Текст книги "Tiger Prince "

She needs to win.

Dilam's words in the belim tent came back to him. Well, she hadn't won this time. He would never forget her expression of numb horror as she had looked at the damage wrought by the elephant. He had felt something twist inside him and he wanted to reach out and—

Comfort? The instinct meant nothing, he assured himself. It was entirely natural to admire a foe who had fought a valiant fight, but that did not mean he was softening toward her. He could not soften.

He turned heavily away from the window and moved across the room to the chair by the fireplace. Soon it would be over. The loss at Elephant Crossing had been only the beginning. By the time she left this summer-house, he would have the satisfaction of knowing she had been punished as she deserved. That's what he wanted, wasn't it?

Christ, of course it was what he wanted. This rawness fraying his nerves was only impatience now that he was so close to his aim.

Impatience . . . and lust.

The dark blue curled tile roof of the summerhouse shimmered gray in the moonlight. Light streamed from the arched windows, casting fan-shaped shadows on the grass.

He was waiting for her.

Naturally, he was waiting for her, Jane thought impatiently. He had been waiting for her for over three years.

She braced herself and then walked quickly down the terrace steps and the path leading to the summerhouse.

She could get through this. He was only Ruel, not the mandarin she had let her fears exaggerate to giant proportions. He could not harm her if she did not allow it. She drew a deep breath as she reached the door and then flung it open. She said flatly, "I'm here."

"I see you are." Ruel was sitting in a superbly crafted Louis XV chair before a marble-tiled fireplace. He wore all white, as he had the day they had arrived at the palace, and his golden tan and sun-streaked hair shimmered in the firelight in sharp contrast to the elegant garb. He appeared perfectly at ease in this tastefully furnished room with its air of restrained European luxury. But then, Ruel always appeared confident and at ease wherever he was, she thought bitterly, be it pounding spikes in a torrent of rain, presiding at the dinner table at the palace, or cooking bacon over a campfire in the middle of the jungle.

He rose to his feet and wrinkled his nose. "And, unfortunately, I not only see you, I also smell you."

"I could hardly ride twenty-five miles in heat and dust and not smell of horse." She closed the door. "If you don't like it, I can leave."

"Oh no, I was never one to forgo a meal because I had to prepare it myself. It makes the feast only more satisfying to know it's been created to one's exact specifications." He stood up and moved across the room toward the lavender– and cream-colored brocade curtain that divided the room. "In fact, I anticipated this little problem. I had boiling hot water brought from the palace ten minutes ago." He pulled aside the curtain to reveal a small area that appeared much larger due to the mirrors that graced all three walls. A royal-blue and white Chinese carpet gave only occasional glimpses of the polished oak floor and, across the room, a white satin spread covered a wide bed draped in diaphanous mosquito netting. He smiled faintly as he followed her gaze and then gestured to a hip bath filled with steaming water occupying the corner immediately to the left of the brocade curtain. "It's fortunate you were on time, or the water would have turned cold."

"It wouldn't have mattered," she said quietly. "I assume you're going to watch me?"

Some indefinable emotion flickered across his face. "Most certainly."

She sat down on a wide white satin-tufted chaise longue a few feet from the tub and took off her boots and wool socks. "I thought you would."

"Why?"

"You want me to feel . . . exposed, humiliated." She stood up and started unbuttoning her shirt. "It's all a part of it."

"How perceptive of you to realize that. Actually, I had in mind something else as well." He paused. "A mistress is handled with a little too much delicacy. I thought I'd let you sample the joys of being treated as your mother was treated."

She felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. Her fingers clenched on the second button. "You did?"

"Can you think of a more fitting revenge? You surely didn't think I'd beat you with a whip or strap you in an iron maiden? Remember when we discussed my aversion to snakes and I said everyone was afraid of something?" His gaze narrowed on her face. "Isn't this what you fear most? To be a whore like your mother?"

"Yes," she whispered. Slavery, submission, captivity. God, she should have known Ruel would have the instinct to strike her the cruelest blow possible.

"Well, aren't you going to run away?"

For a moment she was wildly tempted, but that would be another defeat. "No."

For an instant she thought she saw a flicker of disappointment in his expression, but she must have been mistaken, for he was now smiling mockingly. "Then, by all means, proceed. Your water is cooling."

"Not yet." She met his gaze. "I want your promise."

"My promise?"

"When I leave here, we're quits. I want your promise you'll avoid coming to the site except when absolutely necessary."

"I thought we'd already agreed on that."

"I want your promise."

He was silent a moment before he said curtly, "You have it."

"Good." She was acutely conscious of his eyes on her as she quickly stripped off the rest of her clothes and turned toward the tub.

"Wait. Turn around."

She went rigid and then slowly turned to face him.

He was leaning against the wall, his gaze moving slowly over her. "You're thinner than you were at Glenclaren. I couldn't tell in those clothes."

"I always lose weight when I work hard."

His lips tightened. "I suppose that comment was made to make me feel guilty for forcing you to–"

"You didn't force me. It was my choice." She stared challengingly into his eyes. "And I almost beat you."

He smiled faintly. "Yes, you did. But almost isn't good enough." His gaze moved down to the curls surrounding her womanhood. "Turn in a circle. Slowly."

She felt heat suffuse her body but somehow managed to keep her expression blank as she obeyed him.

"Even though you're thinner, your breasts are fuller than they were three years ago."

"May I get in the tub now?" she asked jerkily.

"Not yet. Turn your back to me."

Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she turned around and stood still, spine rigid.

"Marvelous buttocks." His voice thickened. "Tight and firm . . . Do you remember the painting in the maharajah's car?"

She felt like a slave on an auction block, like one of the whores in Frenchie's tent. Slavery. Block it out, she cold herself. She was giving him what he wanted; he was making her feel what he wished her to feel. "No, I don't remember. Are you finished?"

"Yes," he said hoarsely. "Get into the tub."

She quickly covered the few steps to the hip bath and the next moment thankfully sank into the soapy water. Don't look at him. Just get it over with. The heady scent of jasmine and lemon drifted up to her from the water as she grabbed the sponge floating on the surface and began briskly rubbing her shoulders.

"Not so rough," he said mockingly. "I don't want you damaged."

She stared blindly down at the water in the tub. "It's not going to work. You're going to be disappointed."

"Am I?" His voice came from behind her. "Why do you think so?"

"I'm not going—" she paused as she felt his hands on her hair, quickly unloosening her braid—"to let you hurt me.

"No?" His fingers moved through her braid from scalp to the ends of her hair, gently tagging and separating until it was in wild disarray around her shoulders.

Clever Ruel. The soft, silky hair brushing her flesh increased tenfold her feeling of vulnerability and womanliness. She moistened her lips. "I had time to think while I was riding here. I can stand anything for a few days."

"Can you?" She could hear him moving behind her. "How do you know it will be for only a few days?"

"A few days," she repeated firmly. "You'll grow tired of it and go back to doing what's important to you."

"This is important to me."

"Not like Cinnidar."

"At times I'm not sure of that."

"You'll be certain when boredom sets in." She rushed on. "And then I'll go back and I'll finish that railroad on schedule."

"And what if your disobliging elephant pays you another visit?"

She had been trying not to think of that possibility. "Li Sung will see that Dilam guards against that happening. It was all I could do to keep him from rushing into the jungle after Danor."

"I've noticed he appears a bit obsessed with getting rid of him." He moved from behind her and seated himself on the chaise longue a few feet from the tub. "I sympathize. I understand obsession."

He was naked, his thighs slightly parted to reveal bold arousal.

Her lungs constricted and she found herself unable to look away from his lower body. Soon that part of him would be joined to her, he would be moving in and out, and she would feel that helpless bonding she had first known in the maharajah's railway car. This time he would not be careful of her and she should be frightened. She was frightened, but there also existed that dark fascination he always held for her.

"I assume Li Sung will send a message if there's any further trouble?"

"What?" She managed to pull her gaze away from him and looked down at the water again. "I don't expect any more problems."

"Danor seems to do the unexpected. Lift your breasts. I want to see the water glisten on them."

Her hand tightened on the sponge.

"Anything I want, I believe you said," he reminded her softly. "I'm perfectly willing to guide you in this, but you do have a promise to keep."

She closed her eyes tightly and dropped the sponge. Her hands reached up to cup the undersides of her breasts.

"That's right." His voice was closer, beside her now. "Higher. Now offer them to me. Good ..."

His lips closed on her nipple.

She gasped and her eyes flew open. His mouth was enveloping her breast, but his light eyes were fastened on hers, watching her expression as he slowly sucked and bit at the sensitive tip. The muscles of her stomach clenched in instinctive response as sensation after sensation rippled through her. "Now keep quite still and I'll give you a reward for obedience." His hands were beneath the water, probing, finding. She gasped as his thumb began to press and rotate on the tiny nub. Hot, explosive splinters of sensation rippled through her with every motion. His other hand moved still farther down is he murmured, "Don't tighten up."

She couldn't help it. One finger. Two. Three. She arched back against the tub, her hands gripping the porcelain sides as his fingers plunged deep, out, in, fast, slow, in a rhythm that caused her to bite her lips to keep from crying out. He finally sat back on his heels. "Very good." His chest was lifting and falling with the harshness of his breathing. "Perhaps a little too good. I'm growing impatient. I believe we'll put an end to this first lesson. We'll have plenty of time for others." He stood up and reached for the large towel on the chaise longue. Stand up."

She didn't know if she could stand. Her knees were shaking, her entire body was shaking with the effort not to reveal her response to him.

"Up." Ruel didn't wait for her to obey but jerked her out of the tub and into the folds of the towel. He cast a quick glance at the bed. "Too far." He dropped back down on the chaise longue. "I can't—wait."

His fingers were searching, adjusting, drawing her limbs on either side of his hips. His hands cupped her buttocks and jerked her forward, impaling her to the quick.

She cried out as she felt the warm, hard length in the depths of her. Heat. Tightness. Hunger. No, not hunger, let it not be hunger.

He was moving, bucking, keeping her sealed tight but making her feel every inch, every sensation. Her nipples were hardening against his chest, she realized in despair. "Hold me tighter," he muttered, punctuating every word with a thrust. "Give—me—more."

She didn't want to give anything but found her legs instinctively tightening around him. That spiraling tension she had known in the railway car had returned and was growing with every second. How could her body betray her when it meant victory for him?

He moved, turned, and somehow she was on her back, lying sidewise on the chaise. There was room only for her torso on the tufted cushion and her head arched over the edge, her hair brushing the floor with Ruel's every thrust. She could feel a scream building in her throat, building in her entire body, waiting to be released.

"Stop holding back," Ruel muttered as he rotated, drew out slowly, and then plunged deep. "Give it to me."

She could fight him no longer. The primal scream broke free, her body convulsed, climaxed, and she heard his low cry of satisfaction above her. She was barely aware of the short flurry of thrusts that brought him his own release. He had won, she thought wearily. He had manipulated her body and taken what he wanted, and she had not been able to keep even that final victory from him.

He was carrying her toward the bed, the towel still draped loosely about her.

Her breath was coming in gasps as she looked up at him.

"You didn't expect it, did you?" he asked as he deposited her on the bed. "Our bodies don't care if we hate or love. It's going to happen every time. I'll make it happen whether you want it or not."

"No!"

"Yes, I've never had a taste for compliance even in my whores."

She flinched at the unexpected thrust. "You took me by surprise," she said haltingly. "It won't happen again."

"It will and very soon. I find I'm fairly insatiable where you're concerned, and I assure you that's just the first surprise. I've had three years to plan many, many more." He reached over to the bedside table, and the next moment he was holding something before her. "Do you remember that night at Zabrie's?"

A mask, an extravagant sable and turquoise feather mask.

A picture flooded back to her of Ruel standing in the center of the room, mocking blue eyes glittering as he gazed at her through the slits in a mask very like this one.

"I recall very little of that night. It's not a memory I treasure."

"Nor I." He brushed the feathered mask over her nipple. "But that's because I was undergoing a great deal of frustration at the time."

Her breasts were swelling, her nipples becoming more acutely sensitive with every lazy stroke of the feathers. "Is that necessary? I wish . . . you would stop it," she said haltingly.

"Presently." He moved the mask down and brushed it lightly back and forth over her lower abdomen.

She felt a hot tingling begin between her thighs. Not again, she told herself despairingly. Lie still. Don't give him any more response than he can take from you.

"Zabrie was very clever. She knew that in a house of pleasure a man doesn't care who a woman is as long as she gives him what he wants," he murmured. "There's nothing more anonymous than a mask, is there, Jane?"

She didn't answer.

He moved over her, parted her thighs, and entered her again, sliding slowly to the hilt. "Ah, you're ready for me. I thought you would be. You're proving very accommodating." He placed the feathered mask on her face and leisurely tied the velvet cords behind her head before arranging her hair to fan around her on the pillow. He sat quite still, gazing at her. "You look quite splendidly erotic." His tone was mocking, but his voice had thickened, hoarsened.

Sweet heaven, she was clenching around him.

"And evidently that's also how you feel." He smiled faintly. "I approve. That's how a woman of pleasure should feel and behave. You're learning fast, Jane. When we've taken the edge off this, I'll give you another lesson." He began to move with excruciating, teasing slowness. He whispered, "There are many other purposes and places for feathers than the obvious."

"You didn't do it right," Jane murmured as she gazed at the window through which the first gray light of dawn was beginning to stream.

"Really?" Ruel gathered her closer, his fingers idly toying with her red hair spread across his shoulder. "I | would never have known it by your response."

"Oh, you made me feel . . ." She trailed off. He already knew how he had made her feel during these last hours. Possessed, completely in his power, bent to his will like a twig in a windstorm. Her body ached with that possession, and yet she knew he could arouse her again if he chose to do so. Yet, gradually, she had begun to realize something that had filled her with infinite relief. "But I'm not afraid of you anymore."

"I didn't know you ever were."

"I think you did. I'm not very clever about hiding my feelings." She gazed unseeingly at the patterns of pale sunlight on the royal-blue and cream carpet. "But you didn't know why."

"Are you going to tell me?"

She whispered, "I was afraid you'd make me love you again."

He stiffened. "Love?"

"I did love you ... a long time ago. I was afraid it would come back."

"I'm sure that possibility no longer exists."

"No, it's gone now. I feel hollow inside, as if I had been filled with sand and it had all poured out of me."

"A great relief, no doubt."

"Yes, it would have been terrible. I thought for a while back in Kasanpore that you could be—"

"I could be what?"

"It doesn't matter." Nothing seemed to matter. She felt as if she were floating. Fever? she wondered. She would have to remember to take her quinghao tomorrow morning. . . .

"On the contrary, I find this confession of devotion fascinating."

"You were so different from me, different from anyone I'd ever known. I used to think of you as one of those Chinese mandarins."

"What the hell is a mandarin?"

"Li Sung says they're men of power in China. In ancient days some of them gained their influence with the emperors through magic."

"I'm hardly a magician."

"No one else had ever made me feel like you did. But you also made me feel . . . helpless." She whispered, "I was afraid you'd turn me into her."

"Your mother?"

"Yes, I guess I've always been afraid that I really belonged in one of those places and fate was only waiting to find a way to pull me back." She smiled sadly. "What better tool could fate use than a mandarin? But now I know you can't do that. It's only my body, not my mind. You can't really change what I am. When I leave here I'll be the same person I was when I came. I've cheated you, Ruel."

"Don't be too sure. I've only just begun."

"But it's too late now. You might have succeeded if you'd done it right, if you'd made me remember the old days." Her gaze shifted to the crumpled mask on the bedside table. "Silk curtains and scented rooms . . . exotic feather masks. That's not what I remember, that's not what I've been afraid of all these years."

"It seems I've been remiss in my preparations. Would you care to tell me a few of those fond memories?"

"Sheets that smell of dirt and sweat and urine, the red glass bowl of the opium pipe my mother smoked, watching Frenchie counting the money . . ." She closed her eyes. "I'm very tired. May I go to sleep now?"

"Aren't you afraid I'll try to duplicate those charming surroundings now that you've confided in me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. You're not—" She was so tired, she could barely think, much less talk. "You're not Frenchie."

"Thank God." He didn't speak for a moment and then said lightly, "As it happens, I'm much too fond of my own comforts these days to want to undergo that ordeal. I'll have to find another way of accomplishing my ends."

"It's too late. I'm not afraid anymore. You can't hurt me if I don't feel anything for you. I'm free of you, Ruel."

He ran his hands through her hair. "Are you?"

"Yes, I know what I am now. . . ."

She was asleep.

Ruel's hands ran slowly through her hair again.