"Allah," he said, "but you know about the element of surprise. I do believe you won this battle. I surrender to your tender ministrations. Have mercy."
Angela laughed, her hands raised to her mouth, her eyes twinkling. It occurred to Alexi that it had been a very long time since he'd heard her laugh. His deep, throaty chuckle joined hers.
For a few long seconds she looked at him, endearingly shy and utterly beautiful.
"If you get to lick the wine from me, it is only fair that you give me the same privilege," she said.
Every muscle, from his head to his toes, tightened. He thought of her lips on his wine-soaked body. "There is nothing fair about this," he gritted out, and once again he swept her off her feet, the sheet slipping from her breasts to pool around her waist.
They fell upon the bed, his mouth closing hungrily over hers and her soft, loving sounds echoing in his throat. A tenderness so intense he could barely hold himself back swept through him.
Then he felt her arms curling around him. Felt her fingers teasing through his hair, drawing him closer. Her mouth parted timidly, yet met his fevered urgency.
The ship sped swiftly across the water.
"Sweet angel," he whispered. "Don't deny me again."
He continued to kiss her, his hand stroking down to her ankle, lifting and parting the sheet as he brought his fingers back to her waist. She clung to him, meeting the demands of his lips, seeking and then finding him. Her eyes were closed, her lashes damp, her urgency undeniable.
She hummed when he stroked her, sighed when she touched him, purred deep in her throat when he suckled her. He thought he'd died and gone to heaven.
He tugged at the buttons to his breeches, freeing himself. Yet as he shifted, he felt the slowing of the ship beneath them, and for a brief moment wondered why.
His desire raged, yet it was tempered. He meant to take the longest time, meant to satisfy her in every way. Yet when he would have moved with slow precision, she cried out his name, moving against him, responding wildly to his caress. He struggled mentally for control, knowing it was a lost cause.
He meant to learn her softness firsthand.
The ship stopped. Alexi paused, his hand quickly moving to cover Angela with a bed sheet.
He listened.
Pounding feet overhead was the only warning. A cannon shot exploding near the Mystic had Alexi springing from the bed and groping for the buttons of his pants.
Three shots in rapid-fire succession. The boat rocked, water spraying outside the window in glistening droplets.
"Stay here," he said. "Bolt the door." He had fastened his pants and was even now slipping his arms through his shirtsleeves. "Get dressed."
"Alexi?"
He kissed her hard then he was gone.
~ * ~
Stunned by all that had happened, Angela touched one finger to her lips. She had almost made love to him. If not for the ship firing on them, she would have. Suddenly she fully realized the impact of what was happening outside.
"Pirates? Barbary pirates?" Surely not. He had Turkish relatives.
Yet the sounds and the thought of pirates sparked a sense of primal fear deep inside Angela. Before she'd first heard the staccato rhythm of booted feet above her, she'd promised herself she'd stop Alexi before he made love to her. The day had been filled with tension and fear for herself, and she knew that without a doubt she would never have been able to stop him. She would never have said no.
Perhaps this had been a godsend. Not if it were indeed pirates attacking the ship.
The clipper ship answered back with cannon shot of its own. Angela sat up. Without knocking, Misha opened the door. There was an urgency about him.
"Lock it," he said and was gone.
Then she heard the grappling irons, the grinding of wood against wood, the men yelling and shouting.
Through the window, she looked out across the wide expanse of sea that stretched away from the Mystic. Another ship close by unfurled its sails and seemed to hover, waiting in the stillness.
It did not fly the skull and crossbones, but the flag of its country of origin. There was nothing about the flag to spark fear in her heart. Ships didn't fly a country's colors then attack another ship.
It was unheard-of. It was a declaration of war.
Those thoughts came unbidden to her mind, and raw fear spiraled through her--fear and denial. She pushed her face to the glass, trying to see as much as possible.
Angela's heart raced, thundering loud and clear in the sudden silence that seemed to encompass the ship. As quickly as the sounds had begun, they ended. The men on the Mystic must have surrendered. Probably the wisest course, she told herself.
Boots hammered across the ship above her and down the stairs toward the cabin. She clung to the sheet, held it against her nakedness, trembling. She should have dressed. She should have locked the door.
It was too late now. If they meant to harm her, she would fight. There was nothing else she could do.
How many of them were there? A whole shipful. Alexi wouldn't let them have her without a fight. That meant only one thing: he lay dead in a pool of blood on the deck of the Mystic.
Strangely, she'd heard no sound of swords. Not one gunshot had filled the air. Only the cannon blasts had pierced the lazy day. Lazy, until they'd been boarded by pirates.
She trembled, desperately clinging to the sheet, her back against the wall. Alexi had wanted her, had offered to give her all she desired, and she'd refused him time and again.
Now what would happen to her?
Angela jerked when the door opened, her shoulders trembling with fright at the sight of the man standing boldly in the door. The pirate had come for her, and she knew she'd end up in some Turkish harem.
She heard laughter and shouts, and she wondered at that.
Holding on to her dignity by a fragile, single thread, she rose to her feet. Once again she had a sheet wrapped around her. Suddenly, while she stood trembling with fear, Alexi burst through the men, pushing all but one out of the doorway.
"I told Misha to have you bolt the door." He looked furious.
He had every right to be. She'd told him she would obey him if his commands were reasonable.
The door slammed shut. He glanced at Angela, then at the man standing boldly in the cabin.
"Don't be frightened, Angela," Alexi said, his voice now calm and soothing.
She could barely breathe, could barely speak, and he was asking her not to be afraid. 'What does he want? Tell me what he wants."
Instantly Alexi stood beside her, wrapping her in a dressing gown, hovering in front of her so the man could not see her. He lifted a hand, indicating the seat by the window.
"Alexi," she whispered again, "tell me what he wants."
The man laughed, his gaze focused on her. "I want to meet the woman who has stolen my son's heart," he replied.
The man who stood in front of her was bold and audacious. He was dark and mysterious, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
Her heart pounded. "Your son?" The rumors were true. His father was a Turkish sultan.
He nodded.
"And he's about to find out that he shouldn't have barged in here," Alexi said, his anger obvious to Angela.
"Alexi?" she questioned. Her eyes met his.
Angela's gaze returned to the man who'd entered the cabin unbidden, arrogantly assuming he could do as he pleased.
"Father," Alexi implored, "you must leave. This is not well done of you. She is my woman."
His father wore a white shirt and formfitting black pants. He carried no weapons, posed no threat as he stood with his hands braced on his hips. His face was chiseled, strong. His eyes were cold and hard, and they penetrated like ice as he looked her over. His hair was the same shade as Alexi's, his shoulders not quite so broad nor his height quite so intimidating. His mustache and beard were slightly silvered. She should have known this man was Alexi's father.
Alexi was made in his image.
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"You've seen too much already." Alexi growled low and deep. "You're my father, but that doesn't give you the right to--"
"Stare at your woman?" he asked, a chuckle following.
"You're more Eastern in your ways than even I imagined and prayed. You do not forsake your real people even while you embrace your new family. This is good." He spoke softly, but the sound carried through the room. Like Alexi, it was the voice of a man accustomed to being obeyed.
Chapter Thirteen
Moonglow shone softly against the backdrop of the warm Mediterranean night. With his father beside him, Alexi stood at the bow of the Mystic, Karim's ships cutting the sea protectively around them.
Alexi had expected something like this from his father, but Karim had gone too far when he barged into his cabin to confront Angela. Karim and his bodyguards had seen more of her than Alexi deemed appropriate.
"Why are you here, and why do you take such liberties?" Alexi's fingers bit into the sleek wood, his emotions tempered only by the knowledge that his father must have good reason for acting so brazenly and against a time-honored code.
"You're not glad to see me?" Karim asked, a strange smile slanting across his face.
"I'm honored you've gone to so much trouble, and yes, I'm glad to see you."
Karim stared out at the ocean before turning back to Alexi. "I've received a message from your grandmother." Karim let that statement hang in the air. "Actually, I've received quite a few in the years you've been away. But this is the first one that sparked my interest. I knew you would return home."
Karim stood near Alexi, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze once more focused ahead.
"I'm sure you have received many. I didn't tell her where I was going or what I was about. She would have interfered in my life, and at the time I needed to be left alone."
Alexi turned, trying to relax--not succeeding by any means.
"So it was you who forwarded the letter," Alexi said.
"I knew the missive would bring you home." Karim chuckled and pointed toward the east, his eyes cast there reverently. "The old lady is a powerful force--one to be reckoned with--and stubborn to a fault. I don't believe Attila the Hun could have ignored her for long.'' Once again there was a long pause. "I admire her. She means well, though at times I am hard-pressed to agree with her. She has made a grave mistake this time, and wished for my intervention in the matter. I sent Ivan."
"Ivan?" One eyebrow rose in speculation. "Grandmother is not easy to ignore. All her life she has manipulated events so she would have her way. What is this mistake you speak of?'' Curiosity drew him. His grandmother was also not known to admit to mistakes easily.
"It would not be so in my country. She would understand her place."
"The Ottoman Empire is dying, and the ways of the Western world are already creeping into the country. What is it you heard from my grandmother?''
"Natasha writes that she's picked out a wife for you. Her name is Feodora. Do you know her?"
Alexi nodded. "There isn't a nobleman in all of the East who doesn't know of Feodora," he said, his tone filled with sarcasm. "I guessed she had picked a bride for me. I did not know who until just now." His instincts warned him his father had more to reveal--much more--and he'd do so in his own sweet time.
"Do you know anything about her?"
"Very little that isn't founded in rumor. Her noble blood would make her a suitable wife for me or anyone else. Yet if what I've heard of her is true, I'd never know who fathered the children that grew in her belly. She's had countless affairs, lifts her skirts to any man who glances her way." He hesitated. "I believe I would like to find out for myself what the lady is like. Although I'd trust Ivan's opinion."
For different reasons, Feodora would be no more suitable as a wife than Angela. At least he cared for Angela.
And Angela would be true to him...
Alexi's heart skipped a beat, and he inhaled a ragged breath. She would be true to me.
"That is good to know." Karim's voice was solemn. "Ivan volunteered to watch over her until you returned. He vowed that Feodora would be big with his child by the time you found the estate again. That way she can in no way force an unwanted marriage and a bastard on you."
Alexi smiled thoughtfully. "Such a task he's taken on. One look at Ivan, and Feodora would be lost. She could never resist a handsome man."
"That was the purpose. Natasha and Ivan and I have plotted to save you from her loose ways. You must find a wife suitable for your station and one who is faithful; then you can take as many mistresses as you want."
Alexi wanted only one woman in his bed.
Angela...
She still hadn't told him about her father or her name. Misha hadn't told him either. Events were truly out of hand.
~ * ~
Feodora was sicker than she'd been in all of her adult life. Bent over at her waist, she lost her breakfast for the third day in a row. Moving slowly, she made her way to the pitcher of water on her nightstand and rinsed her mouth. She spit it out, afraid to swallow, afraid to move lest the horrible retching begin all over again.
Since Ivan had come to Alexi's estate, everything had changed for the worse. He would smile at her, and against her better judgment she gave herself to him. She could not exorcise him from her mind. His body looked and felt like an aphrodisiac. He left her aching and needing. When she looked at him, she would begin to tremble, and she would inevitably break out in a cold sweat, her heart pumping fiercely, her breath coming in shallow, ragged pants.
She hated Ivan, and he detested her, but they fit together like a hand to a glove. He filled her like no other. She knew his intentions were to soil her already tarnished reputation to a state where no one would want her, where Alexi would not marry her. Unable to stop herself, she still came to him in the middle of the night, begging for his attentions.
She knew she was shameless.
If she didn't wed Alexi, her father would have her thrown from his house and disowned. She would be left with nothing.
It seemed Ivan had succeeded in his mission. He had completely despoiled her, where no one else had. She'd always managed to lose the babies she'd conceived.
Until now.
"Sweet Jesus." She moaned and gave in to her sickness once more, every muscle screaming in protest.
She felt Ivan's presence beside her, before she was able to acknowledge him. He knew her condition.
"Go away," she finally said, unwilling to see his victorious grin. "Leave me to die in peace."
Soothingly, he touched her back, massaging her, working the kinks from her aching muscles. "You are not dying. This is perfectly normal, as well you know."
"How?" she asked.
He laughed, the sound booming in the quiet of the warm morning sun. "You dare ask? Why, I thought you were well versed in the ways of men and women."
"You know what I mean." She turned and accepted the cool glass of water Ivan handed her, once again not daring to swallow.
One of Ivan's dark eyebrows rose in amusement as he stared at her, humor written in every nuance. "I do?" he questioned, his eyes twinkling a challenge she wanted to ignore. "I would not dare to attempt to figure out the workings of your mind."
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