The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  She suddenly became aware of the bareness of her shoulders gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight, the swelling of her breasts above the ivory satin of her gown. “Please, be seated.” She hurriedly sat down in an armchair and looked at Jean Marc. He was dressed for the journey in boots and dark clothing and she tardily realized François was similarly garbed. “Supper will be served in a quarter hour. I hope that will be all right?”

  “Perfectly all right. Wine, Catherine?” Jean Marc was at the cabinet across the room, pouring wine into glasses. “You look in splendid health.”

  “Splendid,” François echoed softly as he resumed his seat. The warmth of his smile embraced her across the room.

  Catherine tore her gaze from François. “Wine? Yes, please. Where’s Juliette?”

  “She hasn’t come down to supper yet.” Jean Marc turned and handed a glass to Catherine and then moved across the room and gave the other to François. “I haven’t seen her since last night.”

  “I saw her this morning before I left for the fields. She’s probably sketching and forgotten the time again.” Catherine took a sip of wine. “If she’s not down in a few minutes, I’ll look for her.”

  “There’s no hurry.” Jean Marc sat down and stretched his booted legs out before him. “Juliette’s seldom on time. Drink your wine.”

  Catherine shot him a curious glance. “You’ve discovered that?”

  “ ’I’ve discovered a good many things about Juliette.” Jean Marc glanced idly at François. “You’re not drinking your wine.”

  Catherine smiled. “It’s the Vasaro wine I told you about. You remember?”

  “I remember.” François quickly raised the glass to his lips and drank deeply.

  “Do you like it?” Catherine asked. “This is a good vintage.”

  François nodded, his gaze meeting Catherine’s. “I find the bite more obvious than the sweetness, but sometimes that’s what a man needs.”

  “Is it?” Heat began to tingle through her and she hastily averted her eyes. “Philippe said this year’s grapes would be excellent. I hope he’s right. The vineyards are—”

  A sharp clatter interrupted her words.

  She looked back at François, startled. He was slumped sidewise in his chair and his glass had shattered on the floor, the red wine splashed across the oaken tiles.

  Catherine jumped up and rushed toward François in alarm. “Jean Marc, he’s ill!”

  “No.” Jean Marc stood up and moved swiftly across the room. He pushed François’s head back and examined his face. He straightened and added with satisfaction, “But he’s very definitely asleep. He didn’t drink it all, but it should keep him out of the way until the ship is under sail.”

  “You drugged him?”

  “I thought it kinder than hitting him on the head,” Jean Marc said, then shrugged. “I respect the man. I didn’t want to hurt him.” He opened the top buttons of François’s shirt and spread back the stiff collar. “Now he should be comfortable enough. I have a horse saddled and waiting in the stable. By the time he begins to stir, the Bonne Chance will be out of the harbor.”

  “This is not well done, Jean Marc,” Catherine said coldly. “He is a guest in my house.”

  “My dear Catherine, would you have preferred I waited until I got to Cannes and left him lying in the gutter for the thieves to pick?”

  “No, but it is not right—”

  “Danton set him to spy on me. I won’t find the statue only to have him take it away from me and give it to the republic. Au revoir, Catherine, tell Juliette I—” He stopped. “You probably won’t get a chance to tell her anything when she finds out I’ve left without her. She can be very voluble when she’s displeased.”

  He left the salon and a moment later Catherine heard the front door slam behind him.

  SEVENTEEN

  The Bonne Chance sailed out of Cannes harbor in late evening.

  “I see no reason for all this hurry. I hope you know we left half of the trade cargo in the warehouse, Jean Marc,” Simon De Laux, Jean Marc’s captain of the Bonne Chance, said as he looked grimly back at the shore. “Mind, this journey won’t pay for itself.”

  “Yes, it will.” Jean Marc slanted Simon a smile. “It may be the most profitable trip of our long association together.”

  “I don’t see it.”

  “Just put me ashore at La Escala as soon as possible and I promise I’ll be more than content.”

  Simon shrugged as he turned away from the rail. “If that’s what you wish.” He started to climb the steps to the bridge. “By the way, I sent the woman to your cabin.”

  Jean Marc froze. “Woman?”

  “Mademoiselle de Clement. She came on board early this afternoon.” He grimaced. “She’s been sitting on deck all day sketching the men as they loaded cargo. If you must bring along a woman, I wish you’d choose one who doesn’t order my sailors to stop their work and pose for her. I might have been able to load all the cargo if—” He stopped as he saw Jean Marc’s expression. “You didn’t expect her?”

  Juliette. Jean Marc’s hands tightened on the rail as he felt the sudden thickening in his groin. The surge of lust tearing through him was so violent it took him off guard and he couldn’t speak for a moment. “Yes.” Buried within him had been the knowledge Juliette would not give up. That she was on board filled him with a wild mixture of emotions he was half afraid to examine. He could accept the lust and excitement of the challenge to come, but for an instant there had also been joy and that must be banished. “Yes, I suppose I did expect her.”

  “I was surprised.” Simon’s bushy gray-black brows furrowed. “She’s not your usual type of woman, Jean Marc.”

  “No.” Jean Marc turned and strode down the deck toward the master cabin. “She’s not usual in any way.”

  Juliette was sketching, curled comfortably on the bunk. Comfort fled and every muscle stiffened as Jean Marc walked into the cabin. His usual shuttered expression was firmly in place, but she could sense the volatility hidden beneath his quizzical smile. She swiftly lowered her gaze to the sketch she was finishing of the sailor lifting a cask of wine onto the deck. “Good evening, Jean Marc, I expected you much later. Did you rid yourself of François?”

  “Yes, it proved simple enough. A bit of laudanum in his wine.” He closed the door and leaned back against it. “But it’s not such an easy matter to get rid of you evidently.”

  “Are you surprised to see me?”

  “No.”

  “I like your Captain De Laux. He’s very gruff but he knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to speak his mind. Do you know he told me if I didn’t stop interfering he’d have me carried to the cabin and locked in? Very intelligent of him, don’t you think?”

  “You’ve made a mistake. It took more strength than you know for me to let you go, and I have no intention of doing it again. I meant every word I said, Juliette.”

  She forced herself to look at him and then wished she hadn’t. It was difficult to pretend to be casual when she saw the way he was staring at her. This wasn’t the Jean Marc who had held her and soothed her pain in the garden at the house on the Place Royale. This man was blade-sharp, blatantly sensual. “I know you did. Why do you think I told the captain I was to occupy your cabin? I thought it would save time to make things clear in the beginning.” She paused and whispered, “I have to go on this journey, Jean Marc.”

  “At the price of your virtue? I assume you are a virgin, since de Gramont failed to seduce you?”

  She tried to shrug carelessly. “That’s not so high a price. I thought about it a long time and decided none of the women I admire are virgins. Madame Vigée Le Brun and Madame de Staël have intelligence and wit and they’re both reputed to have lovers. I shall have a salon and paint many famous people.” She put the sketch on the mattress beside her. “Shall we proceed? I’m a little nervous and I’d like to get it over with.”

  “Oh, no.” Jean Marc straightened away from the door. “I
have no intention of hurrying. That’s not the way it’s done, Juliette. The consummation of the game always comes last. We have several days at sea to allow me ample time to obtain the satisfaction I want from you.”

  She studied him, trying to see beyond the smiling cynicism. “You don’t wish to fornicate with me now?”

  “My dear Juliette, I wish that so much I’m hurting with it.” Jean Marc moved toward her. “A man is far more vulnerable than a woman in this kind of battle, but I’ve learned to control my body’s reactions over the years. I can wait.”

  Juliette blinked. “Wait for what?”

  He smiled. “Until you say, s’il vous plaît, Jean Marc.”

  She felt as if he’d struck her. “You do want to hurt me.”

  “I want only to win the game.”

  “It’s the same thing.” She shook her head. “I won’t let you do that to me.”

  “Yes, you will. Because you want it as much as I do. It’s been there between us since those days at the inn.”

  “No, I never thought of—I wanted only to paint you.”

  “You wanted to break the mirror,” Jean Marc said softly. “Did it never occur to you that’s what would happen if we came together? Destruction and then renewal.”

  Juliette’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. Could he be right? It was true Jean Marc had dominated her thoughts since she had first met him, and when he had returned to her life she had not been able to be in the same room with him without a sense of excitement and anticipation.

  No, she couldn’t accept that he could be so important to her. It was much too dangerous. “I wanted only to paint you,” she repeated.

  He uncorked a bottle of wine at the sideboard, brought it and a glass to the table, and sat down. “It doesn’t really matter now. Undress, please.”

  Her heart leapt in her throat. “I thought you said—”

  “Oh, I did, but there are other forms of gratification besides a final consummation. While you undress I’ll tell you what I’ll expect of you on this journey.” He poured a glass of wine and leaned against the high back of the chair. “As my mistress, naturally you’ll be obedient to my wishes in all things carnal. You agree that’s reasonable?”

  “Yes,” she said warily.

  “Well, first I want to see you entirely unclothed.” He raised the glass, a brilliant smile lighting his dark face. “Oblige me, s’il vous plaît. You see, I’m not afraid to say the words. Polite requests are natural between lovers.”

  “We’re not lovers.” Juliette began to unfasten her gown. “It’s only another bargain.”

  “Yes, and you’ve placed yourself in a position where I set the terms. Shall I tell you what they are?”

  Juliette’s dark red gown slipped to form a pool of color at her feet. She stepped out of it. “Why do you ask me? You’re going to do it anyway.”

  “You have the most superb skin.” His gaze caressed the flesh of her shoulders. “Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to reach out and stroke it? To put my palm on your cheek or run my fingertips over your throat?”

  Juliette tensed under his gaze and she hurriedly looked away. “You’ve touched me before.”

  “Oh, but not enough. I want to be able to touch you at will. Whenever we’re in this cabin I want you available to me.”

  “I’ll be spending a good deal of time on the deck sketching.”

  “Will you? I have no objection as long as you go to the cabin when you’re sent.”

  “Is that supposed to make me angry?” Juliette sat down on the bunk and began to take off her stockings. “I’m not at all pretty and I have no idea how to please a man. You’ll probably become bored quite soon and let me do as I will.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “No, Juliette, it will take me a long time to become bored with you. I haven’t been able to think of anything but you since I first set eyes on you.” His hand tightened on the stem of the glass. “You have only a few garments left, and I find I’m becoming impatient. Shall I help you?”

  “No.” She stood up and with trembling hands discarded the last petticoats and stood there completely unclothed. “I need no help.”

  “I do.” His voice was thick. “Come here.”

  Her gaze flew to his face and for a moment she couldn’t move. He looked … she didn’t know how to interpret how he was looking at her, but it was having a most strange effect on her. A tingling seemed to be spreading from the palms of her hands and the bare soles of her feet to every nerve and muscle in her body. She walked slowly across the room and stopped before his chair.

  “Closer.”

  “I’m nearly on top of you now.”

  “What a delightful thought.” His gaze moved from her breasts down her body to narrow on the tight curls surrounding her womanhood. “Dark as the other. I wondered …”

  The blood seemed to scorch beneath her skin and then center heavily where his gaze was resting.

  A flush tinted his cheeks, and his nostrils flared slightly as his breathing quickened. “Part your thighs.”

  She hesitated and then obeyed.

  “Wider.” His gaze never left her lower body. “Do you know how exquisite you are? Your breasts are quite perfect and your limbs remind me of one of the nymphs in a painting by—”

  “You don’t have to lie to me. I know I’m not—” She inhaled sharply as his hard, warm palm suddenly covered the curls he’d been studying so closely. He started to pet her, slowly, sensuously. The muscles in her stomach clenched helplessly as his fingers tangled and pulled at the short curls.

  “You like that?” His gaze lifted to her breasts. “Yes, I see you do. You’re very responsive, Juliette.” He leaned forward and his tongue caressed the pointed nipple of her left breast. “Sometimes I wake in the night and remember how you looked lying on the stairs with these pretty things ruby-red and glistening, how you tasted …” His teeth closed gently on the distended pink tip, and he shook his head teasingly back and forth. Then his mouth opened wide and he enveloped almost her entire breast as if he wanted to devour her, his warm tongue exploring even as he drew strongly.

  She was beginning to tremble, the heat between her thighs increasing until it was nearly painful, and yet she didn’t want to move away from him. She could feel the pull of his mouth with every breath she drew, and for one wild instant she felt as if he were absorbing her, becoming part of her.

  His eyes closed, his face flushed with sensual enjoyment. “Sweet Juliette.” His mouth released her and his eyes opened. He leaned back in the chair, gazing at her engorged breasts with so much pleasure shining in his eyes that another wave of heat seared her. “Who could have known you’d prove this sweet?”

  His hand closed on her narrow waist and brought her closer. He rubbed his cheek back and forth on her breasts, his dark hair brushed her nipples in soft abrasion, and the faint bristle on his hard cheek trailed fire against her softness. He slipped his palms down to cup her buttocks and squeezed gently. “You like this?”

  She swallowed. “You know I do. I wouldn’t be standing here like a ninny if I didn’t.”

  “I could please you more.”

  Yes, she thought, if she pleaded with him to pleasure her, if she gave him dominance with her words. It was a price she wasn’t willing to pay. “No.” She shook her head. “No, I won’t say it.”

  “I didn’t think you would.” He placed a last regretful kiss on her breast. “But I truly hoped this small exhibition would be sufficient to convince you.” He pushed her gently away. “Go to bed.” He rose to his feet. “I’m going to walk on deck. Sleep well.”

  He knew she wouldn’t sleep. He had allowed her only the briefest glimpse of sensual pleasure and seen to it that she was aching with frustration. “I will.” She turned and tried to walk nonchalantly away from him toward the bunk. It was no mean feat when she could feel his gaze on her every step of the way. “Though I may sketch a little first.”

  “By all means.” She turned to see a fl
icker of admiration mixed with the amusement in his face. “It may be as effective a soporific as my walk on the deck.” He turned and moved toward the door. “Which I’m sure will have absolutely no effect whatever.”

  The door closed behind him.

  Juliette was still awake when he came back to the cabin hours later. She quickly closed her eyes and kept them firmly shut and her breathing steady as she heard him begin to undress.

  “Oh, no, ma petite, if I can’t sleep, neither can you. Open your eyes. I want you to see how much I want you.”

  She opened her eyes. Jean Marc was naked.

  He was quite splendid in his bold male dominance. His body had the same golden-olive hue as his face and possessed a lean, sinewy elegance. He stood tall with well-muscled shoulders, powerful thighs and calves. A triangle of dark hair thatched his chest and another springy growth encircled his erect manhood. She stared, fascinated. “The duke was not nearly so—”

  “I have no desire to hear about the duke’s physical dimensions.” Jean Marc climbed beneath the covers and drew her gently into his arms. She stiffened and then forced herself to relax as his warm male body pressed against her. His fingers moved up to tangle in her hair as he kissed her temple. “We’d both be much happier if you’d give in now, you know.” He moved against her, and she felt the hard strength of his arousal. “You see how much I want you?” He gently stroked her hair. “And you’re feeling the fever, too, aren’t you?” He began pressing gossamer kisses on her face and throat. Everything he did was done lovingly, gently, handling her with the greatest care, as if she were very precious. She found herself flowing against him, arching her face to receive his kisses.

  He looked down at her. “You like to be kissed?”

  “Yes. I don’t ever remember being kissed before. It feels very … sweet.”

  He went still. “Is that supposed to remind me of what a lonely, neglected child you were growing up at Versailles?”