by Mallory Rush
He had to mask it. Taking several deep breaths, he gained his composure. He didn't want a power struggle and if Rachel sensed the depth of his vulnerability to her he would feel even more at risk than he already did. And yet, when he'd allowed her a glimpse she had responded with physical abandon and a tenderness he needed so much it made him ache.
It had stuck with him like a sweet lump of sugar wedged into the back of his throat. Likely the reason he'd given in and bought the two baby dolls he'd picked up, put down, and paced the marketplace for an hour before returning to buy. They were just bisque and cloth. Just sentimental memories.
Just his longing for the woman who held the key to reunite him with his sister. One who was also unlocking some parts of himself he was stunned to discover still existed.
Keys. Locks. Doors.
"Do it," he commanded himself.
His hand was poised to knock. But then he remembered his role, allowing him to solidify his hold under the pretense of acting his part.
With a clench of his jaw, he went directly for the knob.
His breath left him. She was facing the window, looking out to the indigo sky, her hand clenched into the voluminous drapes. The white gauze spilled through her ruby painted nails and trailed the ground, blending into the white sari of silk she wore. One shoulder was bare, the other half covered by flowing, sheer fabric. Her back was partially exposed, revealing skin as rich and soft as cream icing on a cake. It contrasted with the cascade of her hair—a study in scarlet temptation.
He thought she must be driving him a little crazy.
Rand leaned against the door. She gave a small start before whirling around to face him.
Holy heaven above, what is she trying to do? Get ahead instead of even? If he'd upped the stakes, Rachel seemed to have decided to make it all or nothing.
"I see you wore the white for me." Rand cleared his throat since swallowing wasn't possible with his mouth so dry. "I also see you've adapted something of a local touch."
"Do you like it?" Her voice was unsure, anxious perhaps. The curtain she clenched appeared to have a case of the tremors.
"I don't know if like is the word." He advanced and her kohl lined eyes darted to the bed. Then quickly back to him. Well, he thought with relief, at least he wasn't the only one feeling his feet slip on the high wire.
"I found the cosmetics laid out in the bathroom. I sent Jayna away so I just used my imagination. They're not exactly what I'm used to." She wet her lips which were glossed to a deep shade of wine. "I mean, the make-up I usually wear is different back home."
"I wish you'd try to think of this as our home until we get back to the States." He found her feminine uncertainty immensely appealing, especially since he'd never seen a woman look as desirable as she did now. Standing there, wringing the curtain, afraid she'd put her make-up on wrong.
"Is it too much? Maybe the ruby dot should go." Her eyes, kohl lined and as mysterious as the Orient, glanced up to the dot she couldn't see on her forehead, then to him for reassurance. "I'm going to wash my face."
He caught her by the arm in mid-exit and insistently pulled her to him. Twining a hand through her hair, he urged her head back. The tiny beauty mark she'd penciled into the low hollow of her left cheek dipped as her lips parted to accommodate a soft gasp.
"Leave it," he said, his voice a little rough. "You do realize, don't you, that you're the kind of woman a man wants to stare at to the point of being rude."
"I—I like it when you look at me. I always wonder what you're thinking behind those one-way windows."
"One-way windows?"
"Your eyes. Sometimes I peek in when you don't think I'm looking. That's when I see the most."
And how much had she seen today? How far had she looked when he'd been half out of his mind to take her willing body only to find he had more moral fiber than rutting instincts?
"Do you peek in while I'm busy staring?"
"I try to." She took a quick breath. "But usually they're too steamy to get a clear picture."
"Steamy windows... hmmm. It does feel foggy in there sometimes. Especially when I'm imagining kissing you, wondering what makes you tick, and if you're as much of a spitting kitten in bed as you are out of it. But the way you look tonight gives a whole new dimension to anything I've ever imagined before."
Her fair skin heightened in color and she smiled nervously, at the same time she seemed to bloom into enticing ways he'd glimpsed but never seen fully. She'd lowered her guard earlier, but he'd forced it. Dare he hope that she was opening herself to him freely? If she could trust him that much, just maybe he could trust them both enough to let her into his shadows. Shadows that wouldn't be so dark if she would share her light.
"Thank you, Rand. No one's ever said anything quite like that to me. But, I guess you're more familiar with flattering a woman than I am to being flattered?"
"The way you say that, I get the impression you think this is one of my standard lines of seduction." He felt the faint tremor of her muscles tense.
"Is it?"
"That's one thing I like best about you, Rachel. Up front and direct. I find that quality in a woman to be a rare and valuable asset. You don't go for deceit or playing the tease to manipulate a man to your advantage." She glanced away and he caught her chin, forcing her to look directly at him. He searched her eyes. "You wouldn't ever do that, now would you?"
"Of course not." Her eyes dilated and he felt her go from tense to stiff. Rand raised a brow; his lips thinned, feeling his hopes threatened while he searched for the familiar hardness of self-protection. It seemed to have moved because he couldn't find it. Suddenly, he was desperate to get rid of Joshua's interference and cling to what he knew.
"No, of course not," he said flatly. "You're above that. Just as I don't resort to flattery to entice a woman into my bed. Seduction under false pretenses isn't my style."
"But buying a woman under false pretenses is. You are using this situation to your personal advantage, aren't you?"
How easily she'd tripped him up. He should have known better than to take her appearance and the sensual bend of her words for what he wanted them to be. Damn Joshua for putting him through this. Damn him for insisting he accept the blow because he deserved it when Rand Slick was chomping at the bit to silence her pert mouth with a punishing kiss.
He waited a full minute before one gained the upper hand.
"I asked for that, didn't I?"
"That. And more."
"You're right. Why don't I make up for my earlier advantage taking and show you around our house before dinner?"
"You mean I'm actually free to tour the premises?"
"Not only tour but have the run of the place. Just as long as you don't get this disrespectful in front of the servants." Whew. That was close. Too close. Before he could stop himself, Mr. Slick demanded some retribution. He was squirming uncomfortably and wanted some company.
"Don't forget where we are, Rachel," he said sternly. "I'd be expected to punish you for such a sharp tongue. If I didn't give a proper show of taming you, we'd raise suspicion. Do us both a favor and don't put me in that position."
"Tame me! Punish me! With what? One of those whips the auctioneer was screaming for? Or maybe you've got some chains or leather bindings stashed away with a black face mask."
"Actually, no." A grin tugged at his lips but he squelched it. She was riled enough as it was, though he did find the flash of her eyes, the agitated heave of her breasts, much to his liking. "I'm adventurous, but more status quo than kinky. The servant's would think all was above board if I simply hauled you into the bedroom and made you scream."
"I'd bite my tongue off before giving you that satisfaction."
Rand traced her mouth, sliding his thumb over the glossy texture. The internal war raged, demanding that he take her lips, to kiss them until they were too swollen to talk back and she simply accepted that he needed her spirit, her acceptance, and if she could find it in her, even perha
ps something called love. There. He'd let himself think it. Love. A four letter word he was compelled to explore for himself, Rand, because no matter how much of Joshua was left, he would still be what life had made him. He wanted her to accept all of him, the good and the bad. Wanted? Needed. Desperately, just as he needed the security of knowing she couldn't run away from him here.
More importantly, neither could he. Rachel seemed to think she was a prisoner of sorts. The truth was, he was more prisoner than she, cut off from all the avenues of escape that were too plentiful back in the States. He found the boundaries of these walls an ally of sorts, Rachel, a sweet warden of this prison.
If only she knew how close to the mark she'd come today, culling out his insides with her accusations. See how he runs! He'd wanted to defend himself, to tell her that old habits, even destructive ones, were hard to break.
He didn't then. He couldn't now.
"Temper, temper Rachel." He made a clicking noise, a tut-tut of reproval. "You wouldn't really want to bite off your tongue, would you?" He stroked into the supple interior of her bottom lip, careful to avoid her teeth. "Judging from the sample I had earlier I'm certain that would be a terrible waste."
"You are the most impossible, infuriating man I've ever met in my life. Maybe chivalry is dead since chauvinism is apparently alive and well."
"I'll take that for a compliment since I'm not in the mood for The Taming of the Shrew as a prelude to dinner. But I always did enjoy Cherries Jubilee for desert. There's something about a room with muted lighting and a dish going up in flames against a white cloth that appeals to even the most jaded connoisseur."
Rachel did a slow burn. "I won't even dignify such a lewd insinuation with one of the many names I'd like to call you at the moment."
"I'm disappointed. Names can tell a lot... angel."
"I agree." She fixed him with a level stare. "Who's Joshua?"
Chapter 14
His thumb tensed, then he commanded himself to go about his sensual play as if she hadn't struck a nerve.
"A boy who grew up the hard way. He's a mutual acquaintance of mine and Sarah's. I've seen him more recently than Sarah, but I'm sure she remembers him well. Once you locate her, that's the password to key her in that I'm here."
"Why not use your own name?"
"Because..." He should tell her. And yet the thought made him feel more exposed than he already did, and as it was this was torture. Later, perhaps. When he had his footing. Or in a moment of intimacy when Rachel was as defenseless as he. "Because this way my identity remains a secret. Anyone who might overhear could inform Sarah's owner and blow the cover we have to maintain until we leave."
The room felt claustrophobic, cloying with this brush of refracted memory he'd relegated to a lock-box of a hidden past to survive the only way he knew how. And how well he did it, slamming the lid shut before it could injure him further.
He abruptly turned for the bathing chamber, leaving his lock-box behind, only to feel it trailing after him with the doggedness of elasticized glue.
"I thought I saw some ointment in here earlier. Let's get those wrists tended then go for that tour. Big place. Could take an hour to show you around and I hate to ply you with an overdone dinner."
"Rand?" She stood at the door and he kept his back to her as he rummaged through a drawer of household supplies, his mind shunning the unwanted baggage and casting about for an avenue of escape. He found it in an unexpected form.
Girl stuff. Opening a tube of salve, he waved her to the sink while his attention focused on the cosmetics she'd used. Her things. How would his things look next to hers? Lipstick next to a shaver. Pantyhose draped near his bathrobe. Strange to imagine, but he found the idea unaccountably appealing.
"Let's have a look at those wrists." He scowled as he gently smoothed the healing balm over the abrasions. "Bastards. I'd like to strangle them for this."
"I need to ask you something, Rand. I wish you'd look at me, because it's important and I want to see the truth in your eyes. None of those shutters you're so good at drawing."
Her voice was soft again, as it had been before she'd gone for a confrontation. As much as he wanted to trust it, he feared to. Undoubtedly she was resorting to her initial strategy since he hadn't bit the bait. Maybe Joshua's temperance was good for something.
"What do you want to know?"
"I keep wondering something." She winced and he kissed the thin red lines at her wrist. He was indirectly responsible for this. It gave him a sick feeling.
"And what something do you keep wondering?"
"What would you have done if the prince had agreed to pay a million and a half?"
If they were going to get closer, he knew he had to start letting her in. There was a danger in that for both of them, and he didn't want her to get hurt should his demons decide to race out. But this seemed a safe place to start. Rand risked letting her have more than a peek.
"No shutters, Rachel. Look inside and tell me my answer."
She searched his eyes and then she smiled.
"You would have bid two, wouldn't you?"
"I don't stoop to haggling." Rand tipped her chin up and darted his tongue between her parted lips. "I would have bid five. Where my personal portfolio's concerned, you're one investment that's invaluable. Case or no case."
Whether the catch in her throat was from the liberty he had just taken or his answer he didn't know. Maybe the answer, because she fairly glowed as she shook her head in amazement.
"You must be about the richest man I've ever met in my life, Rand Slick."
"If it's money you're counting, I do okay. It tends to buy respect and fear and favors. I've got plenty of all that, but I've learned there are some things that money can't buy."
"My dad used to say it couldn't buy love."
"Your dad was a smart fella. Money can induce people to fake emotions for the person wearing the money clip but it doesn't guarantee genuine feelings."
"That's shallow. Only someone with a lack of character would pretend to care for another person just because they've got something to gain from it."
"And you have more character than anyone I know. Maybe that's why I never believed money was the reason you agreed to risk yourself for me."
The look they shared was one of rushing memories, her earlier insistences he was a client, a paycheck; his means of manipulation to twice call her bluff. Rachel had every right to resent his methods, but it just wasn't in him to be sorry for intimately touching her. It had changed the course of their relationship; hot moments, precious moments when he could forget everything but what touching her did to him.
The memories arced between them and he wondered if she would turn away, rather than confront his unspoken need to let what was between them flow and not fight it anymore. He had to fight himself enough without her fighting him too.
She touched his shaven cheek and he felt a surge of tenderness. From her. And in him. It left him off balance, wavering between the bittersweet lure of his lock-box contents and a quick dive to the safety net made of concrete.
"I know what I said that night at my home, Rand, and today. You found out for yourself that I was lying, but I'd like to take it all back just the same. Lies don't sit well with me and the truth is, even if you were poor I'd still..."
He waited on edge while the four letter word beginning with L flirted with his senses.
"Yes, Rachel?"
She seemed hung there, as though she'd painted herself into a corner and was frantic to find a way out. How well he did relate.
"Because—" She wet her lips and her eyes darted about, looking at the sink, the tub, the ointment, anywhere but at him. "Because even if you were poor I'd still think you were a beast, and wonder why I was crazy enough to take your case," she said tartly. "No doubt you would have smuggled us in and we'd be sharing dinner out of a can while I posed as a masseuse in that spa I'm supposed to get greased up in to find Sarah."
"I can think of worse thi
ngs than having to spend the day getting massaged and relaxing in a sauna." He managed a faint smile, masking his disappointment that she'd retreated.
"I'll still be on the job. Not all the massages in the world can take the tenseness out of asking the right questions while your insides are upside down."
"You'll do fine. And don't forget Jayna will be there too. One word and she'll come get me. If you even sense a threat of danger I'll be there. I give you my word."
"No, Rand. You could make a bad situation even worse. You can do your bit after I make contact. Until then you stay scarce. It's my job. And my neck."
He touched the neck in question. The pad of his thumb rested over the thrum of her pulse, which both of his personas would protect at all costs, whether she liked it or not. Without Rachel, neither he or Sarah stood a chance.
The urgent need to rescue Sarah, and the gut deep mandate to solidify this man/woman bonding escalated to a dizzying pitch. Both hinged on protecting the neck he longed to put his lips against, to taste and suck until she bore his mark. His and only his.
"I thought we had this settled. We're a team, Rachel. Don't try to take back what happened today. You should know me well enough to realize I don't give up ground I've gained."
"You weren't very ethical about gaining it."
"Ah, now it comes back at me. Well, let me tell you lady, you gained some ground of your own that was hell for me to give up. Between the two of us, I hope we can win more than one war."
"There's one war we're going to win for certain." Her chin got that stubborn little look to it he found so appealingly saucy. "I've come to realize how imperative it is to get Sarah out. After walking in the other man's shoes I want more than anything to give her a new pair."
Shine your shoes, mister? It hit him out of left field, jarring loose the lock-box he tried to close so fast he stung with the snap.
"It could take awhile, Rachel," he said in a vague voice while he shoved and kicked at the contents trying to slither their way out. "Even if it's the most popular hang out for the elite concubines, you can only spend so much time making small talk in the sauna."