Soon she was caught up in the festive mood. She relaxed for the first time in months, allowing herself to be soothed by the music and the feel of strong male arms enfolding her possessively as they danced. Surrounded by her friends, she laughed and joked and let down her protective guard.
Toward midnight, Kathleen guessed she was a little tipsy from the amount of wine she had consumed, though she had eaten well from the buffet tables. She clung giddily to Jean as he whirled her about the dance floor. Her head was spinning, and she was laughing at everything. The beautiful ballroom had taken on an added glow, and Kathleen’s eyes sparkled like genuine emeralds in her happy face. When Jean drew her nearer, their thighs brushing and their bodies touching, she melted against him willingly. His warm breath fanned her hair and tickled her ear as he whispered sweet French phrases of love. As if her will was no longer her own, she shivered and cuddled closer. Chills of desire, so long denied, raced up her spine as Jean’s fingers traced her backbone. Kathleen’s eyelashes fluttered closed, and she swallowed a moan as her bones turned to jelly and her knees threatened to give way. Only Jean’s strong arms kept her from crumpling at his feet.
As if from a distance, she heard him say, “Let me take you home with me, cherie. Let us have this night together —a magical night of fantasy and love.”
Wordlessly she nodded her assent, incapable of withstanding his charm on this enchanted night.
The carriage ride was short, doing little to clear her wine-fogged head, and soon Jean was leading her up the stairs of his townhouse and into his bedroom. Little of the resplendent furnishings registered as he drew her with him to the side of the big bed.
Slowly, Jean proceeded to undress her, taking his time over lacings and ties, savoring each part of her body revealed to him. By the light of the single lamp burning by the bedside, he viewed the woman before him, his eyes caressing what his hands would soon possess.
“Magnifique!” he whispered reverently, his hazel eyes glowing. “You are, without doubt, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen!”
A dreamy smile curved her lips, and her body leaned into his of its own accord, her mouth raised to receive his kiss. His lips tasted hers, gently at first, as if sipping the rarest of wines; and then more boldly, staking their claim to her mouth. Her lips parted beneath the demand of his, their tongues meeting and mingling as the kiss deepened.
Placing her gently upon the bed, Jean’s lips left hers reluctantly for the time it took him to discard his own clothing. Then he was beside her, their naked bodies touching and burning as he enfolded her in his embrace and joined their lips once more.
The heated demand of his lips took Kathleen’s breath, and she felt herself slipping helplessly into that deep abyss where passion ruled the senses. For mere seconds, she fought the feeling, then let herself succumb to his sweet persuasion. Her hands reached out to touch, and then caress, the hard male contours of his body. Her fingers combed sensuously through that mat of curls covering his chest, her palms measuring its width, her fingertips learning the feel of her lover. Across his shoulders and onto his back, her hands continued, there to clutch tightly and draw him nearer to her.
Kathleen’s skin quivered beneath Jean’s expert touch. At first he merely stroked the length of her, from shoulder to thigh. Then, satisfied with what he had discovered there, his long, lean fingers came up to cup one perfect breast, causing Kathleen to gasp at the emotion this act evoked in her. Her breast swelled to his touch, as if to encourage his fondling, the nipple standing out pertly, pouting for his attention.
Jean did not ignore the signals her body was giving him. His mouth left hers to trail sweet kisses along her throat and shoulder, working its way inevitably nearer, until his hot, moist mouth finally closed upon its prize. Again Kathleen gasped, and her body arched itself into his, as if by his command.
“Sweet,” he murmured softly, “so sweet; like the ambrosia of the gods.” As his mouth and tongue tantalized her breast, his hand trailed a path of fire across her smooth abdomen, and slid beneath her thighs to explore the moist warmth awaiting there. “You were made for love, ma cherie, ma beauté,” he said softly. “You are truly a goddess.”
Kathleen’s head tossed slightly in denial. “I am but a woman, Jean—a mere woman,” she sighed, catching her breath at what his hands and mouth were doing to her. Her fingers untangled themselves from his hair to dance down his body. There she found the hot length of him that lay branding her thigh like a hot spear, and she gave him pleasure for pleasure.
Finally he rose above her, and through the passion-induced mist that clouded her mind, she felt the heat of him against her. She arched toward him, her body aching for his ultimate possession.
“Kathleen,” Jean groaned, his hands gently encasing her face. “Look at me. Tell me who it is that is about to make love to you!” His voice trembled, not only with immense desire held barely in check, but with the fear that she might mistake him for Reed.
Her lashes fluttered open to reveal passion-glazed eyes, their color deepened almost to jade. “Jean—you are— Jean . . .”
At her answer, Jean’s breath expelled from his lungs at the same time his body plunged into hers. Her startled gasp melted into sighs, as his driving movements set her senses spinning and her silkin skin pressing against his in a quest for glory. When he was sure she had found her release, Jean joined her there, both trembling in the aftermath of their headlong flight.
Tranquility invaded the very marrow of Kathleen’s bones, and her eyelids refused to lift at her command. Smiling at her sleepy struggles, Jean drew her within the curve of his arm, her head pillowed sweetly on his shoulder. “Sleep, my little sweetheart. The morning is already near.” With a contented sigh, he joined her in sated slumber.
Kathleen woke slowly, reluctant to give up the sweet dream that held her in thrall. It seemed so real that she could actually feel the heavy arm thrown across her waist, the warmth of a long male body. In that state halfway between waking and sleeping, Kathleen believed she was back in Chimera, waking next to Reed in their wide bed. She stretched contentedly, fully relaxed—until Jean’s sleepy voice cut through her thoughts.
“Be still, cherie. I am not ready as yet to join in the activities of the day.”
Immediately she froze, her eyes widening and her breath catching in her throat as drowsiness fled before reality. A dismayed gasp escaped her constricted throat as the truth invaded, destroying her peace of mind. Jean, having felt her stiffen and heard her gasp, flipped her onto her back. Propped on his elbow, he stared into her startled green eyes. Kathleen closed her lids against his penetrating gaze and the morning light that stabbed at her eyes, sending shafts of pain through her head. Her full lips trembled, and tears squeezed past the corners of her lids. Vivid memories of the night before came flooding back with amazing clarity. “What have I done?” she moaned, not meaning to say the words aloud.
Giving her a rough shake, Jean said gruffly, “Open your eyes, Kathleen.” When she did so, he continued. “You remember what we did last night.” It was more a statement of fact than a question.
“Yes,” she whispered reluctantly.
“You came with me willingly. I did not force you.”
“I know.” She tried to turn her face from his heated gaze, but he held her chin with strong fingers.
“If you know, then you can erase that look of regret and dismay from your face and your eyes.” His voice had hardened, and his jaw was clenched in something very like anger. “It is too late for regrets, ma cherie, too late to wish you had not chosen to live as a whole woman again. What is done, is done. You must now come to terms with it. Last night you were alive and aglow in my arms. You held back nothing from me. You were warm and exciting, and more than willing to serve my pleasures and claim your own.”
His stark words brought a flush of shame to her face. She wanted to hear no more. Closing her eyes, she groaned, “Please, Jean!”
“Please don’t tell you what you
know to be the truth? Please don’t remind you what a wanton witch you became when I took you at last? Please make love with you again and share the rapture once more?”
“No!” she shrieked, her hands flying up to cover her ears.
His hands left her face to ensnare her wrists and pin them to either side of her head. “Yes!” he stated hoarsely, as his warm lips swooped down to capture hers in a kiss of devastating insistency.
The harsh reality of the morning could not lessen the sharp thrill that shot through her at his touch. Just when her arms were released to curve of their own volition about his neck, she did not know, nor did she care. Kathleen was lost in the world of intense sensual delight that Jean wove about them. His knowing hands charted her body until it tingled and trembled beneath his caresses. All the while, he showered her fevered skin with kisses, mesmerizing her with sweet phrases and words of love.
Afterward, Kathleen had to face herself truthfully, as well as Jean. A deep sigh shook her frame as he raised himself up to look into her face. “Deny what we have shared, if you dare,” he prompted. “Deny that you are mine—that you belong to me.”
“I cannot,” she whispered defeatedly. “I haven’t strength enough to fight you and myself as well, Jean.” Kathleen swallowed hard. “That is not to say I am pleased with myself, however. Regardless of all your persuasive arguments, I am filled with guilt and shame right now; and I am angry—angry at myself for allowing this to happen, and for feeling so guilty afterward.” She turned sorrowful eyes to his face. “Most of all, I am saddened that I cannot tell you I love you, Jean. I care for you. You are very dear to me, but my heart is not mine to give. It died when we located the wreck of the Kat-Ann. You excite me, and my body yearns for yours, even as I speak, but I cannot offer more.” Her huge eyes searched his features, reluctant to see the hurt there, but she found only understanding, and a hint of steely determination.
“That will suffice for now, cherie. The rest will come in time.” He planted a kiss on the tip of her nose.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Jean.”
“Let me worry about that.” Then he chuckled and raised himself off the bed. “Besides, it is a little too late for warnings of pain, ma petite chatte, after your sharp nails have torn my back to shreds.” He turned to let her view the raised ridges her fingernails had scored on his smooth skin.
“Oh, Jean,” she cried. “What can I say?”’
His sharp gaze swung on her again. “You can tell me you understand how it will be between us from now on. There is no going back from here—only forward. Having tasted of your sweetness, I cannot let you go.”
“As long as you do not ask for more than I can give, Jean,” she conceded.
He nodded. “We are agreed, then. You are my woman, if only for mutual sensual pleasure; and I am your amoureux, your lover, and your friend.”
Jean needed a few days to catch up on business at his New Orleans warehouse, so they stayed a while in town. When Kathleen would have stayed with Eleonore, Jean vetoed the idea, personally seeing that her few things were transferred to the house.
“Everyone is well aware by now where you spent Tuesday night,” he told her.
“Even so,” she argued, “there is no sense in confirming their suspicions. It is none of their affair.”
Jean laughed at her. “When has public opinion ever mattered to you, Kathleen? Haven’t you always been the one to flaunt convention and damn the consequences?”
“Yes, but . . .’’she began.
“No buts! You shall stay with me.”
He was just as adamant that she must accept the extravagant gifts he bought her. When she demured, he simply said, “Let me pamper you. It pleases me to do so.” Put that way, how could she refuse?
These small concessions she made, but Jean was also wise enough to respect her as his equal and treat her thus. Together they planned future strategies. When Kathleen insisted she would rather go to the warehouse with him than stay at home or go shopping, he gladly accepted her company. Often he asked her advice on business matters. They went driving together, took their meals together, went out to dinner parties and other gatherings as a pair. Their friends accepted their new relationship without comment, and in doing so, greatly eased Kathleen’s anxieties. Others who might have voiced another opinion feared Jean’s famed skill with his sword too much to say anything.
Not for the first time in her life, Kathleen found herself in a situation over which she had little control; and as always before, it bothered her. She could accept her bodily urges and the intense pleasure she received from Jean’s loving, especially after the active lovelife she and Reed had shared and the long abstinence she had enforced upon herself. What she could not obliterate was a severe feeling of infidelity. It did not make sense, under the circumstances, but it clung to her like a persistent shadow. Yet another part of her grieved that she could not love Jean as she had Reed. In truth, if admitted only to herself, she feared to love Jean in this way, even were it possible. To do so would make her vulnerable to the same pain she had known when she had accepted the fact of Reed’s death. She had lived through hell once—a second loss would surely kill her. Kathleen, who feared almost nothing, was afraid to risk her heart again.
Jean realized Kathleen’s struggles. He knew that each night he held her in his arms, he held only that part of her which she could not help but give. His male pride was soothed by her cries of ecstasy, knowing he gave her pleasure, but he craved more. Kathleen was generous when she came to his bed. He could not fault her there. Still, he wanted her full surrender, and prayed that one day she would come to love him as he loved her—with all her heart. Each day, he fell more under her spell, and each day he hoped that soon he could ask her to be his wife, and hear her say yes.
When the returned to Grande Terre, they went to work readying their ships for another excursion. The hulls were being scraped and re-tarred, sails repaired, and line replaced. Fresh stores were laid in, and everything prepared for a long sea voyage.
Now they shared his house, his room, his bed. Everything he owned, he considered hers also. He strove to keep the mood of their relationship light, for her sake. They laughed and joked and played together. They swam in the bay, splashing and dunking one another like carefree children. There were sunlit picnics on the island, exotic flowers for her hair, and long walks hand-in-hand along the beach at sunset. At evening, they sat and talked on the gallery overlooking the garden as the cool sea breeze wafted soft island scents and sounds their way. And each night, he took her into his bed and delighted her with the mastery and glory of his love, holding her in his arms as they drifted off to sleep.
One evening after supper, they began a serious discussion on the art of fencing. Soon their talk became a heated debate on various movements and counterattacks. While they agreed on many points, they soon realized they had many differences, each preferring his own style.
“I have been fighting since you were a child, Kathleen. Please believe I know what I am talking about!” said Jean.
“Jean, I am not reputing your skill. Your swordsmanship is legendary. I am merely suggesting that my way might be better in certain circumstances. Allow me the respect of listening to my views. Just because I am female, does not make me witless!”
Jean sighed. “I believe we are at a stalemate.”
“Then prove me wrong, and I will concede,” she said.
His hazel eyes narrowed on her face. “What are you suggesting?”
“That we pit our skills and individual styles against one another in a fair contest,” Kathleen answered calmly.
“And who will call the duel?” he asked dubiously.
“We shall. First blood shall judge the winner.” At his frown, she added, “A mere scratch at most, Jean.”
“The thought of harming you makes me cringe, cherie, ” he admitted.
Kathleen threw him a jaunty grin. “Then I shall win the match!”
“You may try,” he countered
with a wry smile. Her outrageous idea was beginning to appeal to him. “Shall we set stakes?”
“By all means. Do you want my next captured ship?” she offered.
Jean’s smile widened wickedly. “Oh, nothing so crass as that. If I win, you shall be my slave for an evening." His eyes glittered. “You shall serve me food and drink, light my cigars, and see to my every comfort.”
“Oh?” Kathleen was intrigued in spite of herself.
“Oui. It would particularly delight me to have you draw my bath and bathe me, then give me a massage with warm spiced oils. And when I am fully relaxed, you can make love to me as I desire.”
“Agreed,” she said huskily, her green eyes glowing like a cat’s. “And if I win, you shall do the same for me. You shall wash my hair and brush it dry after you bathe me. Then I wish you to soften my skin with sweet oils, and make love to me, doing all the things you know drive me wild.”
Jean lifted a wine glass and handed it to her, taking up his own and proposing a toast. “To a good fight; winner take all!”
Kathleen’s goblet clinked against his, her laughter mingling with the chime of the glass. “May the best one win!”
They met the next afternoon in the music room. Jean had ordered all the furnishings moved to one end, creating a large, empty area in which to maneuver. He had also ordered everyone out of the house, warning them to stay away until he gave the word. They did as he said, though Jean had not explained his reasons. Kathleen felt he had done this to ensure that neither would be embarrassed over losing. His thoughtfulness touched her. The others need never know of this private duel—or the outcome.
They took a few minutes to inspect their weapons. As Kathleen stood flexing her wrists and elbows, Jean asked, “Would you like a practice round?”
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