by Thea Devine
He didn't answer. His hands moved, surrounding her waist, pulling her against him. She felt his fingers unbutton her skirt, and it fell, with a little frisson of sound, to her feet. She heard a faint growl of satisfaction as he felt the underlaying garments, and he began with deliberate motions to unbutton the shirtwaist.
"Deuce — " she begged hoarsely, but he was intent now, almost finished with the buttons, parting the shirt, his hands molding her still-covered breasts against the fabric of her underwear.
"Everything comes off," he said harshly as he began sliding the chemise from her shoulders. "I want you naked in the barn with me; I want only that memory in your mind today." The chemise fell onto the heap of clothing at her feet. Then he knelt and removed her boots and socks one at a time, tossing them to one side. He stayed at her feet, looking up at her nakedness now revealed in the shimmering light as enticing shadows and hollows. He reached out for her, bringing her closer to him so that he could kiss the smooth flesh of her
abdomen. His arms slid around her thighs and the sweet cushiony curve of her buttocks.
Her hands twisted themselves in his hair involuntarily as his lips teased their way lower. She moaned with uninhibited pleasure at the sensations only he could arouse in her treacherous body.
Just when she thought she could bear no more, he stood up very (Slowly, his hands sliding up her body as he raised himself, feeling her hips and the indentation of her waist, slowly sliding up her rhidriff and grazing the heavy curve of her breasts, up to her shoulders and neck to hold her immobile as his mouth buried itself now against her lips.
It was a long, languid caress; he sought her avidly over and over, kissing her voraciously until she had to hold onto him because her knees buckled. He held her tightly against his clothed body, to emphasize the power of his masculinity against her nakedness and the power her nakedness had over him. He was pulsating with need of her. His hands moved, following the line of her body to her buttocks, pausing there to cup them and crush them against his hips and thighs, to feel the movement of her body as he awakened her desire.
She felt out of control and she didn't care. Her heedless words were coming back to haunt her: He had only had to touch her, to remove one piece of clothing, and she was yearning for him, loving the sensation of her nakedness against his rough sweat-drenched clothing and hard, implacable body. When he pulled his mouth away and turned her body around so that her buttocks were pillowed against his throbbing manhood, she raised her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth back to hers avidly and awkwardly.
His hands now worshipped the front of her body. Her uplifted arms thrust out her taut tipped breasts in a way that demanded his caresses. His hands cupped them and
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held them as his tongue ravished hers and his hips thrust against her writhing buttocks.
"Now." She heard the word as a guttural whisper against her mouth. "No." Her answer was moan and an invitation.
His tongue licked her lips. "Don't move." The merest breath. "Look."
"Don't stop," she groaned. Her eyes, now liquid blue with passion, slanted downward to see his hands, brown and long-fingered, holding her breasts, his thumb and forefinger just surrounding her taut protruding nipples.
"Now I'm going to make the Kalida-cat purr," he whispered roughly, and his fingers took each lush turgid nipple and held it just at the tip, knowing what the feeling of that would do to her. Her body reacted with a sinuous spasm and he could only imagine the cascade of sensation coursing through her as her moan of pleasure resonated through his. "Did that rutting bastard feel you there?" he demanded harshly as he played with the inflaming nakedness of her nipple. "Did he see you like this, hot and melting in his arms? Damn it, Kalida, damn you. . . ."
She hardly heard his words; the rough inciting syllables were like an aphrodisiac to her. Her head rested against his hard muscle-taut shoulder, thrown back as the ecstasy as his sorcerer's hands sent the lustrous thick sensations of pleasure shimmering through her veins. Her hands clutched his thighs, squeezing them, pulling them closer to her body so she could feel his hardness against her buttocks.
"Kalida . . ." He sighed her name hoarsely into her ear. Her luscious movements against him provoked him to an almost unbelievable arousal. No one, he thought in a haze of insane possessive feeling, could have made her feel this tumultuous upheaval of sensation except him. No one could make her grind her body so wantonly in pleasure
except him. "No one ... no one . . ." he growled, unaware that he had even uttered the words out loud. He wanted her alluring body close, and closer still.
His iron bar of a left arm surrounded her suddenly, clamping her around the full curves of her waist, molding her even more tightly against him as his right hand slithered down the curves of her hips and thighs, slowly and sensuously
She was totally his now, enslaved by his enthralling caressing hands, enraptured by the separate senses of his holding her as tightly as a bolt, his intimate exploration of her, and his impudent fondling of her deliciously taut nipple.
"This is mine, Kalida," he rasped, as his whole body responded to his sensual invasion. "This is mine," as his fingers felt the temptingly turgid nipple peak over and over, squeezing it and sliding his huge palm against its pebble hardness. "Did the bastard touch you?" he hissed, sliding his searching fingers still deeper.
His words whipped by her, through her; she was never conscious of anything but his voluptuous exploration of her nakedness. She felt him intensely all over her, within her. No one else could do this to her. No one else knew just where to feel her, just which way to caress her, just how to fondle her surging white-hot body. Her whole being glimmered at his touch, a recognition of what was to come; her body reached for his knowledgeable, driving fingers.
He wanted to throw her down on the sweet grass hay right there and take her savagely undulating body under his. He wanted to plunge deep into her sultry mystery and lose himself, to drive into her again and again and be sheathed in her sweet heat. But the urgency of her pulsating body compelled his hands, the moans that greeted every stroke and flex of his hard fingers drove him to mindless urgency.
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He held all of her nakedness in his hands, and he knew she was rapturously aware of it and that only he could elicit this sumptuously primitive response from her. She was all liquid heat in his hands now.
Her fingers dug into his thighs as the crystalline feeling began building, slowly at first, liquid crystal upon liquid crystal, shimmering now, spreading through her veins, joining with the thick honey cloud of sensation from her nipples, white hot and glistening now, glowing, dazzling. . . . She felt her body expanding, the heat streaming and throbbing through every muscle, every pore of her skin, sheening it with all the liquid in her body. The satin heat in her rose higher and higher, and she drove against the luscious hardness that propelled the feeling until it exploded into a white-hot radiance behind her eyes and slowly drifted down to encompass her whole body.
Long moments later, she became aware of many small separate impressions: his iron arm around her waist, holding her so tight she almost couldn't breathe; the musky, earthy odor that melded with the scent of her sex; the dusky filtered light that concealed and revealed everything; the firm hand still resting between her thighs; the hard uncompromising body that still supported hers.
Her skin dimpled with cold and a wave of after-reaction. She struggled against his confining muscular arm, and it immediately loosened but still kept her restrained.
She sensed the simmering desire in him still, and she ceased her movements and let him hold her. He slid his right arm around her waist and turned her to face him. "Did he touch you?" he asked again, his voice strained and low, but without the intensity and the frightening hard ragged edge.
He couldn't see her lustrous cobalt eyes. He could barely now see the shadow of her face. The murky light
seemed to illuminate only the
line of her cheekbone and the sensual firm curve of her lips.
She hesitated a moment, unable to believe he was still after her answer, and then she shook her head. It was all she would give him, especially because she sensed it did not satisfy him one bit. If he could have commanded it, , he would have had her detail every moment she had spent with Jake. But,,her resistance must have been apparent to him, for he let go of her suddenly and began searching for her clothes.
She made a move to help him, but he waved her away; when he had them all, he began dressing her, his hands strangely tender now as they buttoned the shirt, bracing her body so he could slip on her boots and slide the skirt over her head so she could fasten it.
And outside the barn, in a place where some straggly bushes effectively concealed an observer, close by the door at an angle that illuminated with startling clarity what went on in the loft, Jake Danton watched Kalida, his whole body suffused with hot resentment that she had allowed Deuce to do all the things he had been dreaming of—and without a protest, without a qualm, just as it was in her nature to do. Just as she would soon do for him too. He swore it, as he scuttled away before they became aware of his presence. He had learned a hard lesson about how to deal with Kalida, but he knew what to do now. He had only to take what he wanted, and she would fall into his arms.
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Chapter Twelve
Kalida-cat.
Kalida could still hear the harsh hissing words reverberating in her brain as she stared at her drawn face in the bedroom mirror. Dress for dinner, Ardelle had said; Deuce was staying the night; Jake would nighthawk; he was gone already. And Deuce would not be keeping his promise about not sleeping with her, she thought.
Her glittering cobalt eyes darkened dangerously as she considered this. Why not? His men were gone. The rooms were empty now, and there must be any number of places she could settle herself in comfortably and he retire contentedly, knowing his honor "was intact.
Sure. Kalida-cat. She moved her hands to her eyes and pushed up the corners. Nothing was different. He was still king and oppressor. Lord and owner of all he surveyed. Using any method to get what he wanted.
Her firm chin lifted and her hands pulled at her glossy black hair. Impossible hair. Everything was impossible. Something had changed.
She had almost put a name to her discontent.
Kalida-cat.
Not a sweet, innocent face anymore. The face of a woman. A woman who could arouse a man's desire. His envy. A raging jealousy. A woman who was coming to know there was only one man she wanted touching her.
The man she hated. The man she could not bear thinking would* touch another woman the way he touched her.
The mere thought of it sent crackles down her spine. She felt as though she were in a maze of confusion. How could she despise his arrogance and want his hands? How could he make her feel such a staggering capitulation by just putting his hands on her? And how could she feel such a fierce desire to become part of him when she was still consumed by this fiery resentment of the circumstances that had brought her here?
Something had definitely changed. She definitely did not want to hand him over to some other woman. Most especially she did not want him to become interested in Ellie, but she knew right well that Ellie was now intensely interested in him.
He could not possibly want Ellie after this afternoon!
She picked up a brush to pull it through her midnight curls, which were waved and tangled from the tight braid she had just unknotted.
Dress for dinner, Ardelle had said, most pleased there was a reason. A stern-faced, overbearing male reason who would sit there and allow three women to fawn all over him.
She hadn't changed that much; she was not going to fall all over his imperious, domineering, masculine highhandedness. She would sit and lick her paws in a corner before she would pay court to him.
She wheeled at the knock at the door. Prestina poked her head in. "What dress you wearing tonight, Miss
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Kalida?"
"What do you think?" Kalida asked, thinking all the choices were positively atrocious.
"How about this pretty?" Prestina smiled, sliding herself into the room and thrusting something in front of Kalida's face. "Madame finished it minutes ago, so she can join you for dinner."
"It's lovely," Kalida murmured, touching the bodice. How clever of Madame! She had remade the hated fitted blue dress pattern, in black this time, of a heavier material more suitable for evening. The neckline was slightly more daring than even Kalida had ever worn, and the lightly poufed shoulders exaggerated still more the hourglass shape of the garment. The skirt was belled and drawn back and up in the hint of a bustle that Madame seemed to favor, and this time the buttons marched down the back of the dress. Its sole decoration was the velvet band that tied around the waist and trailed down the back
of the dress.
For some reason, Kalida liked it a lot better than the blue, and still more and more as Prestina helped her slip into it, painstakingly buttoning it for her and tying the velvet band just so, laying its ends coquettishly over the little bustle.
Kalida stared at herself in the mirror. The black color of the dress gave her an elegance and imperious fragility. Her skin appeared translucent, pearly. Her unruly dark hair and the low-cut neckline seemed almost a frame for her face. Her eyes blazed cobalt approval at the gorgeous creature with the swelling breasts and exquisite posture that stared back from her mirror.
Prestina's hands lifted her heavy black curls off her neck and began pinning them, with expert little twists and twirls. Kalida made a negative motion, but Prestina was adamant. "You want the hair in such a way as to tantalize. You are showing your neck and your bosom,
and soon enough, the man wants you alone in his room to take down the hair pin by pin, Miss Kalida, and we will make him work." .
"I was thinking you might be able to find some other room for me to occupy," Kalida said testily as she nervously watched Prestina's hands arranging her hair. "Everyone's gone, isn't that so? Deuce has lifted the patrol and done something to protect the Santa Linaria; no one is expected back now or will need their room for another night."
Prestina nodded calmly. "This is true, what you say, but what you want is not possible. Mr. Deuce would not permit."
Kalida wrenched her head away from Prestina's gentle fingers. "And why not?" she demanded, whirling around.
"Mr. Deuce say," Prestina answered firmly, turning Kalida around again to face the mirror,, her expression uncompromising. "We only do what Mr. Deuce say."
"Do we?" murmured Kalida. Everyone seemed so damned sure about that. Deuce must be spoiled, not having anyone oppose him at all in any way. So there it was, as simply put as possible. She would be coming back to this room, night after night, after boring days of doing what she could not imagine at this point, since Ardelle was not happy with her "cowgirl" proclivities; and here Deuce would be, and here she would be at the mercy of his desires.
And her own.
Oh no, she thought; she had some pride on that point even if it could easily be overcome. She still did not like the situation, and she still was sure the contract between her father and Deuce did not include his bedding her. Nor had she heard another word, since the fire, about his marrying her. What was he expecting? she wondered. That she would live out her days as his concubine? That she would be happy with such an arrangement that gave
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her no rights or a title, that would put her up to ridicule? And on top of that, she was not to be allowed any privacy! Well, she thought, patting the intricate twists of hair that Prestina had woven into a delicate style to complement her dress, we'll see about that. Deuce couldn't be allowed to have it all his own way, especially when he had gotten everything he wanted already anyway.
Madame was speaking as Kalida entered the parlor, detailing, it seemed, just what Deuce was getting for h
is money. She looked like a gangling ostrich, dressed as she habitually was in black taffeta, with a piece of lace draped like a veil over the top of her iron-gray hair. She turned as Kalida entered and paused in the door frame. "Ah, here is Madamoiselle Kalida; does she not look resplendent in black?"
Deuce, who towered over them all, sent her a dark, inscrutable charcoal look, and said abruptly, "Quite." He couldn't trust himself to say more. She was quite beyond anything he had words to express. She looked almost ethereal in black. What saved the dress and the sense of her as some kind of illusion was the earthy neckline, exposing just enough of her breasts in such a way that anyone looking at her knew there was an exciting woman beneath the swath of black. His eyes rested on the swell of creamy skin. He felt instantly like he wanted to carry her off out of the sight of Ellie and his aunt and this babbling foreign woman whose words he barely heard. But instead he had Ellie—Ellie with her hot black eyes and questing fingers, which darted here and there on his arm, pressing, feeling, inviting. Ellie stood too close and pouted just a bit too much, and next to Kalida's stark elegance, she looked almost gaudy. But for some reason, Kalida was playing some kind of teasing game designed to thrust him into Ellie's arms, perhaps, he thought, so she
could play at being righteously indignant. Whatever it was, he didn't understand it. Even now, a small smug smile played over her luscious lips as she watched them talking together. Even after this afternoon's thunderbolt experience in the loft. He didn't understand for a moment how she could think he would choose pallid Ellie over her, and he was rather amused, for one minute, to imagine how she woujd try.
He wasn't nearly done with Kalida Ryland today, he thought grittily, lifting his whiskey glass to her in a grim little salute. She understood what he meant. The smug smile widened and she turned her back on him.