by Henke, Shirl
But he had turned the tables on her, changed all the rules. This new Lucero looked on her with smoldering eyes, desiring her body yet demanding more—much more than she knew how to give. Most certainly more than she wished to give.
Nicholas opened the door between their rooms silently and leaned casually against the frame, a crystal snifter of brandy in one hand, watching his wife at her nighttime toilette. He could tell she was deep in thought, no doubt troubling thought about him. In time she would come to him, he arrogantly reassured himself. He would win her if he was patient enough to overcome the lifetime of ladylike reticence inculcated in her by convent schools and reinforced by his brother's cavalier cruelty.
But God, could he be so patient? Play the game so skillfully? His throat went dry and his pulse hammered as he watched her. She sat on the bench, her back arched provocatively, her firm young breasts moving ever so slightly from side to side with each stroke of the brush. She wore a soft robe of rich green wool that clung lovingly to every lush curve of her body. He would bet anything she wore a high-necked, long-sleeved night rail beneath it. Just thinking of removing it to reveal the pale silky beauty of her skin made him go rigidly hard. The candlelight cast shimmering reflections across her mantle of deep golden hair as it cascaded down her back and around her shoulders.
“Here, allow me,” he said as he stalked into the room with predatory grace and set his glass on her dressing table.
Mercedes gave a small gasp of surprise, pulling the brush from her hair and clutching its ivory handle tightly with both hands as she twisted around on the bench to face him. “Must you always sneak up on me like a thief?”
His forehead creased in a fleeting frown at her words. “Sorry. A habit from the war, I suppose.” He pried the brush from her nerveless fingers. Taking her shoulders firmly in his hands, he turned her back toward the mirror, then stood behind her so they faced one another in the glass. Her eyes were huge and luminous, a dark magical shade of gold that matched her hair. What was she thinking? He saw the faint blush of color on her cheekbones, the rapid pulse that beat at the base of her throat. And he knew.
A slow smile curved his lips as he let the brush massage her scalp, then pull down the length of her hair, which crackled and glowed in splendor. “You have fire, Mercedes,” he murmured. “See the sparks that fly from your hair?”
“The cool night air causes such sparks,” she replied in what she hoped was a frosty tone which came out altogether too breathy to suit her.
“Then I'll have to warm you,” he said, smiling.
She stiffened angrily at the arrogant smirk on his face. He was so self-assured, so certain of his power over her. And he had every right to take such liberties with her, damn him. If only this were the old Lucero, who was not interested in her or in playing this strange, sensuous new game. Her eyes could no longer meet his in the mirror, yet they could not stop from staring at the picture the two of them made as she sat, pale and small while he towered over her.
He wore the same snowy white lawn shirt he had worn to dinner earlier that evening, but now he had shed his stock and unfastened the studs, leaving the front open halfway to his waist, revealing an unsettling amount of black curly chest hair. She could see evidence of the healing cuts from that vicious knife fight and shuddered remembering it. His shirtsleeves were rolled up almost to his elbows, exposing slim forearms that flexed sinuously as he plied the brush.
His hands were deft, long-fingered and elegant. How well she remembered those hands on her body that first time after he returned home. Patient hands. Cunning hands. And lips. Quickly she looked down, away from his dark, disturbing image in the mirror. He was barefoot, clad only in shirt and pants. No wonder she had not heard him enter!
When she made no reply to his provocative comment about warming her, he laid down the brush and took her hair in his hands, running his fingers through it. “It spills over my hands, like golden silk,” he whispered hypnotically, resting one hand lightly on her shoulder. As he began easing the robe down to reveal a prim white batiste night rail, a sultry smile spread across his face. “I thought you'd choose something virginal, but we both know that's a lie, don't we, wife?”
Mercedes stood up and faced him, untying the sash of her robe with clumsy fingers. She jerked the robe off and flung it across the bench. “Do with me as you will, Lucero, and be done with it.”
“Such a brave little martyr. Then why, if you loathe my touch so...” His fingers grazed the frilly white lace on the front of her gown, brushing the tips of her breasts, clearly outlined through the sheer fabric.
She drew back angrily but not before the sudden frisson of pleasure traveled through her breasts and pooled deep within her belly. Her nipples contracted, standing out in rigid points, tingling, aching. She knew he could see what she felt. He knew what she would feel before he even touched her. Tears of vexation and humiliation gathered behind her eyelids, but she willed them to abate, just as she forced her arms to remain at her sides, fighting the overpowering urge to clasp them around herself, covering her treacherous body.
“Give in, Mercedes. You know your body craves what I can give you.” His hands ran up and down her arms, stroking them. Then he raised one hand and traced the outline of her collarbone from one side to the other, watching the way her breathing suspended, then resumed unevenly. “So determined to show no fear, give no quarter.”
“I no longer fear you, Lucero.”
“You'll do your duty, is that it? Duty but nothing more?” He continued tracing gentle patterns on her arms and chest, feeling his fingertips glide over the sheer soft cotton and the heat of her flesh beneath it. Then he moved up to brush the delicate column of her throat where the erratic pulse beat furiously in spite of her pose of calm.
“What more would you have of me—that I follow you about, panting like a bitch in heat? Like one of your whores?”
“Forget my whores! They have nothing to do with us,” he said tightly, beginning to lose patience.
“Considering the evidence of your past liaisons lies sleeping in the next room, that's rather difficult to do,” she blurted out angrily.
His eyes narrowed to slits. “I thought you were fond of the child.”
“I...I am, very much. I didn't mean to involve her in our quarrel. She's only an innocent victim but I don't understand you anymore—if I ever did. I can't be like Innocencia or the others.”
“You could never be like the others, like any other. You're my wife,” he said, pulling her against him with one arm. He seized her hair, taking a great fistful and tugging it back, forcing her to look up into his face as he swooped down for a fierce possessive kiss.
When his hot seeking mouth covered hers and his tongue probed for entry, she did not resist him but opened for his possession. He plundered her lips and teeth, twining his tongue with hers. Her hands rested, palms flat against his chest, neither pushing him away nor embracing him. She willed herself to remain passive, to let his maelstrom of passion pass her by, but it was impossible. Feeling his heat, smelling the keen sharp scent of his arousal, her senses were swamped. She heard his voice, low and raspy, whispering love words in her ear as he plied her with caresses, trailing kisses down her throat. How could she withstand the onslaught?
Slowly, Nicholas raised his head and looked down at her. The rigid evidence of his desire pressed intimately against her belly. His breathing was labored and he trembled with wanting her. Yet she stood stock-still in his embrace, forcing herself to remain impassive, utterly motionless.
“Deny yourself and be damned—if you can do it,” he muttered savagely, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her into his room. He kicked the door closed and strode to the bed where he tossed her like a small rag doll. Then he stripped off his shirt and peeled down his trousers, which had grown miserably tight and uncomfortable.
He grinned wickedly at her. “You see the effect you have on me? Men, unfortunately, have no way to hide our desires.” He kicked the pants as
ide and climbed on the bed beside her on all fours. Reaching down for the hem of her night rail, he yanked it up, bunching it around her hips, then groaned at the way her slim thighs clenched together involuntarily.
This was how Luce took her. He knew it in his bones. She wanted him to use her the same way his brother had, to plunge in and finish quickly, leaving her emotions untouched. But he was not his brother, and he would not settle for that. A slow feral smile spread across his face. He stopped abruptly, releasing her gown and letting his fingers graze her pelvis, then caress the hollow of her belly.
His finger ringed a circle around her navel until she knew her muscles were quivering. Mercedes felt his palm cup the curve of her hip, then glide down her thigh. When he insinuated his hand between her legs at her knees and teased his way upward, she could remain still no longer. The aching that had begun so deep inside of her when he brushed her hair and spoke in that low mesmerizing voice, now flared into a sharp pain. Her back arched and her legs separated slightly as her heels dug into the soft mattress. She could not look at him.
Nicholas grazed the golden curls at the juncture of her thighs as she writhed beneath his touch. “You do want me...don't you, wife?”
She burrowed the back of her head into the pillows and refused to answer his taunt. He would know soon enough. She could feel that strange telltale wetness between her legs that had slicked his way the last time he took her. The response, so new to her, had pleased him, and she did not wish to please him.
“Stubborn woman,” he murmured as he began to unfasten the night rail's ribbon tie at her throat. Once it was open he reached for her hands and undid the buttons at her wrists. “Sit up and slide the gown over your head,” he commanded.
She lay immobile, refusing to strip herself naked while he watched her as if she were some dancing girl in a cheap bordello.
“Do it, Mercedes.” There was steel in his voice now.
His hand moved to her mound and he began massaging it ever so gently. The maddening pain throbbed in her now, drawing her under, into a vortex that frightened her. She could feel those harsh black eyes on her, boring into her as she lay exposed to him, at his mercy. It was intolerable, unbearable. To still his touch, she sat up abruptly and yanked the gown over her head, throwing it to the foot of the bed, then flopped back down, breaking the delicate buildup of sensation when he withdrew his hand.
Her hair flew around them like a golden explosion, releasing a fresh burst of her lavender perfume combined with the very essence of feminine arousal, musky and warm. He cupped one breast and laved the other, taking the pale pink bud between his teeth and biting softly, then suckling. She arched against him the tiniest bit.
He called it a victory.
But he could not hold off much longer. His staff lay rigidly across her thigh, rubbing back and forth, the tip pearly with his leaking seed. Nicholas rolled on top of her and positioned himself to enter, feeling the velvety wetness of her, knowing her body at least wanted what her mind rejected. He ran the head of his phallus up and down over her petals. Her thighs opened wide and he plunged home in a white-hot surge of ecstasy.
His entry was slick and smooth yet startlingly swift. His big body pinioned hers in that most primitively male way, and she could feel the stretching tightness as he filled her, then stilled, letting her body adjust. And traitorously it did, sheathing him tautly. She felt the wonder of the joining that took two people and made their flesh one. A great mystery. One she feared to understand.
Then he began to move, very slowly, stroking her until she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out for him to hurry. For if he did not, the gliding pleasure of the caress would drive her over the brink into some unknown abyss. She dug her fingers into the covers and tried to think of anything but Lucero, sweating and straining above her, sealing his possession of her, perhaps giving her a child.
A child, yes. That was the one thing good they could do together. He could give her another baby like Rosario to love and raise. She thought of names, blocking out what he was doing to her body, to her.
Nicholas could sense the restive response she could not totally hide, but his own body clamored for release. Knowing she was not yet ready to surrender, he gave in to the glorious surcease of climax, pumping into her in earnest now, long, hard, swift strokes until a universe of stars burst inside of him. He arched his back and with a ragged triumphant growl spilled his seed high in her womb, then collapsed on top of her.
His flesh was slick with perspiration. The scent of male sex hung pungently in the cool night air. She found the smells were not unpleasant, but they were disturbing as was the feeling of emptiness when he withdrew and rolled from her. Still breathing heavily, he flung one arm across his eyes and lay flat on his back. Shivering with the sudden chill, she looked over at the man lying beside her. She could see the angry red lines, now faintly smeared with blood where he had reopened several of his wounds in his exertions. Her own body bore a few small traces of his blood as well, but she was certain he felt no pain. Only a primitive animalistic satisfaction that had always eluded her. Yet there was still that persistent ache low in her belly, tightening her muscles and clawing at her even more fiercely than it had the first time he finished with her.
Damn him, she ached! Mercedes tried to slip from his bed, but he caught her wrist just as her feet touched the floor.
“This is where you sleep from now on,” he said, pulling on her wrist until she was forced to return to the bed. “Is it so distasteful to stay with me?”
“I'm cold. I was only getting my night rail.” Liar.
He chuckled. “You don't need night rails to keep warm.” He slid to her side of the bed, yanked the covers down and climbed beneath them, then patted the mattress, inviting her to join him.
“I'll keep you warm,” he said simply.
Silently she slipped beneath the cool white linen and was enveloped by his heat. He fitted her into the curve of his body. Mercedes felt cocooned, yet restless, hungering for something she feared to acknowledge.
* * * *
Dawn came stealing softly into the big room, its soft golden fingers pulling away the last dim shadows of night. Nicholas blinked and gazed out the window, awakening at once as years of sleeping outdoors on campaigns had conditioned him to do. He lay quietly, feeling Mercedes’ soft warm body so close beside his. Strands of gold hair spilled across his face and chest and the delicate essence of lavender filled his nostrils. Her heart beat in sync with his own. If only their minds were of such accord. For now, her body was weakening. In time he would teach her how to accept and enjoy the pleasure he could give her. He asked for nothing more, indeed did not even consider that he could give anything more of himself.
Love was not a word in Nicholas Fortune's vocabulary. But what about his feelings for Rosario? For the children he and this woman would have together? Could he love them? Strange that he should feel such an immediate kinship with Luce's daughter, he who had never had any contact with other children, who grew up alone in a harsh world of uncaring adults. When he had come here, the prospect of providing heirs for Gran Sangre had been a daunting consideration that he had not wanted to dwell upon. But after his response to Rosario and hers to him, he felt reassured.
Maybe there is some shred of honest humanity in me after all, he thought in surprise. Very carefully he placed the long golden glory of Mercedes’ hair on the pillow and slid his arm from around her shoulders. One milky breast peeped from beneath the covers; its pale pink nipple stiffened when the cool morning air touched it. The temptation to remain in bed and take her again was great, but he reminded himself of his responsibilities. The patrón of Gran Sangre had to ride out with his new men. As it was, Hilario and the other men were probably saddled up and ready to go.
Sighing, he slipped from the bed, then covered up Mercedes’ lovely nakedness once more. His riding gear had been laid out last night. On silent bare feet he walked across the frayed carpet and picked up the heavy broadcloth pan
ts and pulled them on. Just as he was buttoning the fly, he sensed her eyes on him and turned.
The loss of his body heat had drawn her from sleep. Something was amiss, she thought as the room came slowly into focus. She could hear faint rustling noises and rolled over, only then realizing that her husband was no longer in bed. How quickly she had grown accustomed to sleeping with his lean, hard body curving protectively around hers. She looked across the room at his back, scarred and bronzed, the muscles moving with fluid, peculiarly male beauty. His head down, he turned partially, tugging on a pair of tight pants and fitting his sex carefully inside the fly. Heat colored her cheeks as she remembered how that now flaccid staff had pulsed with life, huge and rigid within her body.
Then he looked up and their eyes met. Instinctively she pulled the covers up to her chin, then felt foolish. He had seen all there was to see the last two times he had made love to her.
Made love. The thought struck her oddly. Never had she felt Lucero made love to her during their first few weeks as husband and wife. Not wanting to consider the disturbing implications of her own thoughts, she blurted out the first thing she could think to say. “Where are you going? It's barely daylight.”
He raked her tousled hair and flushed face with hungry eyes, lifting one black eyebrow sardonically. “You tempt me to stay, my love, but Hilario awaits. We're going to begin rounding up whatever cattle and horses we can find running loose within a day's ride. I have several excellent hiding places where we can winter the best of them down on the Yaqui. After we clean out the immediate vicinity, we'll have to start ranging farther out, two, three days' ride, until we cover every quadrant of the range,” he explained.