Surrender to Love

by Sands, Cordelia

  “Luís,” Michael replied, and rested his hand comfortably on the small of her back, her pulse quickening at the simple gesture. “I want you to meet Sabine DuBois.”

  So this was Luís Roderigues, she observed carefully, curiously. He was not at all as she had imagined him to be; somehow, she had expected a tyrant of sorts – much like Manuel Colón – a wealthy planter with money and power to spare, but relief and delight filled her as she discovered that his charm and flashing smile were genuine – not simply a guise intended for deception and fraud.

  Regarding her with a sharp inclination of his head, Luís took her hand and pressed it gently against his lips in a courtly manner, the fringe of his mustache brushing lightly against the heightened nerves of her skin.

  “I can see, Michael, why you went to all the trouble for her. I am most enchanted, señorita.”

  She watched, intently interested in the man whom Michael greatly admired and had spoken of with pride. The Castilian lisp of his words rolled off his tongue smoothly and he leaned over and muttered something low in Michael’s ear. Michael nodded in polite understanding, his look intense as the older gentleman turned, leaving hurriedly into the crowd.

  “Is there anything wrong?” she questioned, noticing Michael’s concern when he was out of earshot.

  “No,” he replied distractedly, tension framing his words as he looked after the retreating figure of Luís. “Everything’s…fine. I – do you mind,” he asked, his eyes searching impatiently, “I’ll be just a minute.”

  He left before she had the opportunity to reply, and Sabine watched him slip through the people, closely following Luís’s path. There was something wrong. Sabine knew it instinctively as she wound her troubled fingers through the cord of her reticule; she could feel it deep in her bones.

  “Señorita DeBois?”

  Sabine turned, her gaze falling on the finely chiseled features and dark eyes of the man who stood before her. His features hinted at a smile as he nodded in greeting, the lantern light glinting off his slicked hair.

  “Enrique Roderigues at your service,” he said, a grin flashing as he reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers invitingly. “I have heard much about you,” he told her smoothly, “but I am sure many people have told you that this evening. Would you care to have a seat?” He motioned to a nearby table. “You might be more comfortable than standing.”

  Setting two glasses on the table, Enrique pulled a chair out for her; she accepted, her gaze darting once more to catch a glimpse of Michael’s blond curls as the beating of her heart raced in her ears.

  “He is talking with my father,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand, turning his attention to Sabine as he placed a glass of champagne before her. “He will return shortly. I promise you.”

  “Thank you.”

  The remainder of his idle conversation was lost on her as Michael came into view once more, a scowl marring his handsome features as he approached. He turned sharply as a feminine hand latched possessively on his arm, and a flash on envy pierced Sabine’s heart as he stopped to converse with the woman.

  Someone from his past; or was it his present? A beautiful catlike creature with glossy black hair that cascaded in sculpted waves and ringlet down her back. Regal. Elegant. Everything Sabine was not.

  Regret fell on her, dissipating the lingering remnants of her desire, and a sourness settled in the pit of her stomach as her eyes remained staunchly fixed on the scene that unfolded in the distance.

  Instead of leaving with the woman who clung to him insistently, Michael angrily shook her off, biting off a series of sharp words. The Hispanic beauty tossed her head, gesticulating wildly with her hands as she delivered an indecipherable tirade that that caused the fury to rise further in his flushed cheeks.

  “That is Gisela,” Enrique stated with disgust, his voice breaking into Sabine’s thoughts. “Do not concern yourself with her. She is not worth the effort.”

  ”I’m not concerning myself with anything, Señor Roderigues,” she said quietly, and toyed absently with the stem of the glass before her.

  “Your eyes betray you.”

  “I don’t think my feelings are any of your business.”

  “Michael has spoken very highly of you these past weeks,” he continued, his smile flashing. “You must – “

  He cut his words short as Sabine drew a sharp breath, her eyes wide with astonishment as the woman in blue taffeta snaked her bare arms around Michael’s neck, her red mouth covering his.

  “Excuse me,” she said sharply, and she averted her eyes, her heart leaping wildly in her chest as her stomach churned in betrayal. “I believe I need some air.”

  “I will accompany you,” Enrique said, rising to his feet.

  “No.” Her manner was short, almost angry. “I’d rather be alone right now. Thank you.”

  She left in a swirl of green muslin, her vision blurred with the hot pressure of tears that built up behind her eyes. How could he? How could he bring her here, only to humiliate her in the midst of these people? And to think, deep in her heart, she had thought he wanted her.

  What a fool she was! What a ridiculous, idiotic fool!

  She sat down on a marble bench, the music and laughter muted in the distance as the soothing scent of roses reached her nostrils, and resentfully she brushed away a tear that started out the corner of her eye. She had wanted so much tonight. To laugh. To dance. To make Michael proud of her.

  But it was too much to ask for, wasn’t it? A little happiness? A little slice of heaven to call her own? It never happened that way for her, she thought bitterly. Nothing ever happened.

  “Sabine?”

  Her back to him, she sat a bit straighter, lifted her chin a little higher. All the while tonight he had made her believe she was special; flattered her with kind words, awakened these strange feelings of desire for him that left her aching and confused.

  The reality slapped her hard in the face, just as she knew it always would. Just as it always had.

  And her dreams had been foolish ones. Dreams of being treated as an equal. Dreams of being respected and loved and cared for. Dreams of finding that one special person who would make her feel whole and complete.

  Dreams. That’s all they were. And every time she opened herself up and allowed herself that small luxury of escape and hope, reality promptly and rudely reminded her that a colored girl had no right to feel those things.

  “Please leave me alone,” she whispered, her voice wavering with tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks, and she wrapped her arms around herself in order to ward off the chill that pervaded her body.

  “Enrique told me what you saw.”

  “Well, then there’s nothing more to be said, is there?”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  Michael laid a hand on her shoulder and Sabine shrugged him off forcefully. Rising to her feet, she turned to him, the bright glint of tears shining in her eyes.

  “I thought maybe you cared more for me than to simply parade me around as one of your whores,” she said sniffling, her voice unsteady. “But I should have known better, shouldn’t I? I’ll never be good enough for anything but – “

  “God dammit, Sabine,” he shot out in exasperation, grabbing her arm as she stepped away, forcing her to listen to his words. “Why won’t you give me a chance to explain? You never listen to me.” His words were raspy, more subdued now as he looked down on her, his blue eyes smoky under the thick fringe of his lashes.

  The indignation she’d felt only moments before faded, and the banked embers of desire flamed as her quickening pulse fanned them to life. She wanted to hate him…wanted to reach out and strike him for stirring these feelings in her – feelings she had no right to have.

  “You’re so damned headstrong, Sabine,” he continued, slipping an arm around her waist and roughly pulling her closer to him. “You get something into your head and you just can’t let go.”

  “Is there something wrong
with that?” she asked pointedly, but she made no attempt to wrest herself from his hold, her heart beating a wild tattoo against her ribs.

  “Only when it gets in the way of hearing the truth.”

  Hi gaze still locked with hers, Michael’s hand slid languidly up her arm, his fingers winding into a lock of her hair.

  “Who is she?”

  “Her name is Gisela Rivera de Cuellar,” he said, his hand brushing softly against the base of her neck. “And, no, Sabine, before you even ask, I don’t want her. I never did. Can I help it if she’s insistent? I guess you missed the grand finale when she hauled off and slapped for turning down her advances for the thousandth time.”

  “I thought, maybe – “

  Her gaze broke from his, and intently she fixed her eyes on the buttons of his shirtfront, her breath coming in short gasps as her splayed hands felt the rippling muscles of his midsection. Why did he insist on this? Why did he continually bombard her head with all this confusion of love and hate and desire?

  “Trust me on this, Sabine,” Michael whispered. “I have no reason to lie to you.”

  He tucked a curl affectionately behind her ear and smoothed her cheek with a work-roughened hand. Cupping her chin, he coaxed her eyes to meet his. Damn she felt good as she yielded against him – her softness beckoning him with every move, every touch. He liked the way his hands encircled her waist; the way her breasts brushed provocatively across his chest; the way the palms of her hands burned through his shirt, causing him to harden against his will.

  He wanted her. He wanted her so bad he had had to fight the urge to take her right then and there on the patio this evening. Their movements had almost been a prelude to the sacred dance of lovers – fluid, precise; but now he wanted more. He wanted to create his own steps – make the dance truly theirs. Joining. Moving. Becoming one as they reached the summit of their release.

  His mouth came down on hers, savoring her sweetness, her softness, as his arms wrapped possessively around her waist and shoulders. And Sabine willingly responded, sliding her open palms across the firm muscles of his chest, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck as she pressed close to him.

  The tenderness of his kiss grew more insistent, more demanding as she allowed his trespass on her body. His hands plunged into the fullness of her hair, swept over her torso hungrily as he pulled her to the grass with him, his need demanding fulfillment to the pleasure she could offer – the pleasure they could share.

  A low moan issued forth from her as his lips brushed the base of her throat, and he rested his hand on the curve of her hip. He wanted to touch her there – stroke between her thighs until she cried out for more, until he left her spent with satisfaction. Damn it, he wanted her so badly he could taste it. Wanted her so badly that –

  Muttering an indecipherable curse, Michael quickly pulled away from her, the throbbing of his unsatiated need anchoring deep within him. He steadied his ragged breathing as he rested his forehead in his hands. What the hell did he think he was doing?

  “Michael, I – “

  “Why do you do this to me,” he asked hoarsely, rubbing at his temples as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Dammit, you have no right. You shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be here.”

  “Why?” she burst out suddenly, her voice shrill as she scrambled to her feet and snatched at her skirts with an angry hand. “I’m a woman, Michael. I have feelings, too. Do you think I can just turn them on and off whenever I like? Don’t you think I want to be here with you?”

  Michael let loose a sigh of frustration he rolled to a sitting position. He was sending her back to the States, he told himself for the thousandth time. He was sending her back and he wasn’t going to be the one ruining her for some other man. She was young. She had a lifetime ahead of her. And he wouldn’t be the one to brand her as an unclean woman.

  “Sabine, you’re seventeen- “

  “And I’m a woman,” she insisted, her emerald eyes blazing, “and don’t you dare say I’m not! Don’t you even think it!”

  Tears smarting her eyes, Sabine turned and fled, the pain of his rejection burning a hole in her heart. He must think of her as nothing more than a school girl…a child! But she wasn’t. And he should have known that by the passions he had aroused so fervently inside her; how she had delighted in the demands of his touch, craving for him to request more from her than just a kiss.

  And then he’d rejected her as quickly as he had taken her; tossed her aside as if she were some kind of curse, a plague. As though her mere touch would poison him.

  Well, she couldn’t take much more of this…of him…of every day wanting him and knowing she shouldn’t.

  “Sabine – “

  Michael grabbed her arm and gruffly swung her to face him. She swiped at the trails of tears that stained her cheeks, her eyes blazing with fury as she looked into his face.

  “Leave me alone, Michael,” she insisted through clenched teeth as she jerked herself free from his grasp.

  He caught her again, her body tense and resisting as he captured her firmly, holding her close against the expanse of his chest.

  “I’m not a child,” she said, her continuing sobs muffled against his chest as her small fist beat at him in frustration, punctuating her words. “I hate it when people say that, because I’m not. I’m not. And I’m tired of everybody looking at me like I’m some sort of freak. Like I don’t have any feelings because of who I am.”

  “I never said you were, but I could never give you what you want, Sabine,” Michael told her quietly, stroking her hair consolingly. “Not what you deserve, at least.”

  “But I’m not a child,” she repeated, gazing at him steadily as she broke from him. “Were those the feelings of a child back there? Was it a child you held? I’m a lot of things, Michael, but I’m not a child. Don’t treat me like one,” she simply stated, her words slicing through the thick silence that surrounded them.

  Her heart beating wildly, Sabine swallowed the lump of indecision that formed in her throat and stepped closer to him, her green eyes confident as she slowly wound her arms around his neck, reaching for the lips that had claimed her passionately among the roses. He kissed her in return, hesitantly at first, then more boldly, holding her close within the comfort of his embrace while she molded herself to the hardened muscles of his body.

  No, Michael decided as he felt her hands wind themselves into his hair, she most definitely was not a child.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Oh, God, Sabine.”

  Michael’s words whispered against her lips as she yielded to his touch, and Sabine felt his manhood harden against her stomach. His mouth trailed the column of her throat, stopping briefly to graze the sensitive area behind her earlobe before capturing her mouth once again. He felt so right. The feel of his mouth on hers; his arms drawing her closer, tighter; his hands plunging into the wild, tumbling tendrils of her hair.

  And suddenly, it was a though she would never feel safe or whole again without him. As though all her years had been spent waiting for this moment, this time.

  And it was right. They were right. And all the hurt and all the betrayal and all the longing and loneliness that had encompassed her heart, her soul, for so long were forcefully thrust aside by the warmth of Michael’s touch.

  They were meant to be together. Oh Dear Lord, deep down inside her she had always known it to be true. No matter how hard she had tried to deny it, push the feelings away, she had always known.

  And she wanted it to be.

  Sabine’s hands slid down the length of his back, her palms memorizing every muscle, every curve. She wanted him. Wanted to feel the heat of his kiss. Wanted him to possess her and make her his own. Wanted him to fill that cold emptiness that never seemed to go away.

  She succumbed as his need became more insistent, his touch more demanding, and she didn’t shy away, didn’t flinch when his hands cupped her bottom and drew her tightly against his swollen desire.

  �
��Michael…”

  His name murmured of soft request as her hands came to rest on the broad expanse of his chest. She reached up and tasted the skin at the base of his throat with the tip of an unpracticed tongue while her hand followed the muscular curve of his thigh where it joined with hers. He smelled of tobacco. Tobacco laced with a hint of liquor, blending with the intoxicating scent of his own body. His smells, which mixed enticingly with the roses.

  Her man.

  God, how she wanted it to be true. How she wanted to honestly believe that he felt the same as she. That he wanted to make her his, to cherish her and keep her always.

  Her fingers rested hesitantly, tentatively on the waistband of his trousers as Michael’s hands slipped behind her back and unfastened the first three closures of her gown.

  Her breaths quickened as her hands found his blond curls, boldly guiding him to the soft mounds of her half-exposed breasts. Even with her inexperience, she knew she wanted to feel him there. Wanted to feel his mouth, his tongue…

  “Only if you trust me, Sabine,” he whispered against her skin. “I won’t make love to you unless you do.”

  She raised his face to hers and she drank passionately from his lips. A shiver of desire and excitement raced through her. Her breaths, shallow with the passion Michael had awakened within her, heaved against the thin lawn of his shirt.

  It felt so good, so right, to be here with him.

  “Do you trust me?” His words came as an urgent question as his hand slid slowly up the length of her thigh.

  She did, but could not say it out loud. She trusted him with her life, her heart, her innocence. Dear Lord, her soul almost sang out with the glory of it.

  “Sabine,” he said at her silence. “Not until you can say the words. Not until you can tell me you trust me.” Michael straightened her clothing and stalked to the house.

  She trusted him, Sabine’s thoughts screamed as she watched him go.

  She loved him.

  XXX

  The mahogany walls still managed to gleam through the hazy film of smoke that hung in the air, and the strains of the fiesta filtered through the closed doors of the study. Staring off into the distance, Michael sat back in a chair, his thumb absently circling the rim of his glass as he half-listened to Luís.