The Golden Valkyrie (12 page)

“I know,” she said wryly. “My friend Nancy assured me I was the last twenty-four-year-old virgin left on the face of the earth. I was a little afraid I would disappoint you.” She raised her head to look up at him uncertainly. “Was I all right?”

His lips swooped down to kiss her with a gentleness that caused her throat to tighten with an aching tenderness. “Lord, you were fantastic, love,” he said, his voice suspiciously husky. “I’ve never felt anything like that in my life. It was as if every part of you was holding me, loving me. I couldn’t believe my luck.”

“Neither could I,” she said softly, her eyes twinkling impishly. “It’s not every woman who’s initiated into the intricacies of sex by such a notable practitioner as Lusty Lance. I should consider myself almost unique. I’m sure you don’t usually waste that expertise on such unsophisticated quarry.”

His brow wrinkled in a frown. “That’s not amusing,” he said curtly. “I told you that what we have is different. Now, be quiet and come here.” He pressed her head back into the hollow of his shoulder, his arms tightening around her. “Did I ever tell you that I hate that Lusty Lance epithet?”

“No,” she answered, nestling even closer. “Did I tell you that I think my own name is perfectly ghastly?”

“I believe you did mention something about it,” he said, winding a lock of her hair around his finger. “I like it. It’s as if I’m murmuring a love word every time I say it.” His lips brushed lightly over her lids. “Honey sweet.” His lips traveled to the lobe of her ear and nibbled delicately. “Honey soft.” His lips moved to her mouth and his tongue entered to joust with her own in eager play. When their lips parted, he drew a shuddering breath. “Honey hot. I think I want to paint another picture.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “So soon?”

He chuckled. “Couldn’t you tell by the number of canvases in my studio?” he asked softly. “I’m very prolific.” One hand closed on her breast, his nail raking lightly over the nipple, sending a shiver of heat through her. “And I’m finding you a source of constant inspiration.”

Honey found that she, too, was feeling more inspired by the moment, as his lips traveled down to her breast and his tongue flicked deliciously at the taut pink tip. “You’re so damn beautiful, I want to
really
paint you, just as you are right now. Will you pose for me, Honey?”

She felt a sharp pain surge through her as she remembered what Alex had said about Lance’s dislike of painting anyone with whom he was personally involved. Evidently she didn’t fall into that category. Well, what could she expect? Lance had never pretended that he felt any lasting attachment for her. She must be satisfied with what he had to give.

“Why not?” she asked flippantly. “I can hardly complain about your making me notorious. You must have the most private collection of paintings in the entire world.”

He started to say something, but she swiftly put her hand over his lips, silencing him. “On one condition.”

He kissed her palm lingeringly before removing her hand from his lips. “And that is?”

Her hands reached up to draw his glossy, flame-like head back to her breast. “I find that I’m developing a few artistic tendencies myself,” she said lightly. “I want to paint my own picture. Will you teach me how to do it?”

“Oh, yes, sweetheart.” He chuckled, his blue eyes flickering. His teeth nibbled at one eager nipple. “First, you have to prepare the canvas.”

And the lesson commenced.

It was late afternoon when she awoke, and the glowing rays of the sun were slanting through the window, softening the austerity of the room.

Honey stretched luxuriously, feeling delightfully lazy as she cast the denim coverlet aside. She felt a twinge of disappointment that Lance had left without waking her, but she firmly squashed the feeling. He was probably back in the studio again. She mustn’t expect to compete with the pull of that particular mistress, though she had every intention of making herself a worthy adversary of any other possible rivals.

She showered quickly and washed her hair, grumbling at her shortsightedness in not bringing a blow dryer. Exposed to the salt air, her long hair would need continual care and frequent washing. Oh, well, she would just have to go outside and hope the sun would dry it before nightfall.

She slipped on a pair of navy-blue tailored shorts and a pale-blue tailored blouse, tying the tails carelessly under her breasts. She didn’t bother with shoes, and when she left the cottage, the sand was a delicious cushion beneath her bare feet. The tide was coming in, and the surf licked at her toes as she strolled briskly along the shore, her hands combing through her hair occasionally, while the soft, gentle wind obligingly dried it.

It was almost sunset, and Honey paused for a moment to gaze with breathless admiration at the scarlet and violet glory that was reflected mirror-like in the placid sea.

“It’s a magnificent picture, but I like the ones we paint together more.”

She whirled to face Lance, an eager smile lighting her face. “So do I,” she said softly. “I think we get the colors better.”

Bathed in the rosy sunset glow, his skin took on a golden patina, and his hair glowed like a flame above the sapphire eyes. He was barefoot, too, she noticed, and he hadn’t bothered to tuck the tail of his white shirt into his jeans, nor to button it.

“I thought you’d gone back to the studio,” she said.

He shook his head, his face surprisingly grave. “I went for a long walk. I had some thinking to do.”

She moved closer. “I’m glad you haven’t gone back to work yet,” she murmured, smiling at him beguilingly. “I was wondering if I could seduce you into giving me another lesson.”

“The key word being ‘seduce,’ of course,” he said, a flame beginning to flicker in the depths of his eyes. “What a delightfully insatiable wench you’ve become, Honey. Any more practice and you’ll be giving
me
lessons.”

She took a step nearer him, until her breasts were pressing against the bare hardness of his chest. “You didn’t object this afternoon,” she observed with a grin.

“No, I didn’t, did I?” he asked thickly. “I couldn’t get enough of you. I was even tempted to wake you before I left and love you again.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, her arms sliding up his chest and around his neck, her fingers curling in the crisp hair at its nape. Her lips brushed his chin, and he inhaled sharply.

Then he was jerking her arms from around his neck and thrusting her forcefully away from him. “Damn it, Honey, stay away from me,” he said sharply. “This is difficult enough for me.”

She gazed up at him in hurt bewilderment. “What’s the matter?” she asked huskily, her blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. She’d thought he’d been joking before about her aggressiveness, but perhaps there had been an element of sincerity beneath the raillery. She backed slowly away from him, her lashes lowered to veil the pain that the thought brought. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said brightly, smiling with an effort. “I’m a little new at this. You’ll have to let me know what’s bad form and what isn’t.”

“Oh, Lord, now I’ve hurt you,” he groaned, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s not like that. I’m not rejecting you, damn it.”

“It sounds remarkably like it,” she said, still not looking at him. “But you needn’t apologize, Lance, I understand perfectly.”

He took an impulsive step forward, reaching out for her. Then he stopped abruptly, and his hands fell to his sides. “Honey, you’re driving me crazy,” he said in an exasperated tone. “You know that I can scarcely keep my hands off of you. I proved that this afternoon. You’re the most warmly responsive woman I’ve ever known. I’d be the last one ever to discourage you from spreading a little of that warmth in my direction.”

“Then what’s wrong?” she asked, her violet eyes lifting in puzzlement to meet his own. “If you want me, and I want you…”

“It’s not that simple,” he said, scowling. “You were a virgin.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise. “After today, I think it’s a little late to worry about that,” she said dryly. “It certainly didn’t appear to bother you too much earlier.”

“Look, I know I acted like a selfish bastard,” he said, frowning. “I guess I went a little crazy. You go to my head, love.” He threw out his arms in frustration. “I never dreamed you weren’t experienced. I thought you’d be on the pill.”

“The pill?” she asked dazedly. “Is that what this is all about? You’re worried about my getting pregnant?” She suddenly started to laugh, her face alight with amusement.

His scowl grew darker. “I’m glad you’re finding it so damn funny,” he said indignantly. “We’re on an island, remember? I could call the mainland to have something flown in, but Alex and others might find out. I thought that would embarrass you. I was foolishly trying to protect you.”

She shook her head, her lips curved in a tender smile. “I’m the one who is supposed to be protecting you,” she reminded him gently. “Don’t worry, Lance. I’m not.”

“That’s because you’re so naive,” he said roughly. “You should be worried, damn it. Why the hell aren’t you?”

Because the thought of a little redheaded Scaramouche with sapphire eyes filled her with an aching yearning. Because a part of him would be better than nothing at all. Because she would love this complicated, quicksilver boy-man all the days of her life.

She shrugged. “I don’t know why you’re so upset. There’s no use worrying about something that may never happen.” She grinned, her eyes twinkling. “We’ll be here another few weeks, and I’ll be darned if I’ll live like a nun, now that I know what I’m missing.” Then, as she saw the endearingly troubled expression on his face, she said gently, “I’m not fooling myself that this will be forever, Lance. Whatever happens, I won’t hold you responsible. I waited twenty-four years for my first affair, and I fully expect to enjoy every minute of it.”

“How very generous of you,” he said, his lips tight, and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of hurt in the depths of his eyes. “As ephemeral as you consider our affair to be, I still regard myself as being a little more than a ship that passes in the night. I think a portion of that decision rests with me.”

“But you’ve already admitted that you have ambivalent feelings on that score,” she said demurely, peering up at him through her lashes. She moistened her lips delicately with the tip of her tongue, knowing he was watching her compulsively. “I, however, am entirely determined and singleminded about the subject.”

“Honey,” he said warningly.

“I want to paint another picture, Lance,” she said coaxingly, taking a step forward.

He took an involuntary step backward. “No, damn it. Not until I can take care of you.”

“You always take care of me,” she said softly, taking another step forward. “I’ve never felt so beautifully cosseted in my life as when I’m in your arms, Lance.”

“God, I hoped you felt like that, Honey,” he said huskily. “You’re so sweet to love that it takes my breath away. I wanted you to feel like the treasure that you are.”

Her hands went to the buttons on her blouse and began slowly to unfasten them. “Treasures are always more precious when they’re used,” she said softly. “Did you ever see how ugly and tarnished silver becomes when it’s left in the cabinet? Don’t leave me on the shelf, Lance.” She shrugged out of the blouse and dropped it carelessly on the sand.

Lance’s eyes were fixed on her breasts as her hands went to the front closure of her bra. “Where’s the woman who was too modest to wear a bikini?” he asked wryly, moistening his dry lips with the tip of his tongue.

“The sun’s gone down now, and you did invite me to go skinny-dipping with you.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s what you have in mind,” he said dryly.

She winked at him impishly. “Well, there are dips.” She slipped out of the bra. “And then there are
dips.
”

He drew a deep, ragged breath. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said hoarsely, his eyes on the full mounds with their taut pink rosettes. “You’re making it very hard for me, love.”

“That’s the purpose of the entire exercise,” she said, her lips quirking. She took a step closer to him. “Now, don’t you think it’s time that I had another lesson in the subtle nuances of color coordination?”

“Don’t do this, Honey,” he grated out, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I’m trying to do what’s right, for once in my life.” His eyes were fastened on one pink tantalizing nipple, and unconsciously he licked his lips again. “I can’t stand much more of this. If you don’t get away from me, so help me, I’ll rape you.”

She took another step closer until her bare breasts were brushing against his warm chest. “So rape me; I’ll help you,” she said flippantly, her violet eyes dancing mischievously. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him with loving sweetness. “Love me, Lance.”

He made a sound that was almost a guttural groan of hunger, deep in his throat, and his arms crushed her to him. His tongue entered to stroke with a savage desire that took her breath away. He drew her down to the sand, so that they were kneeling face to face, while his hands moved feverishly over the smooth silken line of her back. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Honey,” he muttered, as he pressed burning kisses over her face and throat. “You’ve made damn sure that I don’t.”

She was sliding the shirt from his shoulders and down his arms. “I know,” she said, pressing her lips to his shoulder. “I know very well what I’m doing.”

He was breathing raggedly, and she could feel the rapid throb of his heart beneath her lips. “There’s one thing you’ve got to promise me, Honey,” he said hoarsely as he pushed her down in the sand, his hands working at the fastening of her navy shorts. “No abortion.” His expression was pale and stern in the dim light. “Whatever happens, no abortion. Okay?”

She smiled up at him tenderly. It was entirely what she would have expected of someone as vividly alive as Lance. How much he had yet to learn about her and the love she felt for him. “Okay,” she agreed softly, pulling him down into her embrace. “Whatever happens, love.”

SIX

T
HE WIND WAS
tearing wildly at her hair and robbing her of breath as she and Lance ran the last few yards to the porch of the Folly. Lance didn’t bother to knock, but threw open the door, bustled her into the foyer, and slammed the door behind them.

Honey was trying futilely to smooth her hair as she turned and gazed laughingly up at him. “You really know how to pick the time to accept a dinner invitation, Lance. That wind almost blew us away. I must look a complete mess.”

“I like it,” he said softly, his eyes running lingeringly over her tousled white-gold hair and equally windblown tailored cream slacks and chocolate silk blouse. “It makes you look very satisfyingly primitive,” he added, smoothing his own rumpled hair. “Perhaps I should change the background in your painting. A Valkyrie should really have a storm setting to be really effective.”

“Just so you don’t insist on having me bare-breasted and wearing a horned helmet,” Honey said dryly, making a face at him.

He shook his head ruefully. “I learned my lesson that first day I tried to paint you nude. I find you too much of a temptation in the buff, my proud beauty.”

Her eyes twinkled teasingly. “I noticed you didn’t get any work done that day. And I thought artists were supposed to regard their models in a purely objective light.”

“Never purely,” he said with a wicked grin. “Not when the model is you, Honey sweet. Objective? Perhaps in fifty years or so I might muster a little objectivity.”

Honey inhaled sharply, feeling a flutter of delight deep in the heart of her. It was the first time in the two weeks they’d been on the island that he’d intimated that their affair was to be anything but fleeting. She didn’t fool herself that Lance would make any lasting commitment to her.

The past weeks had been the happiest she’d ever known, and she felt she had grown closer to Lance Rubinoff than to anyone before in her life. Not only did they share a white-hot physical affinity that rocked them to their depths, but they’d found that they shared a gentle camaraderie that was amazing, considering the disparity in their upbringings. She was almost sure that Lance felt the golden ties that were being forged between them, but this was the first verbal indication he’d ever made that their idyll might extend beyond the confines of Londale’s Folly.

Her face must have mirrored the glowing delight she was feeling, for his eyes were suddenly narrowed and intent, and he took an impulsive step toward her. “Honey,” he said huskily, “let’s go back to the cottage.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Alex Ben Raschid’s voice cut through the velvet sensual haze that was beginning to envelop them. Alex stood in the arched doorway of the living room. “I haven’t been able to pry the two of you away from that seaside love nest since we arrived. I’m tired of my own company, damn it.”

Honey could feel the hot color flood her cheeks, as she watched Ben Raschid stroll lazily toward them. Dressed in dark cords and a long-sleeved black shirt, no one could have looked more self-sufficient and less dependent than that sleek panther of a man.

Lance’s expression was also plainly skeptical, as he took Honey’s arm in a possessive clasp and turned to face Alex. “Nice to know we were missed,” he said mockingly. “However, I don’t seem to remember you pounding down our door. Admit it, Alex, you’ve been so busy wheeling and dealing that you didn’t even remember that we were alive.”

“I refuse to admit any such thing,” Alex replied, his lips quirking. “I would never have committed the
faux pas
of interrupting love’s young dream without a good reason.
I
don’t have an artistic temperament to excuse my rudeness.”

“No, just that Ben Raschid arrogance,” Lance murmured silkily. “And you seem to have overcome your scruples enough to send a note down with an invitation that was the equivalent of a royal command.”

“Sheer desperation,” Alex said, making a face. “I may have been able to tolerate my own company, but I wasn’t about to fight off the Teutonic Terror on my own. She’s been calling, wanting to speak to you, for the past three evenings.” He looked at his watch. “She said she’d be calling you tonight at seven-thirty our time. Knowing Bettina’s Germanic efficiency, that leaves you exactly three minutes to gird your loins for battle.”

Lance gave him a look of utter disgust. “My God, Alex, couldn’t you have told her that I was in Sedikhan? Clancy could have fobbed her off. Lord knows he’s had enough practice.”

Alex shook his head, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “She’d still track you down, with her usual bloodhound’s persistence,” he said. “It’s a quality I rather admire. I thought she deserved at least to talk to you.”

“Thanks,” Lance said gloomily, running a distracted hand through the auburn hair that he’d so recently smoothed. “I’ll do the same for you sometime.”

“Teutonic Terror?” Honey asked, puzzled. “Who on earth are you talking about?”

“Baroness Bettina von Feltenstein,” Lance replied absently, still scowling at Alex.

As if on cue, Justine appeared in the foyer. “Baroness von Feltenstein is on the phone for Prince Rubinoff,” she announced quietly before disappearing once again toward the rear of the house.

Alex glanced at his watch. “She’s thirty seconds early.” His lips twitched. “Most reprehensible. Be sure to reprimand her, Lance.” He gestured toward the door at the far end of the foyer. “You can take it in the library while I get Honey a drink.”

Lance muttered a distinctly blue imprecation and strode quickly through the foyer, slamming the library door behind him.

Honey followed Alex to the bar at the far side of the room, slipped onto a yellow-cushioned barstool, and watched distractedly as Alex went behind the bar.

“Ginger ale?” he inquired as he took two glasses from beneath the bar and placed them on the polished teak counter.

“You have a good memory,” she said. “Why is Lance so upset?” she persisted, watching as he poured his own brandy and replaced the crystal decanter beneath the bar.

“She’s his parents’ choice for a blushing bride,” he explained. He came around the bar and half sat, half leaned on the stool next to her own. When he noticed Honey’s look of surprise, he added quickly, “Not Lance’s. He can barely stand the woman. She’s a bit too aggressive for his taste. He just can’t convince Bettina of that fact. She’s been so brainwashed that she can’t conceive why Lance doesn’t want to marry her and have a multitude of splendidly bred Teutonic princelings.”

“I see,” Honey said slowly, looking down at her glass to mask the sudden jolt of pain she was feeling. “It must be very exasperating for him.”

“I don’t think you do see, Honey,” he said quietly. “I’ve never known Lance to do anything he didn’t want to do. He can’t be bulldozed into a state marriage unless that’s what he wants. I think you know Lance well enough to realize that’s definitely not what he wants.”

She looked up, and her eyes were bright with tears. “I haven’t known Lance long enough to be that sure of him,” she said quietly. “He’s not the easiest person to understand. About ninety percent of Lance Rubinoff is beneath the surface.”

“Well, if it’s any comfort to you, I think you have a better chance at probing those depths than any other woman has had,” Alex said gently. “The man is obviously crazy about you.”

Honey felt a surge of hope. “It is a comfort to me,” she said honestly, giving him a grateful smile. “Thank you for telling me, Alex.”

“The woman is completely impossible!” Lance exclaimed explosively, striding into the room and heading immediately for the bar. “She’s a ranting lunatic.” He poured himself a double. “And she has the persistence of a bloody bulldog with a fresh bone!”

“I gather that you didn’t convince her that you were quite happy with your single state?” Alex asked, arching a mocking brow.

“My God, when that woman begins quoting bloodlines, she makes me feel like a blasted stud!” Lance said disgustedly, downing half his drink in one swallow.

“Well, she can only judge by your past performance.” Alex grinned. “The results may not be evident, but the inclination certainly was. Is she going to pay us a visit to try to further her cause?”

“Probably,” Lance replied gloomily. “I did everything I could to discourage her, but it was like talking to a post.”

Suddenly Honey couldn’t take any more. Couldn’t they talk about anything but that highbred vamp? She slipped off the stool and wandered over to the French windows, where sheets of rain were pounding against the panes. “We’re going to be drowned before we get back to the cottage,” she said, with an effort at lightness. “This doesn’t look like a pleasant little tropical shower.”

“You won’t be going back to the cottage tonight,” Alex said calmly, and when she whirled to face him with a surprised exclamation, he gave a resigned sigh. “I forgot how primitive you are down at the cottage. You don’t even have a radio, do you? You’re right, this isn’t just a shower. It’s been officially labeled a tropical storm.” His lips tightened grimly. “If it stays in the Gulf much longer, it will probably escalate to a full-fledged hurricane. At any rate, you won’t have to worry about any surprise visits from Bettina for the next day or so.”

“Thank God,” Lance said emphatically, taking another drink. “I’m grateful for small favors.”

“I sent Nate down to the cottage to pack your belongings and bring them up here,” Alex said. “Until the storm passes, you’ll have to remain as my guests. The cottage will be completely flooded in a few hours. I’ve told Justine to prepare a guest room.”

“What about Lance’s paintings?” Honey asked worriedly.

“They’ll be quite safe,” Alex said soothingly. “I told Nate to wrap them carefully in tarpaulin before trying to transport them.”

Honey breathed a sigh of relief. She should have known that Alex would take every care. He valued Lance’s work almost as much as she did.

“They should be in the library by now, if you want to examine them for possible damage,” he continued, turning to Lance, as he finished his drink and set the empty glass on the bar.

Lance shook his head. “Nate’s pretty careful. I’m sure they’re all right,” he said carelessly, finishing his own drink. “I’ll check them after dinner.”

“Perhaps you should take a look now,” Honey urged, her brow creased in a frown. “You wouldn’t want to chance having any of them ruined.” She cast an uneasy glance at the rain pounding against the window. “There can’t be much time left.”

Lance’s lips curved in a cynical smile. “I can always paint another one.”

Honey expelled a deep breath of sheer frustration. “I won’t even honor that idiocy with a reply,” she said between her teeth. Then, unable to resist, she burst out, “You’re not some hack painter, damn it. Everything you do is
important.
”

Alex gave a low whistle. “I think I detect the trace of a long-standing argument,” he remarked, straightening. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll go to the library and make a number of completely unnecessary phone calls. Justine will let us know when dinner is ready.”

“You needn’t leave, Alex,” Honey said tautly. “I know when I’m beating a dead horse. Where did you say the guest room is? I believe I’ll go upstairs and freshen up.”

“It’s the first door on the left,” Alex said promptly, settling back on the stool. “And if you’re not going to argue, I believe I’ll stay and have another drink.” He cast an inquiring glance at his cousin. “Lance?”

“Why not?” Lance asked, his eyes fixed broodingly on Honey’s back as she walked swiftly toward the door. “Lord, save me from obstinate women.”

That the charge was leveled at her as well as the absent Teutonic Terror was more than clear, and Honey felt a little stab of hurt along with her annoyance and distress. She didn’t answer, but swept regally from the room and up the stairs. There was very little she could do with her slightly tousled appearance, but if she hadn’t gotten out of that room, there would have been the argument Alex had predicted.

Alex was right. Their argument was of long standing, the only one to disturb the golden tranquility of their time together. Why couldn’t the man see that he needed that God-given talent he’d been blessed with to be recognized? Such great creativity couldn’t be hidden away in a studio, like the canvases that Lance had shoved carelessly away in the closet.

She stopped short on the top step. Oh, God, surely Nate had gotten those paintings out of the closet? Without thinking, she whirled and flew back down the steps and through the foyer to the library. Nate was careful, as Lance had said, but he must have been in a tremendous hurry to get all their belongings together and up to the Folly before the deluge. What if he’d failed to check the closet?

She burst into the library, paying no attention this time to the portrait of Karim Ben Raschid, which subtly made the room its own. The canvases were stacked against the wall, carefully wrapped in the waterproof tarpaulin. There were so many, but were they all there? She hurriedly tore the tarpaulin off the pictures, giving each one a cursory glance. She had grown to know them all in the last weeks, as if they were beloved children. They were children, in a way. Lance’s children, product of the genius he refused to acknowledge. Damn, why couldn’t she remember which paintings had been in the closet? Perhaps Nate had brought them after all.