The Tiger Lily (10 page)

The
chiseled mouth curved into a wry smile, and slowly he loosened his cruel grip
on her arm. "Yes, Fm afraid it is, sweetheart," he said dryly. The
pain from the knife wound making itself felt, he winced as he dropped his right
arm and muttered, "I could have wished for a less violent welcome, but
considering how we last parted, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at being met
with naked steel!"

Guiltily
Sabrina's eyes went to his injured arm, her stomach lurching as she took in the
bloodstained calico shirt. "I . . . I . . . I'm  s . . . s . . .
sorry," she stammered unhappily. "I wouldn't have struck if I'd known
it was you! I thought you were an outlaw."

He
laughed mirthlessly, his gaze on her soft mouth. "Perhaps I am, spitfire,
perhaps I am."

Suddenly
aware of the way they were sitting, her full breasts crushed up against his
hard chest, her hip pressed intimately into his groin, she moved slightly away
from him. Almost primly she said, "Well, you certainly gave a good
imitation of one, the way you attacked me just now."

"Attacked?"
he questioned sharply. "I was under the impression that I was saving you
from a runaway!"

Sabrina
stared at him open-mouthed. "Sirocco? You thought she was running away
with me? Is that why you grabbed at the bridle?"

"Of
course it was!" Brett returned testily, her astonishment making it
abundantly clear that he had mistaken the situation, which didn't soothe his
temper any. His injured arm was aching like the very devil, adding to his
discomfort, and he was much too conscious for his liking of the slender body so
close to his own. Brusquely he said, "If I erred, I apologize.
However," he went on harshly, "if that sample I just saw was any
indication of your usual riding habits, I won't be at all astounded to hear
shortly that you've broken your bloody neck!"

Not
unnaturally Sabrina bristled at his comments, but before she could make a
spirited rejoinder, Brett said sarcastically, "And if this is a sample of
the hospitality your father wrote me about, I'd just as soon forgo it, if you
don't mind."

"My
father?" she repeated stupidly. "My father wrote to you?"

Brett
smiled at her unkindly, and as if speaking to an imbecile, he said, "Why
else would I be here? Surely you don't think I just happened to be here, do
you?"

Shooting
him a glance of dislike, she replied heatedly, "I haven't had time to
think of anything yet!"

Infuriatingly
Brett murmured, "I have found over the years that thinking isn't something
that women do very often ... or well."

Smothering
an urge to slap his mocking mouth, Sabrina contented herself with returning
sweetly, "Perhaps not, but then neither do they attempt acts of such
foolish bravado, as you just did!"

Surprisingly,
an appreciative grin curved Brett's full mouth. "Very good, infant, very
good!"

"I
am not an infant!" Sabrina gritted out, for some unknown reason wanting
that fact to be made very clear to Brett Dangermond.

One
black eyebrow quirked upward, and insolently his green eyes traveled over her
slender body. No, she definitely was not an infant any longer, he admitted
slowly to himself—he'd been very aware of that disturbing fact from the moment
he'd realized who she was. But if the change ten years had wrought had escaped
his initial notice, the soft white linen shirt that clung lovingly to the firm
breasts and the delicate shape of the long legs revealed by the tight-fitting
calzoneras would have made it evident to anyone but a blind man. And Brett was
not blind. Quite the contrary, as his eyes lingered on the rise and fall of her
bosom before his gaze was drawn irresistibly to the innocently provocative
mouth.

His
eyes locked on her lips, he murmured teasingly, "I stand corrected, sweet
cuz—you are definitely not an infant."

His
words should have given her satisfaction, but instead they caused her throat to
go suddenly dry and a curious breathlessness to assail her. Swallowing
nervously—and Sabrina was never nervous—she muttered, "I'm not your cousin
either."

"You
might add," Brett drawled with a derisive gleam in his eyes, "not
very welcoming in the bargain! And while ordinarily I do not go around
reminding my hostesses of their duties, in this case I shall make an exception
and suggest that unless you wish for me to bleed to death, you set about
showing me the way to your home."

Sabrina
flushed, and she looked once again at his injured arm, seeing that there was a
great deal more blood soaking into the calico shirt than there had been only
moments before. Instantly filled with concern for him, she abandoned her
belligerent tone, and her eyes shining with contrition, she murmured unhappily,
"Forgive me, Senor Brett. I . . . I . . . haven't meant to be unwelcoming,
and I will show you to the hacienda immediately—it isn't far, and Bonita, my
maid, will see to your arm."

She
started to scramble down from the horse, but despite the needles of pain that
were pricking along the open wound, Brett's left hand tightened compulsively on
her shoulder, halting her movements. She glanced at him questioningly, and
slanting her a crooked grin, he said audaciously, "Couldn't you give me a
more explicit sign of welcome? A kiss between cousins meeting for the first
time in ten years wouldn't come amiss."

Her
heart hammering painfully in her breast, her tongue frozen to the roof of her
mouth, she could only stare at him mutely, the amber-gold eyes huge in her
face. For a second Brett regarded her, and then with something between a curse
and an imprecation, he bent his head and his hard mouth claimed hers.

Besides
the paternal salutations of her father, Sabrina had never experienced a man's
kiss, and nothing in her life so far had prepared her for the jolt of sweet
fire that swept through her veins as Brett's lips pressed ardently against
hers. She was giddily conscious of the warmth emanating from the male body so
close to hers, of the faint, pleasing odor of horses, wood smoke, and tobacco
that clung to him, but most of all she was unutterably moved by the hungry
longing that his touch evoked deep within her.

It
was a strangely chaste kiss that they shared, but it made her aware of her body
as she had never been before, made her bewilderingly aware of a pleasurable
tingle in the pit of her stomach, of the tightening of her nipples, and of an
insane urge to press herself closer, to cling unashamedly to him. It also,
oddly enough, alarmed her, a part of her shrinking away, guessing instinctively
that there was danger in feeling the way she did. Danger and a beckoning,
tantalizing promise of ecstasy.

For
Brett the reaction to her nearness, the soft, innocent yielding of her mouth, was
far more powerful, far more violent. The second his lips touched hers, his body
exploded with such a fierce surge of almost uncontrollable desire that he
trembled. He had known desire before, had carelessly slaked desire before, but
it had never been like this, this wild, intoxicating yearning to pleasure, to
give, to share and yet possess so completely, so powerfully, that she would
remember and bear the stamp of his possession forever. Stunned and shaken by
the depth of his reaction to a simple kiss, he was even more appalled at how
much he wanted to deepen this embrace, how very much he wanted to part her lips
and explore the inner sweetness. Her mouth was achingly soft against his, and
for one wild second, he almost lost his head completely and kissed Sabrina as
his body prompted him to, but Ollie's voice, sharp with indignation, brought
him instantly and unpleasantly back to reality.

"Well,
if that don't beat the Dutch!" Ollie exclaimed hotly. ''First the bloody
bitch pulls a knife on you, and then you kiss her!"

With
a sigh, Brett reluctantly lifted his mouth from Sabrina's. Recovering himself
quickly, a rueful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, he murmured to
Sabrina, "I think I can safely say that you have welcomed me properly,
sweet cuz."

Dazed
by his kiss, Sabrina gazed at him blankly for a second, the world slowly coming
back into focus. Belatedly she became aware of Ollie, who had ridden up pulling
the two heavily laden pack horses behind him. Staring at the small,
monkey-faced young man who was regarding her balefully, she asked bewilderedly,
"Who is he?"

"Well
you may ask," Brett said easily. "This is Ollie Fram, my, er,
man." Glancing at Ollie he added, "This is my cousin, Sabrina del
Torres. We will be staying at her father's house."

Assessingly,
Ollie and Sabrina eyed one another. To Ollie there were only two classes of
females—good women and bad women, and Sabrina looked like a bad one to Ollie. The
fact that she had just stabbed his employer didn't precisely endear her to him
either. As for Sabrina, Ollie's misleading youthful appearance, as well as his
travel-stained clothing and sparse beard, wasn't exactly what one expected in
the servant of a well-bred, wealthy young man like Brett Dangermond. But then,
risking a glance at Brett's own bearded face and rough clothing, she decided
that they probably suited each other. Cautiously she acknowledged Ollie with a
slight inclination of her head. Ollie merely sniffed disapprovingly.

Rattled
by the morning's events, she wasn't quite as calm and collected as she would
have liked to be, and slipping lightly off Brett's horse, she said stiltedly,
"If you'll follow me, I'll lead you to the hacienda."

It
took only a second to whistle up Sirocco, and within minutes, the trio was
riding down the dusty red road that led to Sabrina's home. Forest pressed
thickly against the road—more a path than a road—pines, black willow, redbud,
and sweet gum intermixed with coral honeysuckle, wild azaleas, and cinnamon
ferns.

Sabrina's
home, Brett discovered a moment later when the forest stopped and they rode out
into the open, was a pleasant example of rustic graciousness. The outbuildings
in the distance were of adobe and rough-hewn lumber; the corrals and paddocks
of split rails were unpainted, but the weather had worn the unprotected wood to
a rich, warm, sienna brown that was extremely pleasing to the eye. The
hacienda, the
casa
grande
, was nestled among the encroaching
forest and constructed with tiled roofs and arched walkways and windows in the
Moorish fashion. It was impressive in its size and reminded Brett vividly of
Spain.

Made
of adobe and exposed square beams, the main portion of the house was
single-storied, built long and low to the ground. The eaves of the roof had
been extended, and they formed wide, welcoming corridors of shade that served
as outside hallways. Jutting out at right angles to the rear of the main
building was a two-storied wing; a black filigreed iron railing enclosed the
narrow balcony that overlooked the front of the hacienda. A courtyard shadowed
by graceful, sprawling redbud trees and orange and lemon trees led to wide
double doors. As Brett gingerly dismounted, favoring his wounded arm, those
doors flew open and Alejandro, a warm smile on his face, came rushing across
the courtyard, saying, ''How good to see you! I have been looking for you these
past weeks and had just about given up hope that you would accept my
invitation." His smile faded though as his eyes took in the bloodstained
shirt and Sabrina's disheveled appearance. Concern on his face, he inquired,
"What has happened? Were you attacked by bandits?"

Brett
grimaced. "No. Let's just say that Sabrina and I had a . . .
misunderstanding."

Well
aware of his daughter's volatile temper and propensity for rash action, Alejandro
frowned darkly, and he threw Sabrina a look full of disapproval. "What
have you been doing this time,
chica
?" he asked half-angrily, half-resignedly.

Sabrina's
soft mouth tightened, and she was slightly indignant that she should have to
explain herself to her father. But before she could formulate something less
than the heated reply that trembled on her lips, Brett broke in with, "It
wasn't her fault. She thought I was an outlaw intent upon, er, ravishing her,
and I thought she was a boy on a runaway—my actions were somewhat abrupt and to
the point. Before either of us realized our mistakes, I'm afraid she defended
her honor rather effectively." A twisted grin on his mouth, he nodded in
the direction of his bleeding arm and added lightly, "Don't worry about
this bit of nonsense. I assure you I have suffered far worse in the past."