Morning Rose, Evening Savage

by Amii Lorin

  In a strangely withdrawn state Tara walked slowly down the long aisle, drawing ever nearer to the two cousins, both handsome in different ways. They watched her progress with different expressions: Theo’s smile was soft, his eyes warmly appreciating her beauty. Alek’s unsmiling countenance was held in, taut, expressionless. His eyes blazed with a fierce possessiveness, and something Tara couldn’t define.

  The withdrawn, cold state lasted throughout most of the ceremony, and not until the blessing was being given did Tara feel the first pangs of guilt. She had agreed to marry this man for a very unholy reason. Revenge. In any way that presented itself, she had decided to make him pay for what he’d done to her. The fact that his reason—lust—was equally sinful didn’t matter. The fact that she now loved him didn’t excuse her either. She was in the house of God and she was committing a reprehensible act; she felt, if possible, more miserable than before.

  Finally it was all over. Not just the ceremony, but the picture-taking as well. And now the hand that tugged the plastic boots over her slippers felt weighted from the heavy, wide gold band Alek had slid onto her finger. And the car that whisked them to the large new hotel for the reception was shared by her husband.

  She was thankful for the numbed coldness that had enveloped her again during the long period of picture-taking, and it carried her through the reception. A smile cramping her neck and jaw muscles, she went through the motions of the lead-off dance, the cake-cutting, and the tossing of the bouquet, all the while blinking at the incessant flash of light from the hired photographer. On the point of thinking it would go on forever, Tara felt the firm clasp of Alek’s hand and walked beside him as he made a determined move to the door.

  The plan had been for them to change clothes at Alek’s— now their—apartment, then go on to New York for a week. It had grown colder, and the rain still slashed against the windshield. After Alek had maneuvered the car into the steady stream of late-afternoon traffic, he said abruptly, “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if this rain turns to snow in a little while. We’re not driving to New York in this tonight, we’ll wait and leave in the morning.”

  At the sound of finality in his tone, Tara gulped back the protest forming on her lips, her panic at the prospect of being alone with him that much sooner closing her throat to speech.

  His apartment, in a fairly new modern complex, was large and luxurious. Tara had been in it once before, on Thursday night, when they had transported her clothes from her father’s house. She had been given the grand tour of: Alek’s large bedroom and a smaller one, both with their own baths; a roomy, well-equipped kitchen and cozy dining area; and a huge living room, part of which had been sectioned off as a bar area. The furnishings were masculine, modern, the lines straight and clean, yet overall the impression was one of comfort that comes only with money.

  Alek turned the key in the lock, pushed the door open, reached inside to flick on the light switch, then ushered Tara in, saying dryly, “I think I’ll save the over-the-threshold tradition until we move into a home of our own, if you don’t mind.”

  Tara shook her head and walked into the room, only to stop and glance around irresolutely. The sound of the door being closed softly, the click of the lock springing into place, set her in motion, and she hurried toward the bedroom, her voice breathless. “I—I think I’ll change. The bottom of my gown got wet and it’s heavy and uncomfortable.”

  She dashed into the bedroom, closed the door behind her, and leaned weakly against it, gasping for air. Dear Lord, what was she going to do? She didn’t think she could face him again, yet she was trapped inside this apartment with him. Moving away from the door, she walked around the room nervously, her eyes not registering the rich-wood tone of the double dresser, the chest of drawers, the desk, the big overstuffed soft leather armchair, the deep chocolate of the carpeting and draperies or pristine white of walls, ceiling, and woodwork. But mostly her eyes avoided the wide king-size bed with its plump down comforter and crisp linen shams.

  Without thinking, her trembling fingers slid open the zipper on the inside of her sleeves, moved to tug at the long one that ran from the back of her neck to her waist. She managed to get it halfway down, then no amount of stretching or reaching would move it an inch farther. In agitated frustration, Tara tugged on her sleeves, hoping to slip the gown off her shoulders, enabling her to twist the zip around to the front. She was on the verge of tears when the bedroom door opened and Alek asked softly, “Need any help?”

  “I can’t get the damned zipper down,” she cried irritably and heard his low laugh as he came across the room to her. She felt his fingers at her back then the zip was sliding easily to its base. A pause, then his hands parted the material, slid inside and around her waist, scorching her skin through the thin fabric of her slip. As if his fingers actually burned, she jerked away from him.

  “Alek, I’d like to take a shower.” Trembling, she turned to face him, a plea in her eyes. “Please.”

  His eyes glowed darkly as they roved over her body then came back to study her face. “That is a strikingly beautiful dress.” His voice was a blatant caress, rippling over her skin like warm satin. “It almost does you justice. All right, my sweet, have your shower. I’ll use the other bathroom and take one too.” Then his voice sounded a mild warning note. “You have exactly one half hour.” With that he calmly walked to the closet, yanked out a long terrycloth robe, and sauntered out of the room.

  Tara released her tensely held breath on a long sigh then quickly removed her dress and lingerie, tossing the lot onto the overstuffed chair. Plunging her hand into the closet, she grabbed the long white satin robe she’d hung there Thursday night and ran into the immaculate bathroom.

  Standing under the hot, stinging shower spray, she longed for a few extra minutes to stand and let the fingerlike jets work the tenseness out of her body. But she didn’t have a few extra minutes, for she had made up her mind to dress and leave the apartment before Alek finished his shower.

  In fumbling haste she dried her hair and body, slipped into her robe, and scrubbed her teeth. Her hair a silver-blond mass of damp waves rioting over her shoulders and down her back, she pulled open the bathroom door, stepped through it, and stopped cold at the sound of Alek’s sharply indrawn breath.

  He was standing just inside the bedroom door as if he’d just that minute entered. The robe hung to the top of his bare feet, the belt looped tightly around his lean waist.

  Tara stood motionless, as if mesmerized. His softly spoken words, as he moved toward her, startled her into awareness. “God, Tara, you’re beautiful.”

  Cautiously she moved away from him, toward the far-window wall, her voice sounding hoarse and strained to her ears. “This is a mistake. I can’t stay here, Alek. I’d like you to leave the room so I can dress. I’m going home.”

  He paused then continued to her, stopping a foot in front of her. In growing alarm she watched his face harden, his eyes change from confusion to wariness to anger.

  “Like hell I’ll leave this room.” She flinched at the whip-flick cutting sting of his voice. “If there’s been a mistake, you made it and you’ll live with it, and me. You’re not going anywhere. You are home.”

  Shrinking inside at the coldness of his tone, Tara drew a deep breath and, moving quickly, she circled around him and made for the door. Her hair was her undoing, for as she swung away from him, it fanned out and around her head. With lightning swiftness his arm shot out, and he caught a handful, making her cry out with the pain that stung her scalp. He gave a tug to turn her around to him and she lost her balance and crashed to the floor on her knees in front of him. Giving another sharp tug he jerked her head back, turned her face up to the cold, hard planes of his. Through tightly clenched teeth he growled, “You’re my wife, Tara, and you’ll stay my wife. I’ve waited long enough; I’ll wait no longer.”

  Defiance blazed out of her eyes and in an attempt to inflict pain on him, as he was on her, she flashed, “You’re nothi
ng but a savage. Underneath that thin veneer of civilization you’re as wild and unruly as a mountain man.”

  His glittering blue eyes never leaving hers, he dropped onto his knees in front of her. “I hear you,” he rasped. “And this evening, my love, you are going to find out what it feels like to be made love to by a savage.”

  With all her concentration centered on remaining passive, unaffected by the disturbing pressure of his mouth crushing hers, Tara was only vaguely aware of his fingers relaxing, sliding away from her hair. His other arm was around her tightly, pinning both her arms to her sides. Slowly he began to move, sideways and down, drawing her with him. His free hand braced on the floor, he lowered them both to the soft pile carpeting, his lips still locked on hers.

  He turned her at the last moment, and her back hit the floor with a dull thud at the same time his hard chest struck hers, knocking the wind out of her. Feeling suffocated, Tara managed to turn her head away from him, gasping for air. Not once breaking contact, his lips slid across her soft cheek to her ear, and she uttered a tiny gasp when his teeth nibbled at her lobe.

  “Tara, I don’t want to force you.” Tara shivered at the impassioned whisper. “But this marriage will be consummated tonight. I will make you mine. Never have I wanted to own a woman the way I want to own you. Don’t fight me, love, or, in different ways, you’ll hurt us both.”

  Fleetingly she wondered at the meaning of his words, then all thought fled, for his lips were sending small tongues of flame into every vein in her body. With tiny, devastating kisses his lips moved from her ear to the corner of her mouth where, along with the tip of his tongue, he teased and tantalized until every one of her senses cried out with the need to feel those lips, that tongue, against her own.

  “Alek.”

  His name broke from her throat with a small sob as she moved her head the fraction of an inch needed to slide her mouth under his. She heard the breath catch in his throat, as if in disbelief, then his mouth crushed hers more savagely than before, in an excitingly desperate kind of way, plundering, seeking every ounce of sweetness there.

  It seemed the whole world was on fire, and she was the very center of the blaze. Filled with a sudden, urgent need to touch him, her hands broke free of his imprisoning hold and, parting the lapels of his robe, she slid her hands across his chest, exhilaration singing through her when she felt him shudder at her touch.

  With a groan his mouth left hers and he buried his face in the curve of her neck, his hand brushing her robe aside roughly. She felt his warm breath tickle her skin, heard again the same incomprehensible Russian words he’d spoken before. Moving quickly, he lifted her and removed her robe, then shed his own, his eyes scorching her body as they roved slowly over her.

  Having him away from her, even that short distance, brought a measure of sanity. What was she doing? She had to stop this. But she loved him so. Needed him so. Two tears escaped over the edge of her lower lids and rolled slowly across her cheeks into her hair. Instantly he was beside her, his hands cupping her face.

  “Tara, darling, don’t be frightened.”

  Frightened? Yes, she was frightened of her own response, of the overwhelming longing to be close to him, belong to him.

  Dropping tiny, fiery kisses, his lips surveyed her face while his hands caressed and aroused her body. His softly murmured words added fuel to the rapidly spreading flames inside her.

  Moaning softly, she curled her arms tightly around his neck, gave up her mouth in total surrender. Somewhere in the deep recess of her mind she knew she’d have to pay for it for the rest of her life. Yesterday was over. Tomorrow was far away. The only thing that held any meaning for her was here, and now, and him. The apartment, the city, the world dissolved, and it was as if they were alone on a tiny island, soaring through time and space.

  His hard body moved over hers, and his lips close to her ear whispered, “I must hurt you, love, but I will promise you the pain will not last long, and it will set you free. Free to give me as much or as little as you wish. Free to accept everything I have to offer.”

  On his last words pain ripped through the lower part of her body and, stiffening with outrage and shock, she arched away from him, the cry of rejection that tore from her lips drowning inside his mouth. With infinite patience and surprising restraint he kissed, caressed, soothed her tension-contracted body until the pain receded and was replaced by a fierce urgency inside her to know a oneness with him.

  The gentle appeaser was gone with her first renewed stirrings, replaced by a hard, demanding lover, intent on fulfillment. When he exploded off the edge of their tiny island in space, he took her with him. Shuddering, gasping for breath, for one small moment she seemed to face the pure white light of the sun, then she went spiraling through the darkness of space, held softly, securely, within the steel-like coils of his arms. If someone had told Tara one week, one day ago, that surrendering herself completely to Alek would fill her with such ecstasy, she would never have believed it, as much as she loved him. This beauty and contentment that engulfed every part of her being were part of the make-believe used in romantic literature and films. The idea that all the passion that ever poured out of the pen of poets or lyricists had to be based in some fact had never occurred to her.

  Slowly the awareness of time and place crept back to her. She felt the soft carpet against her skin, the night-colored air in the room lightly cooling her flesh. She felt Alek’s thumping heart return to a normal beat, heard his ragged breathing grow more even. Still held tightly against his hard body, she felt his breath stir her hair as he whispered in an almost awed tone, “Never in all my wildest fantasizing have I dreamed that anything could be so perfect.” His arms tightened possessively and his mouth covered hers in a deep consuming kiss. When he lifted his head, his voice was firm, though still soft. “The marriage has been fully consummated, Tara, with the joining of our bodies, and the coupling of our souls. If what we’ve just experienced is savagery, then I give up all claims to civilization.”

  Tara slept, then was jarred awake again when Alek lifted her from the floor and carried her to the bed. It seemed very late and she was shivering; goose bumps covered her arms and shoulders. He left her a moment and the room was plunged into darkness. Then he was back, sliding onto the bed next to her, drawing the covers up and around them before pulling her into his arms hard against him.

  “I’m so cold.” The words trembled from her lips shakily.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I fell asleep. I haven’t sleep that deeply since I was a child.”

  His murmured words were revealing something of importance to her, but the deeper meaning of them was lost to her sleep-ha2y mind.

  Slowly, as warmth returned to her body, heat returned to his, and within minutes he was whispering her name between fierce, demanding kisses, his hands possessive, his body pressing hers into the mattress urgently.

  If she’d have thought, she would have believed it impossible to experience that same oneness as before. Yet if anything, their wild, explosive flight through space this tune ended in a more perfect unity. More slowly, languorously, she drifted back to an awareness of Alek’s mouth lazily branding small kisses over her face, her throat, her shoulders, and lingeringly, her breasts. Sighing in deep contentment, she was beyond wondering at the strangely fervent tone of his voice, or the meaning of the oft repeated Russian words. Almost purring, she curled against him like a well-petted kitten, her fingers idly stroking his muscle-ridged back. One minute she felt more vibrantly alive than ever before in her life, and in the next, sensuously drowsy, she slipped into a deep, relaxed sleep.

  The early-morning rays of sun touching Tara’s face wakened her. Closing her eyes again quickly, she moved to roll onto her side and grew still, suddenly aware of a weight on her chest. Turning her head slowly, she opened her eyes and stared at Alek sprawled beside her, one arm flung across her breasts.

  Memory returned in a flash, and she felt the hot sting of tears behind her lids. Afrai
d to move, barely breathing, her eyes roved over him lovingly. The comforter was twisted about his slim waist, leaving his broad shoulders and chest exposed to the chill air in the room. Slowly she curled her fingers into her palm, fighting down the urge to touch, to slide her fingers over his smooth skin, to feel the curly spring of dark hair tickle her palm.

  Eyes moving slowly, missing nothing, trailed up to the strong column of his throat and rested a moment on the steady pulse-beat there. Her throat closing with emotion, she lifted her eyes to his head. His silky black waves were tousled one swath lying endearingly across his forehead, and Tara felt a pang remembering it was her fingers that had caused the disorder. Long, thick, inky lashes threw shadows onto his high cheekbones, the lines of which, along with his firm jaw, were somewhat softened in sleep. Her eyes rested on his beautifully chiseled mouth; her lips ached with the need to kiss him.

  Her lashes glistened with tears; consumed with the desire to wake him, to beg him to hold her close, she tore her eyes away and stared at the ceiling. Her mind working furiously, Tara tried to find an alternative to what she knew she must do. Finally her lids closed in defeat. It was no good. It would never be any good. And she knew it. Her heart cried at the realization, but she knew she couldn’t stay with him. Gone were the vaguely formed plans to make him pay for what he’d done to her. Before, she’d been angry, hurt. Now she was terrified.

  Why did the night have to end? she thought bitterly. Why had she slept and wasted so much of it? He had been so gentle, then so demanding, his hands and mouth awaking a sleeping tiger of passion she had never dreamed she possessed. She shivered with remembrances, then her eyes flew open. What must he think of her now? She didn’t even want to think about that, so she pushed the thought aside, only to feel a shaft of blinding pain as a new consideration slithered its way into her mind. His love-making had been so completely mind-shattering. It had affected her two ways, physically and mentally, striking to the very core of her being. She had known she was in love with him for some days; now she belonged to him. What would it be like to be actually loved by him?