“At first it hurt when she left,” he said as he released a breath, his fingers brushing at the soft curls along her temple. “I hurt so bad I never wanted to look at another woman. Didn’t want to risk having my heart ripped out a second time. But after a while I didn’t even care anymore. Didn’t even feel a bit of remorse when I found out she was dead.
“”And you can’t possibly love me, Sabine. I can’t give you all the things you want, the things you need. I’m not even who you think I am. And if you knew, you’d probably hate me as well. Maybe even walk out and leaving me standing here like some fool. I wouldn’t blame you in the least after the way I’ve treated you.”
He fell silent, and Sabine listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, its sound soothing to her ragged nerves as her own heart palpitated wildly in spasmodic leaps. She wanted to go to him; wanted to wind her arms around his neck and show him how much she needed him, loved him. She didn’t know why, but even after all that had happened, she knew he was right for her – they were right for each other.
If only he would see it, too.
She could not bring herself to approach him. Instead she would remain silent and allow him to believe that the figure before him still submitted to the comforting cloak of sleep. Had he known she was aware of his confession, he would most certainly turn and walk away forever.
But even as his comforting presence warmed her soul, she couldn’t help but think of his words. I’m not who you think I am.
Well, neither was she. A New Orleans girl who had known nothing but freedom, only to learn she was not truly free. Stolen…sold…now desperately clinging to the remaining threads of a life, a man, she truly loved. A man who had shown her nothing but kindness. A man who made her feel as though she truly mattered – realized he was a woman who had feelings and dreams and desires; not simply a piece of property to be traded or sold.
No, Sabine considered as the rhythmic stroke of his hand against her temple lulled her back to slumber. Michael Pierson wasn’t the only one with secrets, and as passionately as she wanted to ease the troubles that plagued his soul, she was hesitant to pry into the explanation of his words for fear she would have to reveal the truth of her own humiliating past.
XXX
The nightmare came again, rekindled with a fierce intensity that burned his soul. He ran and ran until he thought his lungs might burst, but they came closer…closer…gaining with every stride, every leap. And then, just as he thought he had managed to escape, a hand grabbed onto his arm, pulling him into the inescapable clutches of his relentless hunters.
Michael let out a hoarse shout as he reached out and latched on to his pursuer’s throat, squeezing, crushing.
Maybe they thought they had him easily cornered, but he refused to give up without a fight; one of them was coming with him.
A piercing shriek jarred him to his senses.
A scream. A woman’s scream.
Michael bolted upright in the straight-backed chair, his heart hammering as he stifled the second shout that lay poised on his lips. Caught between the obscure realities of sleep and awareness, his eyes focused themselves in the dim, early morning light, darting to the frightened form that backed against the wall next to him. What had he said? What had he done in those fitful moments of sleep that might have revealed who he was, what he had done?
“Sabine, I – “
His voice lodged firmly in his throat, and though he suddenly, desperately wanted her to know all the thoughts, the doubts, the fears that flooded his mind, the words refused to come.
He couldn’t bring himself to tell her; there was no way he was going to haphazardly spill his guts and have her look at him as though he were some sort of monster, a cold-blooded killer. There were some things she wasn’t meant to know, and his situation just happened to be one of them.
“Never mind,” Michael said gruffly and rose, leaving her to stare helplessly after him. “I’m sorry.”
He strode across the room, the acute pain of his rejection striking deep within Sabine’s breast, and waves of indignation and confusion crashed over her, dashing aside the panic that had previously encompassed her heart.
“Don’t you walk away from me, Michael,” she demanded as she scrambled from beneath bedcovers. “And don’t you pretend nothing’s wrong. Every time something goes wrong you walk away and act as though all the problems will be gone when you come back. Well, they won’t. I’m still going to be here, and I think I deserve an explanation. After all, this is my bedroom. And you are in it.”
He paused at the door, the anger in her voice piercing his heart. He approached him cautiously, tenderly laying a hand on his arm.
“Please, will you tell me what’s wrong? I’m not a fool. I’m not blind. I can tell something’s not right.”
Her whispered words reached his ears and he turned, the anguish etched plainly on his face as he leaned against the door.
“It’s just dreams, Sabine,” he said tiredly, his gaze settling on her, shifting from the imploring stare of her emerald eyes and trailing over her scantily clad bosom, the full honey-gold mounds of her breasts rising above the flimsy cotton of her chemise. “Dreams. That’s all. Nothing more.”
Suddenly he wanted to pull her to him, taste the succulence of her mouth as his hands sought out her soft curves, the secret spots that would bring her pleasure.
“I hate feeling I can never be close to you. And I never know where I stand with you,” she said quietly, breaking the silence, and she stepped so close to him that he thought he might burst from the nearness of her. “There are times when I look at you, and it’s as though I’m some sort of Medusa who’s going to turn you to stone. And then there are other times when the attraction between us is so strong it takes my breath away. Is it my imagination, Michael, or do you feel it, too?”
Nothing else mattered to him at that moment – not his anger, not his frustration, not even the posse who had tracked him as far as Havana. Only she mattered. Only Sabine…whose emerald eyes captured his soul every time he looked into them.
“It’s not your imagination.”
He pulled her to him, her softness pressing against the hardening shaft of his manhood.
“It frightens me, Michael. Sometimes I never know how I’m supposed to act around you or what I should say. I hate never knowing what it is you’re thinking.”
“I’m not even sure about myself half the time,” he whispered. “Be patient with me, Sabine. That’s all I ask. It won’t always be this way.”
“I’m not like her, Michael. Like Julia,” she said as she lifted a hand to caress the rough stubble of his beard. “I heard what you said last night, and I know what it feels like to be hurt, to be betrayed. I’d never do that to you.”
“I know.”
Lowering his mouth on hers, he captured her sweetness, secretly pleased by the sharp intake of her breath as he took her, his need increasing as her hardening nipples pressed against him.
Willingly she returned his kiss, surrendering to his demands as she clung to him, the palms of her hands pressing against the muscles of his back, moving to the soft waves of blond hair that curled at his shirt collar.
And even as her inexperienced hands conveyed her need, his own roaming shamelessly over her body, burning possessively into her skin while he confidently closed his hand over her breast, feeling its perfect roundness fill the palm of his hand. He wanted to take her, taste every inch of that curving body; feel the clenched rosebuds of her nipples as he wrapped his tongue around them; hear her moans of pleasure as she called out, wanting more, wanting him.
His fingers hesitated as they grazed the tiny buttons that fastened her garment, his heart racing as her body demanded to feel her naked body against his. He needed the soft fullness of her breasts, her slender waist, the smoothness of her skin; all of it – bared for his eyes, his pleasure only.
“Stop me now, Sabine,” he said, his breath coming in short gasps as his mouth grazed the base of her
neck, lowering to the rise and fall of her breasts where her swollen nipples demanded his attention. “Stop me if you have a mind to, because I won’t.”
She did not answer, but instead her fingers moved to the front of his shirt, releasing the buttons from their confines until her hands rested on the nakedness of his chest, his muscles shifting under the soft mat of golden hair.
He knelt before her, her breath quickening as the buttons of her chemise gave way, exposing herself to him.
“You’re beautiful.”
The whispered words were not enough, and his hands gently traced the underside of her breasts, the curving shape of her body, She was utter perfection in the way God had made her. The smoothness of her honey-gold skin. Her flat stomach. Widening hips. Jut right to carry children – their children. The children he wanted to have with her, and her alone.
Self-consciously she took a step from him, covering herself from his view.
“Don’t,” he requested quietly, taking her hands in his. “Don’t be ashamed, Sabine. Let me look at you…just for a moment.”
The white cotton slipped past her shoulders to the floor, and he laid her back on the bed, shivers playing along his spine as his hand languidly trailed the length of her arm, between her breasts, pausing as he reached the triangle of dark hair that hid the secrets of her femininity.
Shedding his trousers, he slid between the sheets, the nakedness of his hardened body pressing against her as he gently brought her to him, exploring every inch of her curving body with possessive hands. She drew a sharp breath when his fingers met the softest of her inner thigh and with gentle coaxing, rose in rhythm to his welcoming stroke, releasing the repressed cries of ecstasy that filled her.
When he had finished, he guided her hand to his swollen manhood, closing her fingers around the throbbing heat of his shaft.
“Touch me, Sabine,” he whispered raggedly. “Make me yours.”
She did, hesitantly at first, more confidently as Michael responded to her tender strokes, grinding his hips into hers as she brought him pleasure.
He pulled her beneath him, his desire demanding the complete satisfaction of her femininity.
“It’ll hurt at first,” he whispered as he parted her thighs, “but just for a second, Sabine, I promise.”
Slowly, carefully, he entered, reassuring her with tender words as he broke through the barrier of her virginity, her innocence; withdrawing as she tensed, the fleeting pain of his penetration tearing through her.
“Let me please you, Sabine. Let me show you how a woman should feel – how you deserve to feel.”
He slid inside her, sheathing himself to the hilt in her wetness as he fully claimed her as his own, pleasuring her with his long, even strokes.
She moved beneath him, her hips eagerly meeting his as her hands pushed him further into her, filling her need, fueling her desire. And they mounted closer to the pinnacle of their lovemaking, her breathless voice calling out his name as her fingernails raked the length of his back, clinging to him while she teetered dangerously on the precipice of her passion, crying out together in triumph as they reached the summit.
Michael held her close against him, his kiss long and lingering, and his hand traced the curve of her body where it joined his, the shudder of her response rousing him to excitement once again as her grew hard against her thigh.
“You’re mine, Sabine,” he stated softly, his fingers seeking out her wetness once again. “Whatever happens, I don’t want you to forget that. I couldn’t live knowing another man had touched you the way I have this morning.”
“I wouldn’t want anyone else,” she said as she smoothed the perspiration from his shoulders, the softness of her lips met the base of his neck, the tipoff her tongue tasting the saltiness of his skin. “I love you, Michael Pierson.”
He couldn’t bring himself to say the words she so boldly offered, though his heart was bursting from wanting to confess his feelings for her.
“Let me make love to you again, Sabine,” he told her instead.
As his hands reached out to claim her, he couldn’t help thinking that his emotions had run farther and faster than he had ever imagined. He did love her – more than he did his own life.
And that was the problem.
Now he didn’t want to let her go.
Chapter Twenty
“You are being selfish,” Luís snapped angrily. “You have kept Sabine here, even though you know those men are asking questions all over Havana. It is not as though you are a stranger to that city – sooner or later they are going to catch up with you.
“And then what happens? They will perhaps kill you and take Sabine. Is that what you want? To die with the knowledge that some other man’s filthy hands are on her body? That he is impaling her with his lust? Raping her out of spite? Is that not the very reason you asked me to buy her from Manuel Colón?”
Michael set his jaw and tapped his finger against the rim of his glass irritably, seething with resentment at Luís’s words. His eyes darted to Enrique for support, but his friend merely avoided his stern gaze, and leaned uncomfortably against the polished marble of the fireplace as he coolly inspected his manicured fingernails.
“Are you, or are you not, in love with her,” Luís questioned pointedly as he flipped open the silver case that held his cigarritos.
The continual questions and accusations grated on Michael’s nerves until he thought he might lash out at his friend in fury.
It was none of Luís’s business, he thought viciously as he slammed his glass on the table next to him. It wasn’t any of his concern how he felt, what he felt, or even why the hell he felt it. He was his friend…. He was his employer…. But he certainly wasn’t his damn father.
Michael slouched in his chair, his jaw tight. So he loved her; what difference was that going to make? Love wouldn’t mean a thing when his neck was in a noose, and deep in his heart, no matter how much he tried to delude himself into thinking all would be well, he always knew Sabine couldn’t stay…and she’d only been in danger if she did.
“You are in love with her,” Luís said. “I do not know why you deny it…unless you are ashamed of her.”
“I’m not denying it,” Michael exploded heatedly and leapt from his chair. “And don’t you ever say I’m ashamed of who she is. I love her. I’ve said it. Are you happy now?”
Luís turned to the window and inhaled deeply on his ever-present cigarrito, a self-satisfied smirk curling the corners of his mouth.
“We all know that,” Enrique said quietly, meeting Michael’s gaze squarely. “But have you ever thought to tell her?”
A stifling silence enveloped them, and Michael turned away, muttering a curse under his breath. No, he hadn’t. He couldn’t. There was something so permanent in those three words – I love you; that somehow, by saying them, Sabine would expect more from him, ask for the one thing he knew he could never give her.
Security.
He could never give her that. Not yet…maybe not ever.
“I didn’t think so,” Luís grumbled in comment.
Releasing a sigh, Michael rose and joined him at the window, his gaze intent on the wide expanse of lawn. Indecision ripped through him as he caught a glimpse of Sabine’s flashing smile as she and Marta chatted animatedly under the acacia tree. Beautiful, sweet Sabine. The Sabine who tolerated his temper and laughed at his foolishness.
The Sabine he had come to think of as his – as the woman who would always be at his side.
He never thought anyone could affect him the way she had. No woman had ever managed to spark such a sense of loyalty and passion within him, drive him to such possessiveness. He’d have given his right arm to keep her here.
If he wasn’t careful, he might end up giving a whole lot more.
“You must send her home,” Luís commented, his manner subdued.
“I know,” Michael responded, and slumped resignedly against the window casing. “But I can’t. I don’t even know whe
re she’s from.”
“Madre de Díos,” Luís shouted, and he struck the table beside him with a leaden fist, causing Michael to jump in his skin. “This is ridiculous. Your irresponsibility will lead you and her down the road to ruin.”
Michael sank wearily into a chair, looking hopelessly to Enrique, who shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. He raked an impatient hand through his hair and leaned back, staring idly at the ceiling.
He wanted her to stay.
She had to go.
But now the time had finally come. He had to let her go. He had to ask the questions he had decided he never wanted to know the answers to.
“All right,” Michael conceded. “I have some cash put away. But they’ve got to know about her, Luís. At this point, they could use her, somehow, to get to me.”
Luís tucked a hand into his pocket and drew out a small square of paper, unfolding it as he passed it to him.
“There is a ship leaving for America on Thursday, and I have booked two passages to New Orleans,” he said decisively. “From there we can send her where she belongs. Marta will accompany her, and she can be safely away until the time is right for her to return to you.”
“I don’t want you involved. This is my problem. I’ll take care of it.”
“I insist on doing this,” Luís continued, clasping the lapels of his coat with his thick hands as he clamped his cigarrito firmly between his teeth. “If you will not allow me to do this for you, then let it be for Sabine’s sake.”
“But the ship leaves Thursday,” he protested weakly. “That’s only two days from now. Let it go another week – “
“I have had enough of your procrastination in making a commitment to what you know is right,” Luís burst out, his eyes blazing as he stormed out of the library. “You are worse than a woman,” he spat fiercely, slamming the door behind him.
Surrender to Love Page 21