He lit a cigarette. “Very well. I will tell you a little story.” He gazed at the burning tip of his cigarette for a moment. “Some years ago I was captain of my own ship and involved in smuggling valuable art out of China during a time when, due to the political climate of the country, art was being destroyed. I had a rival, a very beautiful, intelligent rival, named Mandarin. She was at least as good as I was, and although she managed to slip away with treasures I had set my heart on, I didn’t mind too much. I respected her, and after all, there was plenty for everyone. We each were managing to accumulate large fortunes.”
He blew a heavy stream of smoke into the air. “As the fates would have it, Mandarin fell in love with my second-in-command, Josh. Josh was also my best friend. We played on the streets of Chicago together, and we tramped through the Jungles of Southeast Asia together. But somewhere along the line, something twisted inside of Josh and never righted. It happened slowly, before my eyes, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it... except be there for him.
“Then one bright, sunshine-filled day, a trap was set for Mandarin and for me. I was lucky enough to escape, but Mandarin was caught and put in prison behind the bamboo curtain. For ten years I’ve worked to get her out, and I’ve finally succeeded.”
Sydney slowly let out the breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. “That’s an incredible story.”
His mouth twisted. “It isn’t just a story. It was my life.”
“I know, and that makes it all the more incredible. But I still don’t understand. Why are you in danger now?”
“Simple. Mandarin thinks I’m the one who betrayed her and set that trap. Mandarin has sworn vengeance against me. If she had my respect as a rival privateer, she certainly has my respect as an enemy. She’ll be deadly.”
“You didn’t betray her, did you.” It was said quietly, a statement.
His dark brown eyes shimmered with feeling as they rested on her. “Thank you. And no, I didn’t. Josh did.”
She gasped. “Your best friend!”
“And Mandarin’s lover. But Mandarin never knew, and the lady hates well. And now she’s discovered an additional reason for hating me. Besides thinking that I set that trap, she also thinks I killed Josh.” His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “She doesn’t know that I would rather have given my life than have something happen to him.”
Nicholas’s pain was great. He handled it well. He concealed it well. But Sydney heard, and she had to fight back the tears she wanted to cry for him. “What really happened?”
He ground out his cigarette. “I suppose no one will ever know for sure. The best information I can get is that the Chinese agents—the same people who promised Josh a great deal of money for the capture of Mandarin and me—killed him.”
Sydney was stunned. And she knew that nothing she could possibly say would come close to being adequate.
He stood and pulled her up with him. “So now you know, Sydney. But that knowledge alters nothing between us. You’re a woman capable of great compassion and sympathy, and your golden eyes are telling me that this is what you’re feeling for me. But once again, I must tell you that I don’t want your compassion or your sympathy.”
With his hands on her arms and his body so close to hers, Sydney’s blood began to stir. He was right. Instinctively she had wanted to take him in her arms and comfort him. But he was a man who wanted no comfort.
Instead, he wanted what she had given no man before. Her passion. And in spite of her doubts, excitement began to climb inside her.
Then his mouth covered hers with deep hunger, and the kiss felt so right to her. His hands claimed her; her arms went around him. Mind and body, she returned the kiss, her mind spinning, her body pulsing.
She was aware that every time he took her into his arms, she was able to retain less and less control over her clamoring emotions. And she was aware that she was on the brink of being taken over completely by a fire so hot that it couldn’t help but consume her.
But what could she do?
Nicholas felt her yielding. If she had been any other woman, he would have taken her then. But this was Sydney. And suddenly he knew that if he could give her nothing else, he would give her honesty. He managed to pull away, but he couldn’t manage to take his hands off her.
His voice came roughly to her. “Sydney, I’m not sure I have the ability to love. I think I possessed that ability once, but I don’t think I do anymore. I only know that with every day that passes, my need for you, my feeling for you, seems to wind tighter and tighter into me, becoming part of me, until I can’t draw a breath without wanting you to be there by my side to share that breath. I want you, Sydney Delaney, but you must want me equally. You must come to me.”
And then he left her, and Sydney stood in the middle of her room, feeling bereft and shaken.
* * *
The swans had seemed to call to her tonight, and Sydney had come. Standing atop the sunroof of Nicholas’s Glass Palace three floors up, she had an unrestricted view of the island, the lagoon, and the swans.
Gazing around, she wondered why she had never come up here before. It was a wonderful place, with plants and lounge chairs, tables and umbrellas. There was even a telescope set up so that the guests could bring the distant wonders of the island closer to them.
Yet tonight she had the roof all to herself. For most people, she was sure, would be in their rooms dressing for the evening ahead.
Feeling the swans pulling at her, though, she had dressed early and in one of her favorite gowns. It was of a bittersweet red silk that oddly enough blended magnificently with her unusual hair and warmed the ivory tone of her skin. The bodice would remind most people of a pinafore, but that’s where any resemblance to a little girl’s dress ended. It was true that the neckline demurely grazed her collarbone, but the back plunged to her waist, and the straps of the same material and color went over her shoulders to crisscross twice down her bare back.
Her gaze was drawn back to the swans. She wanted to see them fly tonight, and she wanted to see where they went. Now they sailed majestically on a gleaming amethyst lagoon, but soon she knew they would take flight into the remarkable golden-pink sky above them.
Curiosity drew Sydney to the telescope. Through it the swans appeared so close it seemed she could touch them. She swung the telescope around, scanning the island, the rain forest, and beyond, to the wild side of the island.
But then she heard the bell. She lifted her head and listened as it rang... once... twice... three times. As before, the swans stirred, then lifted their wings to the soft evening air. Sydney’s heart lodged in her throat as she followed their flight. Their graceful black bodies were outlined against the pink sky as they circled above her, then headed toward the other side of the island.
She lowered her head back to the telescope, intent on seeing exactly where the swans were headed. As she swept the scope back and forth, she could see nothing at first but a blur of vivid colors and green forest. Gradually, though, by keeping an eye on the birds and their path across the sky, she began to concentrate on one area. It became clearer. She could pick out details. Then she saw.
There, on a headland, jutting out over the untamed sea, a house stood, rising from the rocky promontory. She almost missed it, so naturally did it fit into its surroundings. She might even have missed the T-shaped post and the large bell hanging from it. But she could never have missed the man. He was standing on a wooden deck beside the bell, dressed in a tuxedo, his head thrown back, looking up at the sky.
The man was Nicholas.
And he had called the swans to him.
For a moment Sydney felt weak. She pulled away from the glass and rested her forehead against the metal body of the telescope.
Lord. He had rung the bell, and the swans, wild creatures that they were, had flown to him. And they did this every night!
He didn’t cage them.
But he commanded them.
They trusted him.
His gaze was pensive as he watched them. His hands were inserted into the pockets of the tuxedo’s pants. Standing so still and alone, unaware that she watched, he nevertheless had the ability to make her ache with desire for him.
What could she do? she asked herself.
What could she do about a man so dark in spirit he kept himself apart from all but a very few people?
What could she do about a man so sensitive that for ten years he had bled inside for friends lost?
What could she do about a man so formidable and powerful that he required an island of his own and a strike force of men to surround him?
What could she do? She could love him.
She could love him for as hard and as long as he would allow. It would be a time in heaven, a time in hell.
And she was going to him.
* * *
She raced out of the hotel, the red silk of her gown flying around her. And as always, Sai seemed to be there when she wanted him.
“Sai, I need to get to the other side of the island. I need to go to Nicholas. Can you help me?”
As usual, his black eyes regarded her without expression. Yet this time, for the first time, he spoke. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m completely sure.”
Without another word he turned and led her toward a parking lot and a Jeep with a silver and gray canopy. “Take the path at the back of the hotel and follow it.” He withdrew a set of keys and handed them to her. “Good journey, Sydney.”
She realized that he was talking about more than the trip across the island. “Thank you.”
It was not night yet, but the rain forest allowed very little light. As she drove, she remembered that Nicholas had walked along this very path just before dawn. She at least had the headlights of the Jeep. He hadn’t even carried a flashlight. He must have eyes like a cat, she concluded. But then, he was very used to the dark.
There was a smell of dampness all around her. Occasionally she would hear the sound of running water over the noise of the engine of the Jeep and knew she was close to a stream or a waterfall. Now and again the headlights would pick out cords of orchids twining through the trees, and she could hear the laughter of a kookaburra.
Then, ahead of her, through a wall of leaves, she saw light—not much really. Just a lighter shade of darkness—and she knew she had nearly reached Nicholas.
She broke free of the rain forest to a pink sky producing its last glow. The lagoon now populated by the swans was almost directly in front of her. She circled it and pulled to a stop at the bottom of the path that led up to the house.
She turned the key and listened. On this side of the island the surf was louder. Waves rolled across miles of ocean, unbroken by a fringe of reef, stopping only when they crashed onto the beach below Nicholas’s house. But as loud as the surf was, she could barely hear the waves over the pounding of her heart. To her ears the pounding of her heart sounded like thunder.
She got out and took in her surroundings—the lush lagoon, the swans. Then slowly she lifted her eyes to the deck... and to Nicholas.
His stance was no longer casual. His arms were leaning on the railing, his body was rigid, and he was staring down at her, those dark eyes of his intense. Then suddenly he wheeled to move quickly down the steps. And she went to meet him.
Surprisingly he stopped an arm’s length away from her. Yet even from that distance she could feel the heat of his need for her, and she was reassured.
“Are you totally certain?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her lips curved shyly. “But you’re going to have to help me, Nicholas. I’m not sure... I’ll be able to... completely let go.”
He stepped to her and with a great gentleness cupped her face. “You’ll have to, Sydney. You won’t have any choice, because I won’t let you give me anything less than everything you have, everything you are.”
The trembling began. She had known it would be like this—the fear and the anticipation of the unknown. Giving herself to this dark, powerful man would be the biggest gamble of her life.
Then there was no more time for fear, for Nicholas scooped her into his arms and began walking toward his house.
She couldn’t have said what his house was like. Later there would be time to find out. She was being carried in his arms and that was all she needed to know for now. It seemed to her, though, that they passed through several rooms, and then they were in the bedroom.
He set her on her feet, and she received the twin impressions of spaciousness and darkness, right before he placed a hard kiss on her lips.
“Stay here,” he murmured. Her gaze followed him as he moved around the room, lighting tall white candles. Slowly the room filled with a golden illumination, and she could pick things out. A glass ceiling sloped above her. And in the middle of the room the bed rested on a high platform and was surrounded by white gauze mosquito netting.
She reached to begin unfastening the straps of her dress, but his voice stopped her. “I want to undress you.”
So he came to her and began to do just that—slowly and with exquisite care, until the bodice of her dress fell to her waist.
“Here.” Her hand went to the back of her waist. “The catch is here.” She was nervous and it showed in the too quick movement and in the shakiness of her voice.
His hand clasped hers. “Shhh. I told you. I want to do it myself.” His voice flowed over her like satin sliding over raw skin, soothing, yet enticing.
With a flick of his fingers the dress was unhooked and it slipped to the floor around her feet. Left standing in only her panties, she stepped out of her shoes and the dress with one motion.
“You are so beautiful.” The words were uttered on one long breath. The back of his hand slid down her throat and across the creamy skin of her breast, and his eyes followed the path of his hand. “I will not bruise you,” he murmured solemnly.
Whether he was talking about bruises to her skin or to her soul, she did not know. And it did not matter. For she was sure that however many bruises and scars she would receive from this relationship, it would be worth it.
Smiling, she reached for his tie and undid it. “Now it’s my turn to tell you not to worry.” His jacket fell to the floor to join her dress. The studs in his shirt came out next. But there she stopped, for in all the time she had spent with him, she had never seen his chest. Dark hair matted across it, and she touched her fingers to the springy texture with wonder. Her lips followed. And in his chest a growl rumbled.
He raised her face to his. “To teach you the art of love will require patience, Sydney, but I’m impatient. My wait for you has been interminable, and I can’t promise you anything if you persist in doing things like that.”
“But I want to touch you.”
“And I want to touch you. Now.”
Once again he lifted her off her feet, this time to carry her up the steps to the bed. He parted the filmy netting and lay her down, and her arms reached for him, but he said, “Wait.”
Without haste he discarded his clothes. By candlelight his skin gleamed bronze.
“I want you,” she whispered, and he heard.
He came down beside her, and then they were enclosed in a soft white haze of gauze, and through the gauze, glimmers of golden flames danced around them. It was all so perfect.
But when his mouth touched hers, she froze.
She had thought she was ready. She knew it was what she wanted. But the reality of lying nearly naked on the bed with Nicholas was too much too fast.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, stroking her hair until it lay like a pool of spilled wine around her head. “We’re going to take this slow, and we’ll stop anytime you say.”
Her hand touched his face. “B-b-but I don’t want to stop.”
“All right then.”
His breath touched her lips before h
is mouth did. Yet, when she felt pressure against her bottom lip, she realized it was his tongue running across the fleshy center. Her lips parted for his tongue just as his hand cupped her breast. She inhaled sharply, then felt the strength and warmth of his body press against the length of her side.
He knew how to touch. He knew how to kiss. He knew how to make her respond, and she did. When he would have pulled his mouth from hers, she brought him back with a hand around his neck.
As he supported himself on one elbow, his hand rested on her forehead and the fingertips of his other hand pressed into the softness of her breast. He soothed even as he aroused.
After a while his mouth left hers and traveled to the underside of her breast. Tantalizing kisses were placed with the greatest of care to the sensitive skin there. Every portion of her breasts were touched by his hand, then kissed. The kisses were soft as a brush of a butterfly’s wings in contrast to the rhythmic pressure of his fingers that increased by infinitesimal degrees. Every portion of her breasts was covered, first one, then the other, except for that part she was beginning to crave for him to touch. Her nipples.
She thought he could do no more. She thought his mouth would have to close over her nipple. Now!
She was wrong.
He opened his mouth wider and raked his teeth across the soft mounds, back and forth, back and forth, until her upper body bowed off the bed.
“You’re clenching your fists,” he murmured against her skin.
Was she? She hadn’t even been aware of it. But she felt him gently open her hand and then his fingers entwined with hers.
“There, you see?” he crooned. “There’s nothing at all to clench your fist over. Not yet, at any rate.”
“N-N-Nicholas...”
“Shhh. It’s all right.”
She had no idea what she had wanted to say, but she knew she hadn’t intended to stutter. She would have to be more careful. She would have to think first before she spoke. But thinking was abandoned when his mouth briefly touched hers before returning to her breast.
His tongue licked at the nipple, playing with it, teasing it and her. And his fingers took the bud and rolled it back and forth. He did everything but take the tight peak into his mouth. The ache in her stomach built excruciatingly. If he would only lay his mouth over the nipple.
Sydney, the Temptress (The Delaneys of Killaroo) Page 10