I feared I’d lost you, and I know what I want. Do you?”

  He swallowed and nodded, his eyes locked with hers.

  She took his hand and led him toward the bed.

  “Make love to me,” she murmured, reclining on the pillows and holding up her arms. “I don’t care what happens after tonight, at least we’ll have this to remember.”

  Malik needed no further invitation. He dropped next to her and enfolded her, stroking the silken skin of her bare arms, reminding himself that he had to go slowly, that no matter how ardent she might seem she was a virgin who could be hurt or frightened easily. This was new territory for him, too; his experience with camp followers had hardly prepared him to deal with Amelia’s eager innocence or reckless devotion. But fate had allowed him this reunion with her, and he could not deny them both what they most wanted any longer.

  Malik turned his head and kissed her gently, his lips hardly touching hers, pressing, then withdrawing, until she clutched him, locking her fingers behind his neck and kissing him back avidly. She felt the intrusion of his tongue, the hardness of his teeth, as he enjoyed the luxury of kissing her deeply, searchingly, pinning her to the bed with his weight. When this was no longer enough he lowered his mouth to her bare throat, tasting the fragrant flesh there, then traced the line of her collarbone with his tongue. She sighed and arched her neck invitingly, causing the V neckline of her gown to open further, exposing the creamy tops of her breasts. He kissed each one lingeringly, closing his eyes to savor the sensation, teasing the nipples through the thin cloth until Amy was moaning and twisting restlessly under his seeking mouth.

  “It seems an eternity since we were together,” he murmured, his lips against her skin.

  She sank her fingers into his hair and held him to her, gasping as he pushed aside the bodice of her gown and took one rigid peak into his mouth. Amy watched him as he loved her; his breathing was ragged, his face flushed dark, his lashes fanning his cheeks. She had never felt such an overwhelming desire to yield and submit, to give a man whatever he wanted. Malik drew back abruptly as his hands came up impatiently to pull her gown to her waist, then he bent again and Amy sighed blissfully at the renewed contact. His mouth was hot, his hair soft against her as he buried his face between her breasts, his hands roaming the smooth skin of her naked back. He turned his head and placed his burning cheek on her belly, his absorbed, drea
my expression reflecting the intensity of his emotion. His lips, moist and swollen from her kisses, were parted, allowing a glimpse of his teeth, stark white in his swarthy face.

  “I need you,” he murmured thickly. “ I never thought I could feel this way. I’ve thought of this moment every day since you left me.”

  “So have I,” Amy said, stroking his shoulders, his upper arms, feeling the tension knotting his muscles through his shirt.

  “Take this off,” she whispered, tugging on his collar. He sat up, stripping off the tunic in one motion, the upward movement flexing his arms and exposing the sculptured ribcage under his skin. Amy looked at his broad shoulders, the strong column of his neck, the simple beauty of his young manhood and her throat tightened with unshed tears. Removing the shirt had disordered his hair, and Amy reached up to smooth it back tenderly as he descended to her again.

  “You have such beautiful hair,” she said softly. “It was the first thing I noticed about you.”

  He kissed her again, murmuring against her mouth, “Your hair wasn’t the first thing I noticed about you.”

  “What was?” she asked, closing her eyes as he dropped a trail of kisses along the line of her jaw and then came back to her mouth, lingering there.

  “Your skin, your eyes, your body, your scent,” he answered, cupping one ripe breast, stroking the nipple until it hardened in his palm.

  “My scent?” she sighed, losing track of the conversation as he caressed her.

  “It’s been with me since I first held you,” he said huskily, “and now I am drunk with it.” He lowered his head to her shoulder and embraced her fully; Amy gasped as she felt him, heavy and ready against her thighs. She moved sinuously beneath him in an instinctive response, and Malik came close to losing control, pressing her down almost roughly. He ran his hand along her bare thigh under her gown and her legs fell apart in unconscious invitation.

  Malik ground his teeth and rolled off her, lying at her side with one arm flung over his eyes.

  “What is it?” Amy asked anxiously. “Did I do something wrong?”

  He held up his free hand, and she waited. When he looked at her again he lifted her fingers from their resting place on his shoulder and kissed them one by one.

  “You did everything right,” he said, but his voice was congested. “It’s just that I’m trying not to...rush you...”

  “And?”

  He closed his eyes. “It’s hard to go slow after waiting so long,” he finished lamely.

  “It is for me too,” she whispered, pressing herself against him again. He held her loosely for a moment, but when she embraced him more tightly he was soon stroking her breasts, her abdomen, kissing her wildly as he pulled her gown from her limbs. She hid her face against his shoulder as he looked at her, then she stiffened when he lifted her to him and she felt his full arousal against her naked body for the first time.

  “Are you all right?” he murmured.

  “Yes,” she said, relaxing as he stroked the slender curve of her back, his hand slipping lower with each caress until she was clinging to him like a limpet, avid for more. He kissed her again and again, with an intensity that belied his earlier caution, and as her excitement increased her response grew more abandoned, carrying them forward on a tide of desire. When he turned her slightly and slipped his hand between her legs, he forced himself to pause and gauge her reaction. But she was too far gone to protest, her skin flushed and dewed with perspiration, her eyes closed.

  “Do you like that?” he whispered, watching her face.

  She moaned and her lashes fluttered. When he moved she lifted herself toward him, begging silently, her body speaking for her. He gave her what she wanted, and when she reached for the waistband of his pants he left her only long enough to remove them, then rejoined her on the bed.

  This time when he pulled her to him and she felt flesh against flesh she did not hesitate, but melted into him, twining her legs with his. He groaned with satisfaction as she caressed him eagerly, running her hands over his muscular back, his skin now fiery and slick with sweat. She grew bolder, inflamed by curiosity and her burgeoning need, and pushed him a little away from her, exploring his chest and belly with searching hands. He closed his eyes as she rubbed his flat nipples with a soft palm; he sucked in his breath when she traced a trail with her forefinger from his heart to his navel, then caressed the line of hair below it. When she reached for him he held his breath, and when she touched him his head fell back, a pulse beating strongly at the base of his throat.

  Amy became lost in her own investigation of his body, the rough hair and silky skin, the contrast of hard and soft, so when his hand caught hers abruptly she looked up in shock.

  “Don’t,” he said curtly. His hand was trembling.

  All of Amy’s new confidence drained out of her in a sudden flood. When she drew back in consternation he sat up suddenly and seized her, pulling her back down with him and covering her face with kisses.

  “Don’t look like that, I love you,” he said huskily, pulling her arms around his neck. “I love you, I love you. You just don’t know what you’re doing to me. I want to be gentle, I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re driving me crazy.”

  There was no doubting him as he held her close, the runaway pounding of his heart and the drawn bow tautness of his body mute evidence of his sincerity.

  “I want to drive you crazy,” she whispered fiercely, reaching up to touch his cheek. “I want you to want me as badly, as much as I want you.”

  He groaned helplessly. “Can you question it?”

  “Kiss me again,” she said, and he complied, soon bringing her back to a pitch of desire that had her whimpering with each caress. His mouth consumed her body and, her shyness completely gone, Amy matched his ardor. She held him to her as he tongued her navel, trailed his lips along her thighs and belly, then moved lower, wrapping his arms around her hips and lifting her to his mouth.

  Amy gasped, writhing away from him, but he held her steady, keeping her still with firm pressure until she felt the mounting pleasure and her resistance faded. She moaned softly, then moaned again, biting her lip as exquisite sensation flooded her body. She sank her fingers into his thick hair, digging her nails into his scalp, her head dropping back to the pillow in submission.

  Malik’s skin was aflame against her thighs, shining with sweat in the low light, the cords in his arms and back tight. When Amy could stand it no longer she tugged him upward, flinging her arms around his neck when he rose up to join her.

  “Please,” she gasped. “Please.”

  “What?” he said softly, his tongue in her ear. “What do you want?”

  She sobbed as he touched her and found her ready, more than ready. She pressed upward into his hand convulsively.

  “Tell me,” he said huskily, enjoying the depth of her need, which matched his. “Tell me.”

  “You. Inside me. Now.”

  Unable to wait any longer either, Malik positioned her, putting her flat on her back and looming above her. He lifted her hips and she locked her legs behind him.

  “This...it may hurt,” he said, barely able to speak.

  She kissed him in silent assurance, and he entered her as she did, stopping abruptly as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. The arms supporting him above her trembled with tension as he waited for her reaction.

  “Yes?” he said, biting his lip, fighting the urge to plunge into her again.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  He moved again, experimentally, and her sigh of satisfaction reassured him. He relaxed and drew her into his rhythm, groaning deeply when her response increased his pleasure.

  “I love you,” she whispered, tears seeping from the corners of her eyes.

  “I love you, Amelia,” he answered, and proved it.

  * * *

  The sound of rain drumming on the roof woke Amy, and she stirred to find Malik sprawled across her, his head on her shoulder, his arm flung across her waist. She
felt supremely happy and completely fulfilled, the slight ache in her loins reminding her of the experience she had just shared with the man in her bed.

  Sleep wiped the care from Malik’s face and made him appear to be her exact contemporary, his slenderness and glossy, unkempt hair contributing to the effect. The sheet was twisted under him, the coverlet drawn over his legs, his boneless sprawl indicative of total relaxation. Amy hated to disturb him, but she wanted to make use of the basin and ewer in a corner of the room. She shifted Malik’s weight gradually, finally freeing herself as he slumped back to the bed, still asleep. She tiptoed over to the washstand and picked up the soap and towel, working away busily until she looked up to find Malik’s eyes on her.

  “I saw you washing once before,” he said lazily.

  “When was that?”

  “The morning you woke up with me after you ran away. I came upon you when you were at the stream.”

  “And did you watch?” she said teasingly, walking back across the room and slipping into the bed.

  He seized her and rolled on top of her. “Of course. I had to tear myself away and then make a lot of noise so you would hear me coming the second time.”

  “You are a sneak,” she said, kissing the side of his throat.

  “I think I knew then that I had to have you,” he said quietly, turning to lay back against the pillows and pulling her into his arms.

  “You put up quite a fight, anyway,” Amy said.

  “It was clear to me from that morning that I would lose,” he said, tightening his grip around her. He waited a moment and then said, “Are you all right?”

  “I’m perfectly fine, never been better,” she said, putting her head on his shoulder.

  “I mean, are you bleeding?”

  “I was, a little, but it’s nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” She turned to look up at him and said, “Malik, what are we going to do?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” he replied.

  “Not then,” she replied. “Not when I first saw you.”