Treasure of the Sun (15 page)

"Because you seek to leave me." His reply took her breath with its simplicity and candor.

"I don't understand. There's never been anything between us. Only friendship, and I have many friends who never expect to bed me."

"You are an unobservant woman. Your male friends would love to find heaven in your arms, but your own lack of interest stopped them. Most men need encouragement to seek out a woman.”

"You've already seen how poorly I encourage." She burned with humiliation as she remembered her performance before the mirror.

She couldn't see his face, but she heard no laughter in his voice as he agreed. "No, the light flirtation is not for you. Your dignity doesn't encourage it."

"What is it about you that needs no encouragement?"

"A man doesn't choose to be struck by lightning." He sounded wry and resigned. "But he thanks God when he is."

She pushed at him and he sat up obediently. She didn't expect that, and she lay there, staring at him, until his gaze wandered down her form. Then she scrambled to her knees. There was a readiness about him that discouraged flight, yet she was aware of her dishevelment. The neck of her chemise drooped, her pantalettes rode up over her knees. She ought to look around for a way of escape, but it seemed smarter to keep Damian under observation.

"You stare at me so warily, Catriona." His lids drooped over his eyes. "What do you expect me to do?"

"I don't know." She pushed her hair from her eyes. "What are your plans?"

She watched in horror as his hand cupped her breast. Shock hit her like a dash of cold water. Why did he touch her there?

Why did the contact bring her pleasure?

She didn't move as his fingers moved over the cotton to find her nipple. Only when he began a slow circling did she come alive, dashing his hand from her. "How dare you?"

Scrabbling away, she kicked at him when he grabbed her ankle, but he held her firm and demanded, "Why the alarm? Why now?"

"You stroked me." Her breath came in little gasps. "It's necessary," he reminded her.

"Not there."

"No, not necessarily there, but I promised to bring you joy."

Observing her until she tucked her trembling hands beneath her knees, he suggested, "That's a good way to fulfil my promise.”

Emphatically, she shook her head, pushed to an admission she didn't want to make. "Pleasure is something men find in bed."

He released her ankle and she pulled it under her hip. She curled up now, a ball of defensive inhibitions. He considered her. "Are you saying that no one has ever touched your breasts?"

She blushed to hear him say the word, but she replied with bravado. "My cousins used to try until I taught them better."

"Good God." He sighed. "Tobias never .... " He waved an expressive hand.

She made a sound of dissent.

"It's not my intention to pry into your married life, but didn't he even attempt to--?"

"No."

"So you've never-"

He hesitated, and she prodded, "Never what?"

With deliberate care, he pulled his shirt from his waistband.

"A virgin."

She shook her head.

"Perhaps not in the literal sense, but . . . what did you feel when I kissed you in the library?"

She covered her hot cheeks with her hands. "Please."

He laughed softly. "Thank God I didn't mistake that reaction." He slid the cloth down his arms and pushed it off onto the floor. "Do you like to look at me?"

Her gaze skittered across his shoulders. "Yes."

"Why?"

"You remind me of a statue my father kept on his desk. Except for-"

"Except for-?"

"The statue didn't have a head or arms."

He wasn't provoked; indeed, he seemed to find delight in her sharp retort. "I have all the necessary parts."

"No doubt." She checked him once, quickly. "The parts are damaged."

"These, you mean?" He indicated the bruising across his ribs.

"More evident stupidity. If you're worried about buying mangled goods, I assure you they will fade."

Her little nose tilted into the air. "I'm not interested in buying at all."

"So you'll give yourself to me if I hurry and get it over with." His phrasing offended her, and her discomfort with the subject produced her prim response. "I do not give myself to anyone. I was momentarily tempted to comply with your wishes for the feeling of closeness such union provides."

"Ah. Have you changed your mind?"

Irrepressible sarcasm bubbled up. "Am I allowed to change my mind?"

"No." He drawled as if he thought about it as he spoke. "But you are allowed to imitate me. Take off your chemise, so I may enjoy the liberties your eyes pursue."

"You are quite mad."

"Am I?" With deliberate movements, he unbuttoned his breeches.

"What are you doing?" A stupid question, she supposed, but it appeared he was taking off his pants.

"Watch and find out." In a smooth, fluid movement, he slipped them over his hips and tossed them on the floor.

She was petrified. Not with fright, but with an overwhelming disturbance. She'd never seen a naked man before. Tobias certainly hadn't found it necessary to remove all his clothes at any time in their brief marriage. Damian, on the other hand, seemed to consider it an obligation. He stretched out on his side. One hand cupped his chin, the other rested on the bed near her knee. Unbidden, her gaze ran down his body, then jerked up to his face. "Do you never wear undergarments?"

Ignoring both the ice of her tone and the tremble in her voice, he answered, "I believe I'll have no need of them." He smiled at her with warmth and invitation. "You can look all you like."

For the first time since she'd discovered him in her room, he was relaxed. There was no menace in him, no amusement at her expense. He seemed to have all the time in the world. In some strange way, he made her feel restricted. Where before she felt distinctly unclothed, sitting there in her chemise and pantalettes, now she noticed she was overdressed. She wondered how he could so distort her perceptions.

When she said nothing and stared fixedly into his eyes, he waved his hand down his body in an encompassing gesture.

She looked She couldn't help it. Her gaze lingered. She couldn't help that, either.

"As you can see, men make their desire obvious. It makes them vulnerable."

"What?"

"Vulnerable. A man cannot deny his attraction, yet a woman can hide hers beneath a cloak of lies and innuendo."

"There's nothing to hide," she snapped. "Ah, then you'll take off your top."

He was clever. Diabolically clever. If he kept talking, he'd have her convinced of his truth. Yet, if she didn't keep him talking-

"We've got all night." Could he read her mind?

"Did you know there's a difference between men and women?"

She snorted.

"For instance, men tend to find their satisfaction very quickly. Women, on the other hand, take longer. But with preparation, a woman can become--" his voice became a breathy whisper "-aroused."

She crossed her arms, one elbow over the other, on her stomach. His blatant appreciation made her glance down and realize her protective gesture had carried her bosom up. She rearranged herself.

"When a woman becomes aroused, she becomes soft, pliant.

There's a way for a man to bring her to that state." He shifted closer, wrapping himself around her tightly held knees, enclosing her in his warmth. He tugged on the string at the top of her chemise, untying it. She grabbed for his wrist, but he took her hand, tucked it back in her lap, patted it. "You were willing to take me, if I didn't drag it out."

His fingers caught at her lacing again. She put her nails into his hand and said, "No!"

"Why would you give yourself without a fight?" He stared into her eyes, demanding truth. "I expected to be covered with bruises by now, ripped with your nails." He pulled his hand away and showed the four crescents of blood. "Yet I have only this. Why would you give yourself so easily?"

Impatient with his curiosity, unwilling to share her unorthodox ethics, she felt driven to revelation. "Must everyone believe fornication brings such a tremendous adjustment? I found it changed nothing. The morning after our wedding, Tobias was the same. I was the same. We spoke of the same matters. He told me about the legends in California. I told him about the quilt I worked on. We went for a walk. It was nothing."

"Madre de Dios." He flung himself onto his back, his arms outstretched.

His whole, beautiful body lay before her, and the vaguest tingle disturbed her nerves. She ignored it, charging on. "I have long held doubts about my sense of propriety. Most ladies swoon at the mere thought of their wedding night. I approached it as a sensible woman, and I was neither frightened nor disappointed." He groaned, and she looked to see if he were in pain, or making noises of dissatisfaction. She couldn't tell.

She noted a definite difference in body color that began at his waist. He was lighter below, darker above, with the exception of his calves. They, too, were tanned. She puzzled for a moment, deciding that it was the result of working without a shirt. With very little effort-really, very little effort---5he dismissed his body from her thoughts. "I admit, the thought of carrying your baby when I leave is distressing. Nevertheless, in my understanding, conception is unlikely at this time."

"What a disappointment." He sounded reflective.

"What do you mean?"

"You dear, sweet, innocent
nina
. I mean our child will be welcome at any time."

She was alarmed again, shaken from her conviction she could expound and convince.

Clearly he read the message of her body. "Our child would be an extension of ourselves and our dedication to each other."

"You are quite insane. We mean nothing to each other. If my body found this pleasure you seem convinced you could give me, then I could find the same pleasure with another man of your skills."

"What?"

He sat up, and she nodded at him. "Of course. If there is more to this man-woman thing than I'd experienced before, it's a matter of skill and practice. I already know that Tobias had had little practice, so it stands to reason-"

"Good God, woman!" he said. "You reduce the most wonderful mystery in the world, the mystery of attraction and passion and love, to a tangle of reason and pedantic words." Under her nose, he slapped the back of his hand into his palm. "Who am I?"

Jumping beneath his emphatic stress, she stuttered, "Why, you're Don Damian de la Sola."

"Yes, but who am I?"

She didn't understand what he searched for with such intensity. "You're the Spanish son of a landowner here in California.”

"Yes," he answered, pleased. "Who else am I?"

"You're a good friend, and a responsible master. You smoke. You dress quietly." A cloud drifted over his features, grew stormier when she stammered, "You have the respect of your vaqueros, so you ride well, work the cows well, breed good horses. You have a rancho in the Central Valley. You like it there."

He rubbed his hands wildly in his hair. It stood on end, and its ruffled state displayed the white that salted it above the ears.

"You have some grey hairs," she added, trying to repair his distress.

"No, no. That's not what I mean at all," he said in despair.

"When you look at me, you see only things. You see my possessions. You see my friends, my horses. You see skin over muscles and bones. You see legs and arms and a masculine part that makes my voice deeper than yours and puts this hair on my chest. But I'm more than that." Leaning over her, he stared into her eyes as if he would tell her something without words. "I'm the man who waited for you before I knew who you were. I'm the man who recognized my mate from the moment you stepped off the ship. I'm the man who has foresworn women, all women, since the day I saw you."

She shook her head against his intensity, and he tried again. "Mine is the soul that reaches for yours. Mine is the soul that sings to yours without words. Mine is the soul that lifts yours through the empty places where you must walk."