Surrender to Love

by Sands, Cordelia

  Sabine nodded, averting her eyes to the pieces of broken china that lay strewn across the floor.

  “All the time?”

  Hesitantly she shook her head.

  “But I do now?”

  Again she nodded, not daring to meet his gaze. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him; it was just…his nearness. The potent maleness of him that set her nerves on edge.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Michael assured quietly as he took a step away from her. “I only asked you a question. Do you dance?”

  “I…”

  No, she didn’t dance. Well, at least not outside of the simple, silly steps Adele had taught her. There was nowhere for her to do so, unless, of course, she had the audacity to appear at one of the Quadroon Balls. But she had no intentions of parading her charms so that men could gawk; therefore, an occasion to dance was most certainly out of the question.

  “Would you care to dance?”

  “What,” she gasped, taken aback by his incredulous request, and her gaze flew to meet his. “Here? Now?”

  “Well,” Michael considered as he ran a hand against the length of his jaw line, “I hadn’t really thought of that, but…”

  He held a hand out to her, and Sabine hesitated before accepting it uncertainly, dropping an awkward curtsy as he encircled an arm about her waist and spun her around the kitchen floor, slowly, carefully, following the tune of the waltz that played in his head. And Sabine closed her eyes, unconsciously stepping closer to him until his muscular thighs brushed against hers, her heart thrilling at the slightest hint of his touch. He felt good. So good and safe and strong – as though she belonged there in his arms…forever.

  His hand burned through the calico material of her dress, imprinting its brand upon her skin, claiming her as no man ever had, and an unsettling longing embraced her heart. Even if she wanted him, even if she came to love him with all her heart, they could never be. Not the two of them. Not Michael and Sabine – together.

  “Ladies of color will never be accepted into a white society.”

  How many times had she heard Adele repeat those words? They were true. There was no future for them, even if they both wanted it to be. And she had better be the one to make the decision, sever the ties before she only found herself hurt again.

  Sabine reluctantly broke from him, stepping away as his arms dropped limply to his sides.

  “The fiesta is in two weeks.”

  “I hope you have a wonderful time,” she said, swallowing the lump of regret in her throat as she straightened her shoulders.

  “I want you to go with me.”

  The words came out in a rumbling whisper. Michael reached out and squeezed her slim hands as he took a step closer to her, his hips brushing against hers.

  Sabine’s heart raced as a thousand emotions rushed to her center, her desire burning hot inside her. Why did she want him so? It wasn’t right that he should cause her to feel this way when there was no hope, no possibility of a future between them.

  “I want you to go with me,” he repeated.

  “I don’t think it’s wise,” she told him softly, her eyes downcast as she pulled from his grasp. “You’re…and I’m…”

  She couldn’t say it, couldn’t say what should be so plain before him. And she turned away before he saw the look of pain and disappointment in her eyes. Why did he make everything so difficult without really meaning to? She wanted to go – truly she did – but he –

  “Who cares,” Michael said, gently turning her to face him, and he lifted a finger to brush aside the stray tear that clung to the edge of her lashes.

  “I do,” she insisted, her eyes pleading with him to see reason. “People would talk.”

  “We’re not in America.”

  “But the Roderigueses have money. They’re society, Michael, don’t you see?”

  “Cuba doesn’t play by the same rules, Sabine. And I’ll bet,” he added softly, as his hand brushed against her cheek, “that underneath that hard exterior is a woman just dying to dance. Would you deny me a chance to make those green eyes laugh?”

  “But I’m your – “

  “Stop the arguing,” he said with a smile. “You can’t win this time.”

  “But I – “

  He held a finger over her lips, silencing her, and he continued to hold her mesmerized in the intensity of his stare. Couldn’t he understand? She couldn’t bear to humiliate him in front of his friends with her vulgarity. She would say the wrong things, do the wrong things, and then everyone would know her for what she was…common.

  “I knew you’d see things my way,” Michael said as he pushed aside an errant curl that had fallen across her brow. “Now you figure out what you’re going to do with that material while I go water the livestock for the night.”

  He left, a self-satisfied smirk crossing his features as he closed the door behind him.

  Sabine stared after him for several moments, the uncomfortable and unfamiliar feelings of desire swirling within her. She wanted him; wanted to be near him, to feel the soft touch of those work-worn hands, to hear the rumble of his voice in his chest when he whispered to her.

  She would love to feel his arms around her once again as he held her in the embrace of a dance.

  But she shouldn’t feel this way. It wasn’t fair; it wasn’t right. In the end she would be hurt – shattered into a million bits like the china plate on the floor.

  Was she willing to take the risk?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Michael lounged comfortably in his favorite wing-backed chair and gazed idly into a glass of whiskey, a wry smile flickering across the countenance as he shook his head in disbelief. He never thought he’d find himself reckoning with the feelings he had for Sabine, but he was…and he was actually enjoying it.

  Every spare second, it seemed, she somehow managed to sneak into his thoughts. And it was always the simplest of things about her that stood out in his mind: the way her curls cascaded across her shoulders and down her back; the manner in which she curled up on the settee, feet tucked up under her as she bent intently over yards of fabric, her honey-gold features illuminated by the soft glow of a kerosene lamp.

  But still, he wasn’t quite convinced he had a right to feel the way he did. He was too old for her; he was penniless; and he was in trouble. What kind of future could he possibly offer her?

  None.

  Well, he thought as he finished off the remainder of liquor in his glass, he shouldn’t even be contemplating such a move to begin with. Sabine was leaving – just as soon as he scraped together enough money. And that’s the way it had to be…whether he liked it or not.

  Problem was, he liked the idea less and less every day.

  “I’m ready.”

  He heard her voice, tremulous, from the doorway, and he rose to meet her, slipping his watch into his pocket. Turning, his heart stopped as his gaze settled upon her, his eyes slowly appraising her figure. Green muslin skirts swept across the floor, and a revealing neckline lifted her breasts in a sensual mound, alluring, inviting.

  Wanting filled his loins and Michael felt his manhood harden against his will. Cursing silently, he quickly turned away before she saw. Dammit, she’d she do this to him? She was hands off, as far as he was concerned – not to be touched. Ever.

  So why, then, was it that every time he looked at her he wanted to take her in his arms and taste those full lips? Feel her against him? And lately he wanted a whole lot more than just dreams; he wanted to make love to her, feel her move beneath him and cry out in pleasure as he took her with long, driving strokes to the pinnacle of her ecstasy.

  “Michael?”

  Sabine stood in the doorway, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. This was wrong, she thought tremulously. She was wrong. All wrong. Her breasts were half-exposed; the bodice of her gown fit like a second skin; her hair was dressed and fancy, a cascade of sculpted curls and ringlets that made her feel as though she were someone else – not the Sabine s
he had always known.

  And Michael had turned away, not daring to meet her gaze as though he were ashamed of her. Desperately she had wanted to make him proud, and suddenly she wished she had not tried so hard to look charming and sophisticated; what if, in reality, she looked like a whore?

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Michael’s words breathed out in a whisper as he finally faced her.

  “People will laugh,” she remarked simply, her hands working themselves into worried knots. “I look like a hussy.”

  “Never. You look perfect, Sabine, and my friends will love you.”

  He drew near, his eyes fixed on hers, and he gently tucked an errant curl behind her ear. Closing her eyes, Sabine thrilled at the sensation of his touch, her blood coursing wildly through her veins as his fingers caressed the curve of her earlobe, and she caught her breath, her heart hammering in her chest as her insides shuddered in response. It felt so right, her wanting to be with him – as though destiny had always meant them to be as one.

  But it can’t be that way, the little voice inside her head reminded with biting causticity. It will never be that way, silly fool. Remember what Mama said.

  Sabine didn’t want to think of Adele’s words; instead, she wanted to revel in Michael’s touch again, have his strong arms claim her for his own as she willingly yielded against the firmness of his chiseled frame.

  “Shall we?”

  Cheeks hot with discomfiture, Sabine mutely nodded as she accepted his proffered arm, her heart fluttering as the corded muscles rippled beneath her fingertips.

  Let tonight be perfect, she prayed fervently as she followed him to the wagon outside; for once, let her laugh…let her have fun…and, please, God, let her belong.

  XXX

  Colored papers lanterns lined the long drive that led to the grandiose main house of Luís Roderigues’s Fortuna Aureo, while the festive sounds of music and laughter floated on the night air, settling pleasantly in Sabine’s ears.

  Insecurity tugged at her stomach as she stepped down from the rig, and she silently willed the frantic beating of her heart to quell. Nervously she smoothed her skirts with a fluttering hand as she looked fleetingly at Michael for reassurance.

  “Everything’ll be fine,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

  But all she could do was offer a wavering smile in response. What if she looked foolish? What if everybody laughed at her, whispered behind her back? Called her a fraud for appearing in public and pretending as though she really were somebody important?

  “Trust me.”

  She had no other choice but to do so.

  Tucking her hand into the crook of her arm, Michael gave it an encouraging squeeze before leading her up the front steps.

  Sabine balked as they reached the entrance, fear grabbing sharply in her breast; she didn’t belong here, and certainly everyone else on the other side of that threshold would know, too, just as soon as she passed through the door.

  “We can wait,” he said, his words subdued, comforting to her ears. “I can take you for a stroll through the gardens if you’d like.”

  “No,” she said as she drew a breath and hoped he could not hear the pounding of her heart. “I’ll be fine. Really. Besides,” she added with a forced laugh, “it’s a little dark for flowers, isn’t it?”

  “Sure?”

  Returning his grin, she pressed her hand into the black material of his coat sleeve.

  “I’m fine,” she repeated.

  Michael escorted her unobtrusively through the heavy wooden doors and into the great expanse of the grand foyer.

  Magnificence.

  That was the first word to come to Sabine’s mind as her eyes took in the sumptuous beauty that surrounded her; the ornate frescoes…the heavy gilt mirrors that adorned the white plastered walls…the mahogany furniture that decorated the many rooms.

  “It’s like…royalty.” Her whispered words were filled with awe.

  “They’re people, just like everyone else,” Michael said. “The difference is,” he added with a wink, “Marta and Luís are a lot better off than most.”

  “Why, Michael,” a voice chirped from behind, “it is very nice that you have come. Enrique said you might change your mind.”

  An older woman latched onto his arm in a motherly fashion, her tiny figure lost in the great skirts of her scarlet gown. Her neck craned until she met Michael’s gaze, and she shook her head admonishingly, her onyx earrings swaying from her lobes.

  “You have been standing here all of two minutes, and you have yet to introduce me to this charming creature,” she said, pursing her lips as she patted at his arm.

  Michael smiled as he covered Sabine’s hand with his own.

  “Marta Roderigues, I’d like to meet Sabine DuBois.”

  The older woman smiled fondly and reached out, clasping Sabine’s hand warmly.

  “Ah, yes, the lovely young lady you have been telling Enrique about. I see you have done well with the paper patterns I sent over,” Marta continued. “That is a most beautiful creation.”

  “Thank you,” Sabine murmured, ducking her head in embarrassment at the lavish comments thrown her way. “I don’t know what I would have done without them.”

  “And, Michael, I know you must have been very generous with your compliments,”

  “Marta,” Michael warned, his voice an exasperated growl as he sent her a sharp look.

  Marta returned his glance with one of her own, her eyes widening in defiance as she straightened her frail frame.

  “Well, enough of this chit chat,” Marta exclaimed suddenly with an excited clap of her hands. “There is a party to attend. Most everyone is out on the patio. And you must save a dance for me, Michael Pierson,” she added, arching her eyebrows. “That is, if there are any to be had.”

  “I’ll be sure to,” he answered as whisked away with a flash of her skirts.

  Sabine looked after her as she flitted down the hall, stopping to speak with each guest in turn as her smile flashed brightly across her features. How wonderful a woman she was to make her feel welcome – make her feel as though she were a real-live princess.

  “Do you dance?”

  The familiar question reached her ears, and Sabine looked up, losing herself in the dancing blue of his eyes.

  “As matter of fact, Mr. Pierson,” she replied confidently, tucking her hand into the bend of his elbow as she cocked her head to the side impishly. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  They burst into the festivities, the laughter and music fulfilling her every anticipation, her very expectation of what a party – a real party – ought to be. Colors swirled and feet danced to the Latin sounds of the musicians that stood nearby. Here was not the classical movements and stiff formality of the dances Adele had taught her, but the carefree, languid movements and melodies of the people who made this land so special, so different from anything she had ever known; and already she was beginning to fall in love with it all…just as Michael must have when he first arrived here.

  And Sabine didn’t feel so awkward anymore; she felt like laughing and dancing and having a grand time. With him. With Michael.

  “I knew I could make those eyes shine,” Michael said. “Now let me hear you laugh.”

  He placed a strong arm around the slimness of her waist, and they joined the others. Immediately she was acutely aware of his closeness to her; the distinct male scent of him that mixed enticingly with his cologne; the manner in which his thighs pressed up against hers, brushing, swaying, awakening the foreign need that enveloped her being with a fierce, twisting heat as he guided her carefully across the terracotta tiling with practiced steps.

  The music ended, but her longing did not, and as Michael broke from her, the ache rooted itself deep within her soul, nagging, demanding more than a mere dance to assuage the confused feeling that coursed through her.

  “Sabine?”

  Her gaze flew to meet his, the stain of embarrassment coloring her cheeks as s
he noticed they stood at the edge of the patio tiles, couples whisking past them in the fluid steps of the next dance. How long had he allowed her to stand there, his eyes watching as her heart raced wildly within her breast? Could he tell? Did he know how fervently she wanted him?

  And more importantly…did he care? Was he experiencing the same perplexity of feelings as she? Or was she alone in her desires?

  “I – I’m sorry, Michael,” she replied quickly, her words rambling as she stepped away from him. “I must have embarrassed you. I – “

  He caught her arm bringing her back to him. His gaze intent upon her, he raised a hand to caress the nakedness of her shoulder, the curve of her neck, as shivers played along her spine, dancing to the rhythm of his languid touch while the heat of desire rose within her.

  With that one, simple gesture, Sabine knew he wanted her, too, and the need for him that had intensified with every touch, every fleeting glance was now mirrored in Michael’s eyes.

  Grazing his thumb against her lower lip, he tilted her face and bent his head toward her. She closed her eyes, indelibly imprinting the very essence of him in her memory; cologne, the sweetness of tobacco, a touch of liquor.

  The smells of a man.

  Her man, she fervently hoped…yearned…prayed. Regardless of what society had continually drilled into her head, she honestly and truly wanted him for her own.

  “Michael,” someone called out over the music and voices. “I am most happy to see that you have come.”

  Michael groaned inwardly and reluctantly released Sabine from the mesmerizing stroke of his fingers, muttering a curse under his breath as her unsatiated need rapidly subsided to a dull ache, throbbing with tortuous insistence throughout her body.

  A heavyset gentleman in black made his way toward them, motioning with the lit cigarrito he held in his right hand while his dark eyes flashed with warmth.

  “Enrique said you might not come,” he said through a thick expanse of mustache as he caught hold of Michael’s hand, thoroughly wringing it in welcome. “And now that you are here, I am eager to meet the beautiful young woman who is gracing your side this evening.”