The Tiger's Lady (45 page)

“N-no, Pagan. You must not—I cannot—” Her breath caught in a moan. “S-stop!”

He studied her furled beauty in brooding wonder. “Stop,” he repeated, mouth to her aching skin. “Of course. Must stop … will stop … but how responsive you are!”

And then his tongue began to move anew, tracing slow, tormenting circles on her urgent skin. Seconds later his hard lips followed.

She was lost.

She heard him groan, but dim, so dim it was. Untried muscles flared to life, demanding things she still did not understand. Blindly she caught his shoulders, seeking his strength as the world fell away around her, his name a choked cry upon her lips.

For a moment there was fear as his hands found her woman’s heat. Gently, skillfully he bared her, cherished her.

Claimed
her.

“Gentle, little flower.” His voice was hoarse. “How soft, how sweet. Here—do you feel it? Here. Does this please you?”

Her only answer was a raw moan. She dug her nails into Pagan’s back as he coaxed an entry deeper, ever deeper.

Until she felt her body shimmer, felt magic spill over her in hot, liquid tremors.

But it was not enough.

His mouth moved against her and the next instant he parted her to his hot quest.

“P-Pagan!”

He shifted, his breath a gossamer torment. “Yes, that way, little flower. Tremble for me. Bud for me.
Need me.
Let me show you all the faces of your desire.”

And then his lips sealed around her wet, and gentle and blindingly sweet.

Barrett stiffened. In a raw storm desire swept through her, ripping past every barrier of sense and fear. With a choked cry she fell, shivering as pleasure caught her in wild, drugging waves.

On and on it went. On and on he swept her, stunned and blind with wonder, afloat in silver seas.

And when Barrett’s hope and longing swirled together, finding form in sound, the sound was
his
name.

She whispered it wildly—and was still whispering it when her body finally shattered into a thousand, glittering pieces.

She felt her body re-form. In slow, shuddering silence light slipped away and matter returned.

Finally her breath grew still. Barrett felt reason reclaim her, and with it came shamed awareness.

What had he done to her? How could this man stir her to such blind sensation?

Her eyes squeezed shut. She turned her head away, horrified at the thought of what she had become.

And then she felt Pagan’s lips nuzzle her neck. She stiffened, her eyes flashing open.

His gaze was locked upon her—hard, predatory, piercing.

Singularly possessive.

Heat washed over her neck and face, heat that grew with every second of his potent stare. What had she done?

With a little sob, she struggled back, shoving vainly at his chest, trying to fight to her feet.

His fingers closed over her bare shoulders. “Don’t turn spinsterish on me now, little flower.”

Barrett couldn’t speak, her eyes locked shut.

“Look at me,
Angrezi.
I never believed you to be one for cowardice.”

At that her eyes jerked open, just as Pagan had known they would. Still stunned at the lush honesty of her response, at the richness of her passionate abandon, he fought down his own savage need, knowing how important the next moments would be.

Already he could see denial darkening her eyes, closing her off from him. And that Pagan would never allow, not when he had finally discovered how wildly passionate she was.

And Deveril Pagan, half-heathen, confirmed cynic, and total sensualist, refused to see such fire and beauty locked away and wasted.

His thumb brushed her cheek. “Better, Cinnamon. You need not hide anything from me, you know. I may not be a patient man but I am an experienced one. I have seen things you cannot begin to imagine—nor would I wish you to. But believe this: nothing you could say or do would ever shock or offend me. Nor should it shock or offend you.” His fingers rose to anchor her cheeks. “Do you understand me, falcon? You are in the East now. It is time to accept the ways of the East.”

Barrett shivered, falling prey to his dark power just as she had before, almost able to believe that something so raw and shocking could be totally natural and acceptable. She wished it were so, for already she craved his touch again.

But reason bound her, reason and hard principles learned young.

So she caught a breath and tried to pull free, only to feel his fingers grip her fiercely.

“No,
Angrezi
—not until we talk as we could not talk the last time.”

She stiffened, knowing she could not escape, not until he chose to allow it. “Very well,” she said, her voice low, husky still.

Pagan pulled back fractionally, drawing her against his chest while he shifted on the cot, trying to ease the hot pressure at his groin.

But he knew that his fire would find only one release, and that was when he was sheathed deep in her satin heat, listening to her soft, passionate cries as ecstasy broke over them.

He smothered a curse, pushing away the image. “You are very passionate, falcon. It is truly rare. You have had no other taste of such pleasures?”

Her cheeks flamed. “I—I don’t—that is, surely I would remember if—” More fire spilled over her cheeks. How could she sit cradled against him, calmly discussing such forbidden things?

At her artless confession, raw triumph coursed through Pagan. He realized how very much he wanted that, wanted to be her first lover, her most potent lover.

And with the help of heaven, her last and only lover.

But that was impossible, as well he knew. That knowledge made Pagan’s eyes harden, searching her face. At least he could give her this much. “Savor your passion,
Angrezi.
Guard it carefully.” His fingers tightened on her flushed cheeks. “Your body is exquisite, made for giving pleasure—to you and to any man who has the vast good fortune to be your lover. Rejoice in that gift, little one. It is not found often,” he added bitterly.

But
you
are the only lover I want.
Yours
are the only hands and lips I seek.
The words burned through Barrett’s mind with horrifying clarity.

She lowered her head, her hair falling in a bright curtain around her face. She could not let him see her pain, her vulnerability while he remained so controlled and cynical.

At her movement, Pagan’s eyes narrowed. Behind them the lantern flickered, casting a bar of shadow over her hair and face.

His breath caught. Lips clenched, he stared at the dim line of chiseled nose and chin, the rich curtain of her hair.

Suddenly something sweet and warm invaded his blood, something that felt dangerously close to trust and hope. Without warning he began to dream, dreams that he never should have dreamed.

“Meri jaan.”

“Why—why do you call me that?”

“Just—just a phrase.”

In spite of his light tone, Pagan was churning inside, taut with desire and emotions more dangerous still.

Suddenly he wondered if he should tell her about London. After all, it was her right to know, her past in question. He scowled, searching for the best way to begin. “Have you any memories of London,
Angrezi
? Gaslit streets, horses passing. Snow, perhaps?

Barrett caught her lip, frowning. She tried to remember, tried to probe the blank walls around her mind. But like all the other times, this effort too was useless.

A low sob broke from her lips. “Nothing. Always nothing. Will I never remember?”

It was the hopelessness in her voice that decided Pagan. What she needed now was to feel calm and protected, not to be faced with new problems. “Never mind, falcon. I just thought that you might have begun to feel something. I … I was wrong.”

“Perhaps I never will. Perhaps—perhaps I’ll stay this way forever, trapped somewhere between past and future, between waking and d-dreams.”

“That still leaves the present, and there are worse things than living in the present,
Angrezi.
Everyone has memories that are better left forgotten.”

A single tear slipped down Barrett’s cheek. Quickly, she made to scrub it away, but Pagan caught her hand and pulled it back. His face dark and brooding, he lifted the silver jewel on his finger and brought it to his lips. “Once again I hurt you. I only meant to—” With a harsh curse he pushed to his feet.

Barrett’s breathy whisper caught him up short. “Wait, please!”

His shoulders stiffened. “More questions, falcon? I’m afraid I’m a bad choice for a confidant.”

She marshaled her courage. “Have you—that is, do women often—” She couldn’t finish.

“Feel such passion?” Pagan’s face turned hard. “Not half so often as you think,
Angrezi.
Many women feign their pleasures, you see.”

“But why—”

“Why?” He gave a dark, bitter laugh. “Because it makes a man feel unimaginably powerful to know he can kindle such ecstasy. Fools that we are,” he muttered.

Barrett’s cheeks swept crimson anew. Her hands tightened, the shirt clutched protectively to her chest. “But then—”

Pagan cut her off with a curse. “No more questions, falcon. Not now. I don’t think I’m up to them.”

For long moments he stood looking down at her, his face hard and shuttered, his raw power held in barest check. “You see, perhaps you’re younger than I realized, Cinnamon. Perhaps the problem lies in
my
being older than I thought.” He seemed to bite back a sigh, his hands clenched at his sides. “One thing is certain, however. Any
one
of your tears is worth a thousand rubies. Garner them well, falcon. Don’t waste them on men, for we are miserable creatures.” His voice hardened. “Especially don’t shed them over a pathetic illusion like love.”

With that he whirled about and disappeared into the restless, windswept night.

For long moments Barrett sat unmoving on her cot, oblivious to her half-naked state, oblivious to the tears glazing her eyes and spilling down her pale cheeks.

She loved him.

She loved him and yet he had no feeling for her, could not get away from her soon enough. After giving her such beauty, how could he calmly speak of the other lovers she would take one day?

With a wild cry she surged to her feet, scrubbing away her tears and staring out at the square of darkness where Pagan had disappeared.

The night, like the jungle itself, seemed to go on forever.

Grimly Pagan strode across the clearing, his eyes glittering and chill as the dark vault of heaven above.

For inside the heated tent he had made two discoveries this night, and the second far outweighed the first.

There was someone else. He could feel it in Barrett’s restless tension, in the blind pain in her eyes. It could only be thoughts of a man that drove her so. Perhaps she did not feel it, did not even know it, but he was too experienced not to recognize all the signs.

Her heart was given already.

The thought made his fingers clench.

Had they been lovers already? Or was it desire long suppressed that had surfaced in his tent?