The teasing look Jason bestowed on her was tender and intimate, and it made Lauren clench her fists. "Damn you, Jason! I am not—" she began before she realized that her normally calm voice had risen. With an effort, she spoke more evenly. "I am not flustered. I just don't care to be tricked. You could have at least warned me what to expect."
"Did you stop to consider that I might have done exactly that, had you stayed to finish our conversation last evening instead of running away to sulk like a child?"
"Oh, you are insufferable!"
Lauren leapt to her feet, intending to return to the house at once, but Jason forestalled her by grasping her arm. He turned her to face him, his jaw hardening in determination. He didn't intend to apologize for simply wanting to marry her. No, not simply, Jason amended. Nothing was ever simple where Lauren was concerned. At least now he understood something of how Burroughs had felt—walking a tight line between truth and obligation, the ground beneath his feet as fragile as crystal. He made an effort, though, to keep a rein on his temper. He had driven her away with anger before. He wouldn't do so again.
"I will speak to Lila," he promised softly. "I think I can persuade her to stop troubling you. Now go and put on a bonnet. I have a carriage waiting."
Lauren lifted her chin stonily. "I don't intend to go anywhere with you."
The corner of Jason's mouth curved in a half smile. "You haven't even asked where I mean to take you. I thought we would go shopping. The dressmaker's first, to buy you a new wardrobe."
"I won't be manipulated, Jason. And I don't want any new clothes."
The amusement in his blue eyes deepened. "You shall have them regardless. I don't intend to have my partner shaming me by looking like the veriest ragamuffin."
Lauren wrenched her arm from his grasp, "We don't have a partnership! What are you doing?" she demanded when Jason slipped his hands around her waist. "Let me go! You can't force me, Jason."
She struggled, but Jason only drew her closer, then bent his head, seeking her lips. When Lauren averted her face, Jason merely nuzzled at her ear, tugging on the soft lobe with his teeth.
"Of course I can't force you," he agreed in a velvet whisper. "But neither do I mean to argue about this one, sweetheart. I shall simply kiss you until you either give in gracefully or we wind up in the grass. Your choice."
Lauren pushed against his chest to no avail; he wouldn't release her. And when his tongue traced the outer swirl of her ear and then suggestively teased the inner shell, her traitorous body sprang into response, flooding with unwelcome heat. To her dismay, she discovered she was no longer fighting Jason. Rather she was struggling against the delicious sensations that his tongue was arousing. "You wouldn't dare," she exclaimed breathlessly.
"Oh, I would, Cat-eyes," he asserted, letting his hand brush boldly over her breast. "I would." Feeling the nipple instantly harden, he stroked it with his thumb, then pressed it seductively, making her gasp. "What do you suppose Lila would say if she found us locked in a compromising position?"
"Jason, please . . ." It was impossible to understand this wild longing. Impossible to stop herself from responding, melting, wanting. . . . His hips were pressed against hers, his shaft hard and throbbing against her, leaving no doubt as to what he wanted. "All right, yes!" Lauren gasped.
"Yes?"
"Yes, I'll go with you."
His breath was warm and rapid against her cheek. "And our partnership still stands?"
"Yes," she conceded, pressing her palms against his hard chest until he at last released her. She held a hand to her heart, as if to slow her own breathing. "But it is strictly a business arrangement. Do you understand?'''
Jason bowed with exaggerated gallantry. "Of course. What else, Miss Carlin?" Then he stepped aside so she could precede him to the house.
Lauren found out quickly how Jason interpreted her condition. During the drive into town, he didn't even speak except to answer a question of hers, replying that, yes, he had purchased the phaeton and pair of high-stepping bays that morning. He didn't seem angry, merely bored.
Yet he's acting as if I am the one at fault, Lauren thought with resentment as she watched his hands dexterously handling the reins. Then she flushed, realizing she had been remembering the feel of long, sensitive fingers caressing her skin.
To her annoyance, the contrast between Jason's previous attentions toward her and his attitude now was even more pronounced when they arrived at their destination. His indifference immediately dropped away when he addressed the modiste—a pretty woman in her thirties, who eyed his tall form and leonine good looks with appreciation and interest. In response, Jason subjected her to the full force of his magnetic charm and smiling blue eyes—even flirting, Lauren silently fumed—and had no trouble getting the service he required.
He didn't consult Lauren in the requirements for her wardrobe. Even when she did express an opinion, the modiste always looked to Jason for confirmation. His assumption of authority nettled Lauren, yet she could hardly object to his choices; his taste was faultless. He unerringly recommended styles and shades that would subtly flatter her full figure and coloring without exposing half her charms for all the world to see.
Still, his behavior was maddening, for he subjected her to a critical perusal each time a new material was draped across her bosom. When she at last tried on a ready-made carriage dress, a dark rose in shade with a cream-colored spencer, his suggestions concerning the necessary alterations across the bosom brought a flush to her cheeks.
"I trust you are satisfied," she told him irritably when she had once more donned her own faded cotton gown.
Jason leaned back in the chair that had been provided for his comfort. "Quite satisfied," he admitted, subtle humor dancing in his eyes.
"Then may we leave? Or do you intend to provide assistance to the modiste for all her other customers?"
He smiled at her tolerantly. "You're being ungracious, Miss Carlin."
"The name is Miss DeVries. Honestly, Jason, I don't mean to be unappreciative, but I'm a seamstress. I could have made my own gowns."
"You won't have the time."
"Even so, I didn't need your advice."
"Based on your past choices," he returned wryly, "I wasn't certain."
"Do you always get your way?" Lauren asked, giving him a look of exasperation.
He grinned back at her, his eyes sparkling. "Nearly always."
His good humor was infectious, and as he rose to his feet, Lauren shook her head. Why did she suddenly feel like laughing? A moment before she had been ready to dump a dozen bolts of cloth on his head and fill him full of pins like a pincushion.
While the carriage dress was being altered, Jason escorted her to a cobbler's and milliner's shop, and upon their return, Lauren changed into the new gown. She found herself sighing with pleasure. It was marvelous, she had to admit, to look neither like a servant nor a Cyprian.
When she modeled for Jason, he gave her a slow smile that stroked her senses with heat. Realizing suddenly that she was beginning to crave his approval, Lauren made a determined effort to calm her racing pulse as Jason stepped aside to speak to the modiste.
He directed her to send the completed gowns to the Beauvais plantation and the bills to his bank. At the mention of banks, Lauren was reminded of her chief grievance with Jason—his appropriation of her savings. When he offered her his arm, she stood looking up at him with uncertainty. "I'd like to see for myself the account you had opened in my name," she announced, waiting for his reaction.
If he was discomfited, he veiled it with a wry smile. "What is this? You don't trust me, your partner?"
She searched his face, her brows drawing together. "I don't think so," she replied quite seriously.
"At least that's honest," Jason said, tucking her hand beneath his arm with easy masculine grace. "Very well, Cat- eyes, you shall see for yourself. But first we eat. Dressing a lady always serves to increase my appetite."
Lauren was uncomfortab
ly aware of the muscular arm beneath her fingers. "Surely you mean undressing," she said in an undertone.
"That, too," Jason chuckled as he held the door for her.
They bypassed several crowded coffee shops that catered primarily to men, and chose a cafe that was small but offered a delicious cuisine. Lauren found it hard to concentrate on her menu, for the activities of the busy establishment intrigued her.
And as she eyed the other diners with undisguised interest, she noted the admiring glances Jason was receiving; his commanding presence attracted the attention of men and women alike. Lauren could identify quite well with their fascination. Power emanated from Jason like a vital life force. That, combined with his unmistakable virility and refined elegance, made for a devastating combination.
She also noticed what the other women were wearing, and found herself mentally comparing their fashionable appearance to her own. Intent on watching them, she wasn't aware that she herself attracted a number of appreciative masculine glances.
As soon as they had been served, Jason leaned closer to her and ordered Lauren to open her mouth. When she turned her attention back to him, he fed her a prawn. "Now, chew." He grinned and held up a hand. "I know, sweetheart. You're capable of feeding yourself. But I was growing worried that you would starve. One would think that you have never eaten out."
Lauren flushed. "I haven't," she replied simply. "Or at least not in a place like this."
He regarded her thoughtfully. "You needn't be concerned about your appearance, Lauren. You look exquisite."
She had needed to hear that. In the company of all these genteel, well-dressed people, she had begun to feel insecure and unsure of her ability to fit in. She smiled at him, a fragile smile with an unconscious seductiveness that could bring a man to his knees.
Jason's heart soared, then settled back to hammer against his rib cage. Gazing into her luminous eyes, he realized suddenly how he could so easily have mistaken her for a courtesan. She had the smile of a siren, the body of a goddess, and the bearing of a queen. What man wouldn't want her in his bed?
Cool and remote, she was breathtakingly beautiful, Jason thought as he surveyed her. The color of her gown brought out the rose in her smooth complexion and her provocative lips, while the narrow-brimmed bonnet framed her lovely face, not quite covering the sweep of golden hair. Jason found himself aching for the sight of those tresses spilling around her naked breasts. Growing silent, he let himself remember every exquisite moment of making love to Lauren on board the Siren.
The memory would have to suffice, Jason told himself. At least for a time, until he could break down the barriers of cold reserve she was constantly surrounding herself with. Meanwhile, he would just have to hold his desire firmly in check.
But there were other compensations he could find in her company. Just watching her today had been a joy. The evident delight Lauren had shown in being well dressed, the almost childlike interest she had taken in her new surroundings, had touched his heart. He had known then that he would always find pleasure in gratifying her slightest wish. He had no fear that her sudden wealth would give birth to greed or an insatiable yearning for material objects, for the years of deprivation had taught her the value of a coin. Lila had told him how hard Lauren had worked to save for her ship, how she had refused to take Beauvais's charity. Her fierce determination to remain independent was understandable. And while he would have preferred a different occupation for her, the job at the gaming house had been honest work.
How hard the years must have been for her. Measured in terms of wealth or any other standard, Lauren's life had been far more difficult than his had ever been, Jason reflected. And it couldn't have been easy, living with the constant fear that at any moment her whereabouts might be discovered by Burroughs. He could understand why she felt driven to control her own destiny, and why, after what she had endured, she would consider her freedom more important than gold or jewels. But he could also see how starved her soul was for new experiences, and his new determination to see that Lauren began to enjoy life overrode even his own wish to make her his own.
But he would teach her, Jason vowed. One step at a time, he would show her each aspect of a close, loving relationship, until she saw the value of the whole.
His gaze lingered tenderly on the stunningly lovely oval face. He would be the luckiest man on earth, Jason thought, if Lauren could return but one-tenth of the love he desperately wished to lavish on her.
Chapter Fourteen
Lauren made her way along the gallery of the Beauvais plantation house slowly, reluctantly, as if she were being drawn by an invisible, magnetic source. It was odd the way she could sense Jason's presence. She had heard a horseman arriving at Bellefleur, and although she hadn't seen the visitor, she had known it would be Jason there in the study with Jean- Paul.
She should keep away from him, she knew. He was far too dangerous, for he seemed to be able to bend her to his will. But actually, she very much wanted to see him. Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, she nervously smoothed the skirts of her apple-green muslin, one of the new dresses that had arrived during the time Jason had been away from New Orleans.
His trip had taken her by surprise. He hadn't told her where he was going or the reason for his absence, merely that he was leaving town for a few days. She still remembered his parting words, when he had teasingly asked if she would miss him. Her tart denial had made him laugh.
But to be truthful, Lauren had missed him. That brief interlude in the Vieux Carre, when Jason had squired her about the shops and then taken her to dine at the fashionable cafe, stood out in her mind as one of the most enjoyable days in her memory. After finishing the delicious meal, they had gone to the bank where Monsieur Sauvinet, the bank's owner, had treated Lauren like visiting royalty. Curiously, Sauvinet had taken Jason aside for a few minutes to hand him a note. Jason had read the missive, glanced once at Lauren, and then nodded. They had left shortly thereafter, with Lauren's reticule heavier by a hundred dollars.
"And what do you intend to do with such a sum?" Jason asked casually as he took her arm and directed her toward the square.
"I have to repay Veronique's loan."
"Ah, yes. The loan which financed your escape."
Lauren gave him her coolest frown. Returning a bland smile, Jason steered her in the direction of the levee, saying he needed to visit the Siren.
On the way, they detoured through the French Market, an arcaded structure of stucco brick. As usual, it was extremely noisy and crowded with every conceivable kind of person: tradesmen, greengrocers, fishermen, ragged children, well- dressed customers, Negresses dressed in bright colors wearing turbans wrapped around their heads, and Choctaw and Chitimacha Indian women draped in handwoven blankets who sold reed baskets and other handmade goods.
At a stall where jewelry was sold, a string of blue beads caught Lauren's attention. Fingering the smooth bits of glass, she found herself comparing their brilliant color to the fathomless depths of Jason's eyes. When she looked up to discover Jason watching her, she saw he was regarding her with that same odd expression that so often disturbed her. "Is something amiss?" she asked self-consciously.
"No," Jason said softly. "I was just picturing you with a necklace of sapphires about your throat. But if these have caught your fancy—"
"It isn't that!" Lauren exclaimed quickly, unwilling to admit just what had attracted her to the beads, unwilling also to acknowledge the implication of Jason's remark. She didn't want him to spend any more money on her, either. "I only wanted to see how the beads were strung," she prevaricated, handing the necklace back to the vendor.
A short while later, they boarded the Siren. Kyle Ramsey seemed reserved when he greeted her, but he offered to show her around the ship. Since Jason excused himself, saying he had a few matters to take care of, Lauren politely agreed to a tour.
The Siren was a two-masted schooner, smaller and far more elegant than the kind of vessel Lauren had dreamed of owni
ng. The crew was hard at work scrubbing decks, checking blocks and rigging, and inspecting endless yards of shrouds, sheets, and staysails for damage.
Following Kyle as he pointed out various details, Lauren discovered to her dismay that her thoughts kept straying to the last time she had visited the Siren. She was grateful Kyle didn't take her below decks, since Jason had disappeared in that direction and she had no wish to encounter him in his cabin. She still grew warm whenever she recalled her experiences there at his skillful hands.
Tim Sutter's presence also reminded her of that night. She knew a moment of embarrassment when the young man saluted her smartly, but recovered when she saw the undisguised admiration on his face. Pausing to speak to him, Lauren made him a gracious apology for hitting him on the head and inquired about his injury. Tim turned a fiery red and mumbled a disclaimer, and after hastily begging the captain's permission to return to his chores, he scurried off, leaving Kyle laughing and even Lauren smiling a little.
Kyle didn't introduce her to any of the other men on board, even though she was the object of more than one interested glance. "I hope you can forgive being subjected to an inspection," he remarked, noting the attention she was attracting. "You're the first female I've allowed on board the Siren. I haven't told my crew yet that you're the real owner of this vessel. Sailors are a suspicious lot when it comes to women and ships, and I thought it better for my men to get a good look at you before I let them know they were really working for you."
Lauren was uncomfortable with the direction their discussion was headed. "Actually," she admitted, "I would prefer that nothing be said about it."
"You still don't want anyone to know you're Miss Carlin?"
She was avoiding his gaze, so she only heard the surprise in his question. "I . . . it's just that I have gone by Lauren DeVries for so long that it would feel strange to change."
Kyle shrugged his broad shoulders. "I understand, but you might want to reconsider. If you plan to spend any time on board the Siren, your ownership will provide you a measure of protection."
Desire and Deception Page 24