One Touch of Topaz

by Iris Johansen

  “Were you worried? I didn’t mean to trouble anyone.” She came into the room and closed the door. “I just wanted to simplify matters, and I thought this was the best way to do it.”

  She hadn’t expected him to be naked. The sight of him gave her an odd erotic shock. In the primitive earthiness of the cavern she had found the nudity of his bold, powerful body arousing but somehow natural. In this ultra-civilized room of Louis XIV furniture and delicate patterns carved on fine old wood, his sexuality was a stunning anomaly. Her gaze was drawn like a magnet to the brawny muscles of his thighs, framed against the navy satin sheets.

  “Of course I was worried.” He scowled. “All evening you were laughing and talking, charming every blasted man in sight, and then you disappear completely.”

  “I was waiting on the terrace until the last of your guests left.” She smiled faintly. “I did some scouting earlier to locate your suite. I’m quite good at scouting, you know. It’s a talent I was forced to acquire in the last six years.”

  “May I ask why I’m honored by your presence? I thought you understood my position and that our discussion was finished.”

  “Oh, I’m done with discussion.” She kicked off her shoes, reached behind her, and unzipped her gown. “Talk is entirely finished.” She let the gown drop to form a golden pool on the Aubusson carpet. She stepped out of it, dressed only in a garter belt, her bikini panties, and the sheerest of stockings. “I understood everything you said.”

  Fletch’s gaze was fastened, mesmerized, on the delicate fullness of her naked breasts. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Undressing.” She sat down on the petit-point-cushioned seat of the Louis XIV chair against the wall and unfastened one of the tabs holding her stockings. “I thought that was obvious.”

  “Samantha, listen—”

  “No,” she said clearly, rolling down the stocking and pulling it off. “You listen to me.” She undid the other stocking and started to roll it down. “You made sure I was put in a position where I was forced to accept your charity—”

  “It wasn’t charity. You were shot because of me, dammit.”

  “It was charity.” She tossed the stocking aside and unfastened the garter belt. “And it only goes to show how little you really know me, that you’d even think I’d let you get away with it.”

  “I do know you. You get to know someone pretty well under circumstances like the ones we shared.”

  She shook her head. “You got to know only a part of me. You got to know a woman who was exhausted, frightened, and at the end of her rope. Why did you think that was all there was to me? I survived in those hills for six years. I saw my father shot to death before my eyes. I went through more than you can ever imagine.” She stood up and tossed the garter belt aside. “You appear to think because I seem to have a gentle nature, that must denote some kind of weakness.”

  “I didn’t say that, Samantha.”

  “But you believe it. You even told Skip to quit calling me Topaz.” She came toward him, wearing only her jeweled slave bracelet and her topaz ring. “If I’m gentle, it’s because I choose to be. Not because I’m incapable of being strong. I’m Samantha, but I’m also Topaz.” She stopped by the bed. “I can’t black out those six years because they helped to make me what I am. I’ll always be both Samantha and Topaz for the rest of my life.”

  His eyes were hot as they ran over her, fastening on the tight, springy curls guarding her womanhood. “You can call yourself anything you want, if you’ll just put some clothes on,” he said thickly.

  She shook her head. “Why?” Her gaze flicked down his body. “That’s not what you want. You want me to come to bed with you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. We made a deal. You kept your part of it, now it’s time for me to keep mine.” She reached out and picked up his hand from the coverlet. A little shiver went through her; she had forgotten the blunt, sinewy power of that hand, and its warmth and hardness came as a sensual shock. She put his palm on the soft flesh of her belly and promptly felt a melting sensation between her thighs. “I’m going to have your baby, Fletch.”

  He snatched his hand away. “No.”

  She took a step nearer and placed her hand gently on the rough, springy auburn thatch pelting his chest. She felt a tremor, and then his chest contracted as if she had struck a brand to it. “I will,” she whispered. “I told you I always keep my word.” Her fingers trailed down his chest, feeling his muscles tense and harden in their path. “You want me. You want a child. I’ll give you both. Anytime you want me.” Her fingers curled in the coarse hair surrounding his manhood. “You can’t stop it.”

  “I can.” He spoke through gritted teeth, his jaw set as if she were torturing him. He shuddered as she sat down on the bed and rubbed her breasts against his chest. “Samantha … get away … from me.”

  She ignored him as she bent to lick delicately at the hollow of his shoulder. “You taste salty.” She bit teasingly at his flesh. His chest was laboring as if he were running. “If you make me leave now, I’ll only come back tomorrow. If you leave Paris, I’ll follow you. I’ll make myself available in hotels, limousines, at your office. Shut me out and I’ll still find a way to you, wherever you are.” She brushed her nipples against him teasingly. “So why not give in now? It will save us both time and effort.” She turned her face and licked lazily at his nipple. He made a sound that was between a gasp and a groan. “I think this is a good time for me. I’m not sure, but I believe I’m in a fertile period right now. You could put your seed in me and perhaps we—”

  He broke.

  “God!” He snatched her to him with bruising strength. One kiss, two, she lost count as his mouth drained her, took breath and power with dizzying strength. He was muttering words, but they were unintelligible, feverish, as he pulled her down over him. For an instant she was afraid; she could see none of the gentleness he had shown her the first time. He was all male lust.

  He parted her thighs with frantic haste and sheathed her on his manhood. She bit her lower lip as waves of sensation shivered through her. Captured. Pinned. Unable to move except at his command. It was unbearably erotic. “Fletch …”

  “Mine.” His nostrils flared as he tried to force air into starved lungs. His hips bucked upward, forcing her to take more of him. “Mine, Samantha.” His hands on her hips refused to let her give, only take. “This is … mine.”

  Possession. The most primitive, sensual possession she had ever imagined. She couldn’t breathe. She threw back her head, and her lips parted as she struggled to survive through this heated belonging. “I think … you’re …”

  “You’re killing me.” His teeth were clenched. “So tight. It’s like nothing …” He began to move. Gently at first, then harder, and finally wildly, deeply.

  She clutched his shoulders, lost in a haze that was blindingly erotic.

  “Give …” Fletch groaned.

  She couldn’t give any more; there was no more to give. She tried, but the primitive rhythm was too intense. She could only hold on to the whirlwind, hold on to Fletch. Beauty. Wildness. Depth.

  Then she was flung free of the whirlwind and at the same time clasped close to Fletch as spiraling passion exploded into a greater beauty than had gone before.

  Her breasts were rising and falling as she tried to get her breath. “Dear heaven, Fletch,” she whispered as she buried her face in his shoulder. “I never thought you’d react like that….” She trailed off; there weren’t any words, anyway.

  “Did I hurt you?” His voice was very low.

  She laughed huskily. “Why are you always asking me that?”

  “Well, did I?”

  “No.” Her lips brushed his shoulder. “Definitely not.”

  He lifted her off him. “I could have. I went crazy. You shouldn’t have done that. I haven’t had a woman for over four months.”

  “I liked it.” She raised
herself up on one elbow. “I loved it. I don’t shatter when anyone puts a finger on me, you know.”

  “So you’ve been telling me.” He turned over on his back, staring up at the midnight blue of the velvet canopy. “You still shouldn’t have done this.”

  “Are you angry?”

  He was silent for a moment. “No, but you shouldn’t—”

  “But I did do it,” she said calmly. “And it wasn’t easy. The role of vamp is pretty foreign to me.”

  He suddenly chuckled. “You could have fooled me. Circe couldn’t have done a better job.”

  “That’s not a kind comparison. I hear Circe was a most unpleasant lady. She turned men into swine.”

  “That’s not so far off in this case. I sure behaved like a starving wolf.”

  “Oh, Fletch.” She reached up and turned his face so that he was forced to meet her gaze. “Reassuring you every time we make love is going to become very tedious if you’re not sensible and accept the fact that I enjoy what you do to me.”

  He went still. “You’re speaking as if this is a permanent arrangement. You’re still determined on this insanity?”

  “I don’t change my mind very readily.”

  He opened his lips and then closed them again without speaking. His gaze searched her face. “Were you telling me the truth about this being a fertile period?”

  “It’s entirely possible.” She smiled. “But I think I’d better increase the odds. I’ll come to you tomorrow night, and every night after that, until you leave. How long will you be in Paris?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said slowly.

  “Then we’d better take advantage of the time we have.” She slipped beneath the satin sheet, tucked the other side around Fletch, then curled up next to him like a friendly puppy. “Whenever you feel like it, we’ll—” She yawned. “Oh, Lord, I’m sleepy again. Do you suppose this is going to happen all the time?” She made a face. “Some Circe. Just wake me up if you decide you want an encore.”

  His arm automatically went around her, cuddling her close. It was poignantly similar to that first night when she had fallen asleep in his arms. Similar, yet completely different. Now he was conscious of the steel beneath the softness, the strength that would bend but never break, Samantha and Topaz, one and the same.

  After a long time he closed his eyes, his arms holding her with a possessiveness that still held an element of wariness. This was a mistake. He couldn’t let her do this. Yet how could he stop her? His body responded to her as helplessly as if he had no will at all. He had never felt out of control in his life before, but he did now. He would have to steel himself.

  She sighed and moved closer.

  He smiled grimly in the darkness. Where was the steel now? Melted away as if it had never been by the touch of Samantha’s nearness. Oh, well, he would worry about this unexpected development tomorrow. Meanwhile it was sweet to lie here and pretend that Samantha belonged to him. Very sweet.

  He was sure his thoughts were of a radiant, gentle Samantha, but as he drifted off to sleep, the name he murmured was “Topaz.”

  Strength—warm, loving strength—entering her with exquisite gentleness. She was full. Brimming. The rhythm was starting again.

  She opened drowsy eyes to look up at Fletch’s face above her. “Lovely.”

  “Shhh, this won’t be long, but I had to …” He stroked deep, his face drawn with a pleasure that was almost pain. “I tried not to do this. It’s not …” A shudder rippled through him, the thrusting deepened. “But, Lord, I needed you.”

  Her arms slid around his shoulders, sleep departing as desire arrived. “It’s all right. You should have woke me sooner,” she whispered. “I told you—”

  His lips, covering her own, stopped the words. “Don’t talk,” he said when he lifted his head. “Just give to me. I need you to give to me. I don’t want to take again.”

  There was something important, something she should think about in those tersely uttered words. But she couldn’t think. Not now. She could only feel. Only instinct moved her, guided her. She began to undulate, helping him. “You never took.” Searing pleasure peaked, burned, and then died to warm, glowing embers.

  She was dimly aware of Fletch moving off her, then drawing her close once more. “I didn’t mean to do that again,” he said haltingly. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m glad you did.” Her lips drowsily caressed his arm. “It made me feel good, and it was nice not to be the aggressor for once.”

  “I think you must be mistaken.” His voice held a thread of humor. “I don’t believe anyone has ever accused me of lack of aggressiveness before.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt you’re a tiger in the boardroom.” She yawned. “Skip’s always telling me how intimidating you are.”

  “I obviously don’t intimidate you. My roars of protest certainly didn’t stop you earlier.” His hand gently stroked her hair. “My domain was attacked, invaded, and occupied before I knew what had happened.”

  She chuckled. “I believe I was the one who was occupied.”

  There was silence in the room.

  “Are you going to fight me on this?” she asked quietly.

  “Would it change your mind if I did?”

  “No,” she whispered. “But it would make me less tense, if I knew I wasn’t going to have to seduce you every night. You might just as well give in. I mean, I could already be pregnant now. It would kind of be like closing the barn door after the horses had gone.”

  His hand moved to touch the soft smoothness of her belly. His warm palm rested there, unmoving, heavily possessive. “I won’t fight you … now.”

  He meant until he was sure there was no child, she thought with a pang. Well, a little victory was better than none at all. “Good.” She closed her eyes. “I’m sure that will make things more pleasant for us both. Good night, Fletch. Sleep well.”

  “Sleep?” His hand slid lazily from her abdomen to between her thighs. His skilled fingers searched out and found their prize, then began flicking teasingly. “I have no intention of sleeping, Samantha.”

  A hot, aching shiver ran through her. “No?”

  “Hell, no,” he said softly. “It’s been a long four months.” Two fingers moved within her, and she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning with pleasure. “Do you know how many nights I lay awake and thought about that night in the cave? You won’t have to worry about seducing me. It’s more likely you’ll have to think of ways to discourage me.” He drew the sheet back and came over her, gently nudging her womanhood. “Is this aggressive enough for you, love? Is this what you want?”

  Nothing could be more aggressive than Fletch as he crouched over her, all male sexuality and sensual dominance. Strong thighs; tense, massive chest moving in and out with the harshness of his breathing; nostrils flaring in a face taut with desire. Just looking at him caused heat between her thighs.

  “Yes, Fletch.” Her legs encircled his hips, welcoming him into her. “That’s what I want.”

  “Where the devil are you going?” Fletch raised up on one elbow to frown at Samantha across the room. “Come back to bed.”

  She shook her head as she wriggled into the golden gown. “I have a class at nine.” She came back to bed and turned around. “Will you help me with this zipper?”

  “I take it the seduction is over?” He jerked the zipper up with a force that caused a hissed screaming of metal on metal. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with something really important.”

  “It is important,” she said calmly. “And there’s no reason why I should miss it when you’ll probably be involved with your business meetings today, anyway.”

  He was silent, scowling at her. “I could cancel my meetings.”

  “Nonsense.” She walked across the room to where she had slipped off her sandals the night before. “Our agreement was that I wasn’t to interfere with your professional life. It’s very kind of you to try to make me feel I’m not imposing on you, but—”

 
; “You’re not imposing.”

  She slipped on her sandals. “Will you call your chauffeur? I’m almost ready.” She ran her fingers through her tousled hair. “I don’t think I’m really suited for one-night stands. I feel terribly … mussed.”

  She was actually leaving him, Fletch realized with indignation and an odd sense of panic. He was not going to be able to convince her not to go. Not that he’d actually asked her to stay, but he had offered to cancel his meetings, dammit. “I … I want you to stay.”

  “That’s nice to know.” She lifted her head and smiled at him. “Then you’ll be glad to see me when I come back tonight.” She turned and walked toward the door. “Tell Pierre I’ll be waiting at the front door.”

  He sat up in bed. “What time will you be here tonight?”

  “Late.” She glanced over her shoulder as she opened the door. “I have an evening class too. I’ll call Skip and ask him to pick me up when I’m sure I’ll be free.”

  “That’s very good of you.” The irony in his tone was lost on Samantha, for she had closed the door behind her.

  He gazed moodily at the telephone on the bedside table. He was tempted not to call Pierre at the gate house but to go after Samantha and bring her back to his bed. He wanted her again. His body was as ready for her as if they hadn’t made love innumerable times in the last hours. Damn, he had never felt like this before. He was in a fever for her. He couldn’t get enough.

  He slowly reached out his hand and picked up the receiver, punching in the number of the gate house. To give in to a fever this strong would be madness. He would fight it, subdue this passion as he had subdued lesser passions, since experience had taught him how dangerous uncontrolled emotion can be. He would let her go and prove to himself that Samantha could not dominate his body as she did his thoughts.

  Pierre picked up his phone, and Fletch spoke briskly to him, then hung up abruptly.

  Besides, he told himself, she had promised to come back that night.