The Tiger's Lady (29 page)

A heartbeat later his mouth came down against hers, hard and hungry, crushing and possessing, all teeth and tongue and angry male.

She tried to scream, but could not.

She tried to make herself cold, but was not.

Entirely the opposite. Her heart hammering, she fought to keep from pressing closer, from sliding down into the sensual fury of his touch, like one of those brazen, hateful woman he had just described to her.

Back and forth his mouth ground over hers, rough and commanding. Hot and hard, his tongue probed the locked line of her mouth. And when she did not yield, Pagan changed his strategy with lightning speed. Possession turned to persuasion. Toying, coaxing, his lips roamed over her with slow thoroughness. Sleek. Wet. Like hot velvet.

Her breath caught in a jerky sigh. He heard it, and laughed deep in his throat. Slowly he tongued her again and this time earned his victory, sliding deep into her satin darkness, tasting her fiercely.

“Cinnamon…” He groaned the name, and the word was dark with the sound of his own need and his own raw discoveries.

Her legs grew weak. Her hands rose and clung desperately to his shoulders. All the time she prayed that he would stop.

And realized that if he did, she would surely die.

“Say it, Cinnamon. Tell me you want it too.”

“N-no!”

But her blood became a fierce, hungry thing. Roused from decades of sleep, it now charged through her wildly, racing into every inch and corner of her body, noisy with rage at being disturbed from the long slumbers of innocence.

“‘P-Pagan,” she began, only to feel his mouth move. The next instant her lips sheathed his hard tongue.

He groaned deep in his throat, his fingers capturing her hot cheeks. “By all that is holy, you make an apt student. Harder this time.” His tongue withdrew, then flickered over her lips in light, feathering strokes.

Until she
hungered
to do his bidding. But it could not be!

“Stop it, damn you!” Ashen-faced, she jerked free of his anchoring fingers, then drove a fist flush into his jaw.

Pagan released her, cursing. His face promised a terrible vengeance.

“Listen to me, you bloody, wretched man! I’m
no whore!
And I’m no pawn of Ruxley’s. When will you begin to accept that?”

One dark brow snaked skyward in disbelief. “How do you know, if you’ve lost your memory?”

“Very well, I don’t
think
I am,” his captive beauty countered in angry, scrupulous honesty. “I would never do such a thing by choice, that much I
know.”

“Talk is cheap,
Angrezi.”

“Listen, damn you!” she snapped. “This is important!” This time it was
her
fingers that surrounded his face and forced him still before her smoldering gaze. “I don’t know who I am, nor even
what
I am, but one day I will. Every little clue helps, even things such as this. And I know that I am telling you the truth about this.”

His gaze narrowed; onyx flames sparked in that chill unblinking orb.

“You still don’t believe me, do you?” Her slim fingers trembled against the warm planes of his cheeks. “You don’t even care. But why should you? You are a man, after all, in control of all you see. You’ve wealth and security and a boundless confidence in your own abilities.” She fought back a sob; her eyes blurred with tears. “Consider yourself a very lucky man, Mr. Pagan,” she added hoarsely. “For I have
none
of those things. Not even the comfort of a name.”

Abruptly her hands fell away from his face. She turned away, only to feel her wrists captured beneath his fingers a second later.

“You’re wrong, Cinnamon,” Pagan whispered. “About more than one of those things. And if you think
I’m
the one in control here, you’re damned wide of the mark, for being in control is the last thing I am right now. Shall I tell you why?
You
do that to me, every time I look at your soft lips, every time I see the pulse skitter at your neck. Every time I see the perfect nipples outlined against your chemise. No, I’m the
last
one in control here.”

His blunt honesty took her breath away.

A tide of crimson washed over her face.

Did he really mean that—

Pagan turned away, cradling his rifle, the old icy mask of indifference slipping back over his hard features. “And for now our lessons are over. So do we go on to the beach or don’t we?”

His arrogance was astounding. “Oh, you wretched, infuriating—”

“Fine,” he snapped, turning back the way they had come. “In that case you can find the beach for yourself. And afterward you can go sleep in the jungle.”

“We
go,
damn you!” Teal eyes flashing, his honey-haired companion swept past him, furious at the way an errant ray of sunlight slanted across his face, painting it hot, burnished bronze. Furious at the unforgettable way his muscles bunched and rippled beneath his white shirt.

Furious at the way she seemed unable to think of anything else.

He gave her a last taunting look then stalked ahead of her, making no effort to slow his stride to her pace. “And whenever you can’t keep up,
Angrezi,
all you have to do is tell me.”

Her lips settled into a flat line. “It will be a snowy day in hell when I can’t keep up with
you,
Mr. Pagan.”

The words were barely off her lips when a thick green rope came plummeting down from the trees overhead and fell thrashing at her feet. Only it was not a rope but a python. Twelve feet long and nearly a foot across, the huge snake could squeeze a wild boar to death in twenty seconds.

And a man in ten.

Her face bled white. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged.

“Get back!” It was a flat command which brooked no room for questioning, and she obeyed soundlessly. The rifle slid from Pagan’s arm. Cold-eyed, he pushed down the safety release, took careful aim, and sent two bullets slamming through the snake’s head.

Her heart was still pounding against her ribs when he raised the toe of his polished boot and kicked over the lifeless but still thrashing mass of muscle. “On the way back I’ll collect it for Mita. Python meat is considered quite a delicacy here. It must be properly cooked, of course, then carefully skinned. I’ll let you try some.”

She glared at him furiously, her heart still racing. “What a lovely idea, Mr. Pagan. I am sure I shall enjoy eating snake meat immensely,” she said with acid sweetness. “And now, if you are quite through with this little demonstration of your hunting prowess?” She stared pointedly at the path. “The sun will soon be setting, remember?”

His gaze danced over her face, dark and hot. “Oh, I remember, Cinnamon. Every damned thing. Even some things you’re going to wish that I didn’t.”

And with that obscure threat, still smiling, he strode forward into the green shadows. He did not spare her another glance.

The bloody arrogant
worm!

Furious, she glared at Pagan’s broad back, her teal eyes shooting white-hot sparks. First he goaded her, tricking her body into wanton, unnatural feelings. Then he had the utter gall to mock her for her response, which was the direct result of his own sordid expertise!

The man was a cur.

A swine. A ruthless, degenerate—

Suddenly her breath caught. Before her the oppressive corridor of greenery opened up into light and space and hard, bracing wind. Like liquid sapphire, the sea stretched unbroken as far as her eyes could see, bleeding into a blood-red pool far to the west, where the sun sank into the horizon

Cool wind licked her face. Rhythmic waves slapped at a white-sand shore.

Her pulse quickened as she watched Pagan stride over the beach.

So he had an answer for everything, did he? Then let him have an answer for
this!

Her eyes snapping, she bent and snatched up a handful of warm sand. When she had as much as she could carry, she advanced silently on her prey.

The sand struck his neck and shoulders with a satisfying hiss, a great deal of it disappearing down inside his collar.

Good! The discomfort would serve him right for—

For
what?
For kissing you until you were dizzy? For making your pulse lurch crazily?

For demanding your honesty?

He turned slowly, his eyes glittering. “You’re going to regret that, Angrezi…” His lips twitched as he stalked ever closer.

Before she could change her mind, she shoveled up another handful of sand. This one hit him full on the chest. “The first one was for arrogance,” she rasped. “The next one was for—”

Go on, tell him,
a mocking voice answered.
Tell him it was for showing you the shameful face of your own passion.

Her cheeks flushed crimson.

“Yes,
Angrezi?”
He was nearly close enough to seize her, but strangely he did not. The force of his gaze was nearly as savage as a touch. “Come, don’t stop now. This begins to grow interesting.”

Partly to avoid his burning scrutiny, she looked down. But what she saw then was more tormenting still. Every hair that darkened his neckline mocked her, and every inch of sun-bronzed skin. She saw a tiny bead of sweat glisten at his neck, saw the fine white sand powdering his hard chest.

Without conscious thought, she felt her hand rise to caress that tormenting flesh and brush away the fine grains tangled in his springy hair.

Dear heaven, what was
wrong
with her?

Struggling for composure, she dragged her tongue across lips gone suddenly dry. Instantly she saw a muscle tense above his collarbone. With slow fury he reached down to the beach.

The next moment she was running across the sand.

His first barrage struck her waist. She heard his dark laughter and it made her run even harder.

But with her next wild heartbeat he seized her trailing skirts and snapped her to a halt. Slowly he tugged the yards of damask around, forcing her to face him.

The first thing she saw was his uncovered eye, blazing beneath a half-lowered lid.

The second thing she saw was the handful of sand clutched within his fingers.

She jerked sideways, trying to wrench free, her eyes riveted on his hands. The wild movement sent her toppling forward, her arm outflung as she fell.

But she was cushioned by warm male muscle, not hard-packed sand, for she had felled him along with herself. The realization sent a fresh wave of blood burning to her cheeks.

“L-let me go,” she sputtered. “I gave you only what you deserved!”

The sandy fingers rose until they poised only inches above her head. “Not until I know what the second was for, Cinnamon.”

Cursing her unruly tongue, she began to squirm wildly. But each movement sent her sliding against granite thighs, against sun-warmed skin, against his—

Wide with shock, her eyes jerked back to his face.

“The second one,
Angrezi.
Tell me.” As if to prove his seriousness, Pagan let a tiny stream of sand trickle onto her head.

She swallowed, feeling his heat from chest to ankle. He was so big. Even though she hated him, it felt good to be anchored in such strength, in such a sea of warm, rippling muscle.

Her eyes widened.

She
did
hate him. She
did!

Only now her own skin burned where she was crushed to his hardness. Her knees trembled, soft as melting butter and her nipples furled tightly where they chafed against his chest.

“For your vanity!” she cried wildly. “For thinking that I cared!” She shoved at his chest, desperate to escape him, desperate to hide the reaction of her traitorous body.

Another bit of sand trickled onto her head. This time she welcomed it, hoping it would distract her from the shameful tingling at her breasts, the brazen heat that uncoiled below her navel.

But it didn’t. Sweet heavens,
nothing
could do that.

“Liar.” His voice was dark silk. He shifted beneath her, missing nothing. His eyes glittered as he slipped his thigh between her legs and then moved against her.

Each slow, drugging stroke was heaven.

And purest hell.

Her pulse leaped. Desire raced through her. But she could never let
him
see that. “You want the plain truth? I
hate
you!”

His lips eased into a wolfish smile as he stared pointedly at the flush staining her cheeks. “Hate me? Ah, Cinnamon, I love how you hate me then.” His thigh stroked higher and she answered with a convulsive tremor.

Abruptly the laughter slipped away. His face darkened with need—and a raw vulnerability of his own. It was naked now, plain for her to read. “Kiss me,
Angrezi.
Just once, kiss me like you meant it.”

A moment later his hands opened. The sand fell unheeded against her skirt.

Then he was kissing her.

And she—dear heaven,
she
was kissing him back. Just the way he’d pleaded.

At the first softening of her mouth she felt him stiffen, felt a shudder run through him. His lips plunged over her in a hot wet slide of friction, searching for her heat, probing her sleek mysteries. At the same time his tongue edged along the locked line of her lips.