Brandon's brows shot together. "Leaving? You can't leave.’
His voice contained an imperious note that made Juliette stiffen and, deliberately, she lifted the spoon out of her teacup and laid it on the saucer with a click before saying,
"I'm afraid I must. I only stayed this long because a friend of mine, Lord Keiths, will be running his horse in the race. I was always intending to leave. Maybe I should have made it clear sooner."
His face was like granite.
"I'm sorry," she said placing her hand over his. "Please, let's not quarrel, Brandon. The time left is short, and I'm still willing to make the most of it."
He brooded a moment more, but her touch combined with his name spoken so sweetly moved him. His lips curved upward and his face lost some of its hardness. Then raising his glass in a toast he said, "To the time we have left, then."
Juliette heard herself laugh nervously as she touched his brandy snifter with her teacup. They drank together. Then Brandon lowered his glass and continued. "And who can tell. Plans often change. It's possible we have more time than you think."
His eyes never left her as he sipped again from the edge of his glass.
Juliette felt the whispered rush of danger in his words but, choosing to ignore it, she immediately changed the subject. "Tell me-this is the loveliest yacht I've ever seen. How did you acquire the Black Hawk?"
She was grateful when he didn't balk, but changed direction with her, briefly telling her the circumstances. And afterward, the atmosphere between them returned to one of friendliness, though, even as they talked, Brandon's thoughts seemed distracted.
It was late afternoon when the Black Hawk docked at Las Flores del Mar, and the crew secured her to the landing. Then Juliette disembarked down the gangway on Brandon's arm, and, ironically, it was at that moment that Rodney Keiths rounded the corner of the yacht house and came into view.
As the young Englishman caught sight of Juliette and the large bronzed man, he stopped abruptly, a startled expression crossing his face, followed by irritation. Imperceptibly, Juliette winced, cursing her luck. Still, there was nothing she could do but introduce the two men, which she did, watching them shake hands.
Seen next to M. Phillips, Rodney Keiths grew younger before her eyes, seeming suddenly only a light-haired boy whose countenance shifted nervously beneath Phillips's poised calm.
"I'm pleased to meet you," Rodney said insincerely as he looked up into the other man's face.
A steward had told him Miss Thorpe had gone sailing on the Black Hawk, but he had made no mention of this tall, dangerous-looking fellow, whose hand of native servants were now swarming over the dock nearby.
It was Juliette who finally broke the constrained silence. "But when did you get in, Rod?"
she asked, taking his arm and trying to ease his tenseness. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."
"Only a few hours ago. Titian was very nervous on board, and threatened to kick his way out of his stall. We thought it best to make the crossing as fast as possible. Did you wish I hadn't come?"
"No-no, of course not. It's simply a surprise to see you. You’re looking well."
Rodney's eyes grew suddenly soft. "And you are looking more beautiful than ever."
"So you own race horses," Brandon asked politely.
Rodney turned to Phillips, another show of irritation crossing his face. Couldn't this man see he was not wanted? Why didn't he go away and leave them alone? How he had missed Juliette. And how he had hurried to see her, bidding the captain to make all haste. Titian had actually been calm as a rock on board, though the horse had been a valuable excuse for arriving early.
"Yes, I do," Rodney replied shortly.
"And they are all fine horses, I imagine," Brandon said, smiling slightly at the Englishman's discomfort.
Rodney turned back to the tall man with a frown forming between his blond brows. "The finest horses the pound can procure," he answered with a sense of hauteur. "You see, monsieur, my father was none other than Lord William Edward Keiths."
Now it was Juliette who frowned. Normally Rodney never threw his family title into the face of others. It embarrassed her, and doubly so now, considering the discretion with which Monsieur Phillips conducted his own affairs. "Rodney is very fond of his family," she said trying to smooth over his brashness.
Brandon nodded, and Juliette could see his smile was one of indulgence for the waywardness of a child. She felt Rodney tug on her arm. "Please, Juliette! There is a very important .., personal matter I must discuss with you ... alone." Rodney turned to the tall man, his dislike barely concealed. "If you will excuse us, Monsieur-Phillips?"
"Of course," Brandon replied, without another choice.
The two men exchanged polite amenities before Rodney, triumphant, turned his full attention to Juliette, grasping intimately the hand she placed through his arm, and leading her away toward the hotel.
Looking after them, Brandon's jaw grew fixed in a hard line. What kind of woman was this? He asked himself. And why did the smile she gave that young Englishman tear at him with claws of jealousy? Or was that what she intended? Surely, she must know his affection for her was more than casual, though he had never taken her into his arms and made his every intention clear. Perhaps that was his mistake.
Yet she was different from all the others, too shy, too uninitiated, and too independent to approach so unabashedly. Somehow she had become important to him. How charming she was . . . those eyes that could look so fiercely into his, that heartbreaking loveliness that was her jaw line, and that subtle pout of her lower lip that almost begged to be kissed. How essential had become the light, fresh way she laughed, and how easily she made him forget, for a brief time, not only that he was the Sheik of El Abadan, with the weight of a destiny on his shoulders-but also that he hated all English.
Long ago she began infiltrating his dreams, if not actually disturbing his sleep, and for two days now he had delayed his departure for Africa, though he had been informed the rifles and ammunition were at the docks of Marseille and due to be loaded.
It was the kind of recklessness that could lose everything, and yet he had stayed, sensing in her a kindling of the same fire that burned in him. Yet, today, with all the forthright audacity so typical of the English, she had announced her plans to leave, stating the fact with complete ease, as she might have spoken of the weather.
Did she think he was one of the fools who danced attendance on her? That he could be shunned as she inevitably shunned them, one after another. Brandon pulled out a cheroot, lit it, and drew in deeply. The tobacco tasted bitter and, jerking it out of his mouth, he hurled the cheroot into the water where it hissed like a snake.
By Allah! Juliette Thorpe was leaving-but not the way she imagined!
Chapter 30
The flames of a thousand candles set the Las Flores del Mar ballroom ablaze with light as voices and laughter rose above the lively strains of the hotel orchestra. It was yet another party, the celebration of Lady Linley's birthday, and a gala affair with all the notables in attendance, dancing and enjoying the lavish food and drink.
At the stroke of midnight, Bosley Linley walked onto the stage, flushed with champagne and stammering only slightly as he called for the crowd's attention. The roar of voices subsided and, amid a rustle of gowns, everyone turned to face Bosley, and also Lady Linley who was seated behind him at the largest table.
Bosley raised his glass. "To my mother," he declared in a loud voice that carried to every corner, "the dearest and finest lady in the land. May she enjoy continued health, happiness, and all the finest things of life, which she so richly deserves."
The glittering guests raised their glasses in turn, joining in the toast, and from around the room came shouts of "Hear-hear!" and, "Happy Birthday!" before everyone drank together.
As the glasses were lowered, the orchestra burst into a flowing melody. Lord Linley escorted his wife to the center of the large burnished floor, and togethe
r they danced a single turn around it alone before other couples joined them.
It was the apex of the festivities and yet, to Brandon Phillips, standing a full head above the crowd, it appeared that at least one of the guests was absent. Twice already he had circled the edge of the ballroom, glancing from face to face, occasionally nodding to gentlemen he knew, and noticing that Rodney Keiths, who seemed to be feeling his liquor, was lecturing a group his own age with broad hand gestures. But still he didn't see Juliette. So now, Brandon moved to the wide-flung double doors that opened into the garden and stepped outside.
It was a balmy night, a light breeze carrying the fragrances of rose and jasmine as silently he scanned the broad lawns and low shrubbery and empty marble benches. Then moving down a path leading to the center of the garden, Brandon suddenly stopped short as above the sounds of a fountain splashing, he heard angry voices.
"How can you say I led you on?" came the high-pitched, indignant voice he recognized as Juliette's. "I never have or would! I find you despicable!"
There was a low guttural sound. "Whether you despise me or not, I intend to have a kiss," said a man's voice. "I didn't take so much trouble to be turned down."
"I won't! Now let me go or I'll yell your name at the top of my voice. And don't think I won't dare because I will!"
The man's reply was cut short then as, in a few long legged strides, Brandon burst on the scene with a suddenness so startling the small stout man holding Juliette let her go and fled.
Juliette had been pulling with all her might, so the abrupt release of her wrist sent her careening backward. Stumbling, she tried to catch her balance before, inexplicably, she found herself fallen against a man's chest, his arms closing around her.
Squaring her jaw, she flung her head around to look into her assailant's face. But seeing then it was Brandon, she laughed tremulously.
"So it is you! I wondered who else might have followed me."
Brandon did not speak at once. Instead, having safely, and so easily, captured his quarry, he slowly scanned her, the cascade of silvery hair fallen loose down her back, the high flush in her cheeks, the heaving tops of her impudently high breasts, the white chiffon gown that swirled around her as light as a fairy's veil.
As always she was enchanting, he thought. But tonight there was something different. The childlike quality that usually characterized her had taken on a certain new flavor womanliness -that had not been there before. Could it be, he wondered with an unfamiliar sense of exhilaration, that at last his patient wooing was having results?
Juliette had stopped struggling, expecting Brandon to release her, and wondering suddenly if it was his lips that brushed the back of her neck, she looked down nervously at the tanned hands clasping her waist as he spoke from behind her.
"You should be more careful. It's dangerous for you to be wandering in these gardens alone."
"I thought I was safe," she explained. "The party was stifling and I came out here. It is so lovely tonight. I never imagined that drunken man would follow me."
A silent moment passed as she stood pressed against him, and when still Brandon didn't release her, Juliette realized she had escaped one altercation only to find herself in another-possibly far worse one.
"You are careless. A beautiful girl alone is a temptation to any man."
His hands moved to her shoulders, and before she could resist, he turned her to face him, pulling her so close she could feel the strong thumping of his heart against her throat.
Rivers of delight pulsated over her flesh, but there was no time to think as his fingers cupped her chin, tilting her face to meet his black eyes glowing fondly fierce.
"Even I can be tempted," he was saying. And taking a long tress that curled in his fingers, he brushed it back from her temple.
A languid desire poured into Juliette's blood. He was so close that she wanted to melt into him, losing herself in that broad expanse of chest as every sense urged her to do. How easy to let this happen, she thought even as another inner voice whispered, "you must not-must not lose control.'
She straightened then, pulling back against his hold, her eyes darting about, furtively seeking some means to put him, off. But the garden was empty. They were completely, dangerously, alone.
"You are alarmed," she heard him say. "But I will not harm you. Haven't I proven that I'm not a beast? You are precious to me-a treasure I long to possess. But among my Arab friends there is a saying that everything shall be in its own time. And so it shall be with us. There is nothing to fear."
"It's not that I'm afraid," she said. "It's that . . . it's that ..:" She couldn't think clearly, and her lowered eyes fixed involuntarily on his mouth-now perilously close to hers.
"Juliette, Juliette," his lips were saying. "Haven't you ever known the arms of a man or understood the desires you evoke?" He gathered her closer, her breasts pressing hard against his chest. "Do you know how beautiful you are?"
Juliette raised a hand so she touched the broad width of his shoulders. He was like a magnet, encircling her, overpowering her stimulating every fiber of her being even as the inner voice repeated, "Escape! Escape!"
Yes, escape, she thought. But her pushing hands felt weak. And when she heard herself say, "Brandon ... Brandon . . . please don't . . . Brandon," it was more a sigh than a command.
His eyes bored into hers, seeming to see her more deeply-more completely than anyone ever had, a look that touched her soul. Then, lowering his proud head, his lips drew closer
"Come," she heard him whis¬per, "kiss me."
Transfixed, Juliette stood motionless. Then, just as his mouth would have claimed hers, Juliette clutched at what remained of sanity and turned her face away. Still undaunted, he came, pressing his burning lips beneath her ear, his breath scorching her as he continued down her throat in a fiery brand.
She buried her neck in his chest, attempting to foil his advance. But his lips passed down onto her white shoulders before dropping to kiss the curving flesh above her breasts.
Beneath the caress Juliette's resistance melted like a frozen pool in the first spring thaw. A rush of emotion exalted her senses as weakening waves of desire pulsed through her body.
She wanted . . . yes . . . wanted him.... as she had never wanted before, wanted him in this strange compelling way that damned her resistance and drove her on. Then suddenly, from somewhere beyond a hedge came the laughter of a group of passersby.
The thought of being discovered immediately broke the spell, pulling her back from the brink of she knew not what, and pushing her fists against Brandon's chest, Juliette's lips trembled as she spoke in a ragged whisper, "Oh, Brandon . . . please . . . please stop . . . you . . . you ..:' and then because she didn't know what else to say, "You're crushing my dress"
He straightened at her pleas, relaxing the arm that molded her against him, though still he didn't set her free.
Desperately, Juliette's thoughts stumbled one over another as she tried to think, to consider anything besides the burning patches on her skin where his lips had touched. He was like champagne-like poison. If he kissed her again she would be lost. If only those people would come closer, and he was forced to release her. But when she heard their laughter again, it was from further away.
"It is only a dress, a piece of cloth, although a very lovely one," he was saying softly in her ear. "Someday I will give you many others. Stay here with me now or have I hurt you?"
"No! No, not hurt, only . . . I... I: " Then suddenly a desperate ploy occurred to her. "It's just that I want to wash my arm in the fountain where that odious man touched me," she said guilelessly as possible.
Brandon raised a dubious brow as he appeared to consider her words. Then apparently approving, he relaxed his arm, and pulling a large linen handkerchief from an inner pocket, offered it.
Relieved, Juliette moved away, dipping the handkerchief into the fountain and pulling it out again to swish, first over one arm, and then over the other, all the time
keeping a nervous eye on him as he watched-waiting, dark and striking in his formal clothes, his arms crossed as he observed her with appreciative possession.
Juliette couldn't have known that all morning Brandon had been thinking of her and of the homes he would build for her-two in France-if she wished, one on the Riviera, and another in Paris. Then, after he had taken care of this business in El Abadan, he would take her to his chalet in Switzerland, or Russia, or Germany-wherever she wished.
In the moonlight now, she seemed a silver-haired spirit of grace and light, and noticing how her eyes looked at him so huge and shining, Brandon imagined their first night together. As he pictured Juliette's slender body reclining naked and aroused in his arms, Brandon noted that she had finished her task and had screwed the handkerchief into a loose ball that dripped a narrow stream of water as she appeared to weigh it in her palm.
He was waiting for her to drop it before taking her into his arms again, when, with violent suddenness, there was a blinding flash and a scattering of lightning against blackness as a stinging force hit his eyes, and, in the same second, with utter disbelief, Brandon realized it was his own handkerchief flung from Juliette's hand.
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