With One Look (11 page)

The waiting groom coughed, pulling Victor up from his brief sojourn into the beckoning lure of her sensuality. He broke the kiss reluctantly. He had been afraid the potion she drank would inhibit his desire, if only by slowing hers. He saw now that he was wrong.

He gathered the reins and mounted. She stood perfectly still, which seemed like a miracle with the swirl of beautiful colors dancing abstractly through her dazed mind. A hand slowly reached to touch her lips, where she soothed the strange sensations. She wished he could kiss her again....

He bent over, his large hands circling her waist to lift her up in front of him. She instinctively grabbed his upper arms as he lifted her off her feet and to the saddle. Dizziness swirled in her head, and she steadied herself by laying her head against his chest. He checked the horse's dance, and then pulled her face up to his. She could feel the scrutiny of his gaze. "I find ... I am having a great deal of trouble thinking "

She smiled as she heard the warm sound of his laughter. "I don't believe I paid for your thoughts, much as I might want them." While he could prefer an unencumbered clear mind for the

pleasure, opium, he knew, could enhance a woman's pleasure, drawing it out and leaving it shimmering for hours. Hours would not be long enough for her. "Mary Devon, my beautiful changeling, intoxicated or no, just tell me, are you my willing victim?"

"Victim..." Her foggy mind seized the word. She brushed her hot cheek against his clean white shirt and breathed the delicious masculine scent of him. The sensation burst into colors in her mind, a swirling rainbow of pretty colors. "Oh, yes, I am...."

He started the horse forward and felt her tense slightly, her arms wrapping securely around his waist. "Have you never ridden a horse before?"

She tried to concentrate on the question. Horses. A sweet smile lifted on her lips. "I used to ride often when I was a child." She was speaking too slowly, but the thought disappeared as vivid scenes rose in her mind again, scenes of her father's daily riding lessons. For a long moment, she lost herself to the play of pretty pictures in her mind's eye. "My father wanted me to ride better than any boy in the parish. He used to tease me that ... that ... he would enter me in the parish race dressed as a boy, that I would win and as I stepped up to the winner's circle, he would remove my hat and show my face and end the argument that women can't ride . . . ride—" She stopped, realizing she was repeating herself. The idea brought confusion; she forgot what she was saying....

She felt as if she floated on a bright white cloud of sensation, heavy and dreamy. He found himself smiling down at her, his suspicions melting away beneath the lilt of her sudden ease and laughter.

"You have not always been blind?" She managed to shake her head. "When did it happen?"

She tried to remember. Why was it so hard to remember? Why was it so hard to think?

What was the question? "Oh, yes... seven years ago... when I was... thirteen. Like Mercedes..." The name echoed in mind.

"An accident?"

His question pulled her back and she nodded with a contented sigh as her finger circled a button on his shirt. She reached a timid hand to his face. Gently, light as a feather, her fingers traveled over the strong distinguished lines of his face, exploring the textures again. She touched his lips and traced the wide and sensuous lines there before touching her own lips and remembering his kiss. "I wish you would ... kiss me again."

Victor chuckled as his large warm hand brushed back her hair, his lips lightly grazing her forehead. "You know, I half wish I had the strength of will to resist you tonight, if only to wait until tomorrow when your haze disappears and I could have all of you, Mary."

She felt the brush of his lips on hers. A heated chill raced up her spine as his lips teased a spot beneath her ear. "But, sweetheart, Christ never had such temptation. I don't think I could wait an hour, Mary. . . ."

Mary. Mary, Mary, quite contrary. She wished he would not say that name. She wished ... she wished he would kiss her again....

The. horse pranced into his gravel-covered driveway.

The large two-story brick mansion was Victor's town home, used only when he was forced to come into the city and away from his country estate. The attractive house was plastered and whitewashed, and stood as one of the finest in New Orleans's affluent garden district. Large columns dominated the front of the house, giving strength to the foundation and a majestic grace to its appearance. Five long steps marked the entrance that led to broad hand-carved mahogany doors. An extensive balcony and portico encircled both the upper and lower levels. A wrought-iron fence guarded the spacious and well-tended gardens; two tall sugar maple trees and a half dozen oaks towered above the roof. A number of magnolia trees interrupted a smooth carpet of green lawn, this laced with dozens of flower beds.

Jade Terese saw none of it. She felt suddenly confused by her circumstances. She tried to remember her fear but she found it all seemed so distant now, like a nightmare upon waking. And as she thought she should be alarmed by this, as she tried to remember something, the colors returned, swirling through her mind's eye....

A groom ran up. Victor swung off the horse, and gently lowered her feet to the ground, only to discover they no longer held her up. With a chuckle, he swung her light weight up to his arms.

Jade hardly knew what was happening as he carried her into a house. She was only vaguely aware of being taken indoors. Carl, Victor's butler, greeted them as they entered the hall. The small man wore dark formal attire, waistcoat and pressed pants. His dress, the crisp graying halo of hair, the handsome Negro features, all gave him a distinguished air, one Victor often thought was at odds with his irascible character. Presently a dark brow lifted as he stared curiously at the lovely young woman's provocative hair arrangement and the dreamy look on her face.

"Ah, Mademoiselle?" he inquired with a condescending grin, rocking back on his heels, waiting for Victor to let him in on the joke or ruse.

Victor knew Carl only too well, and recognized the mischief in his dark eyes. "Mary Devon," was all he supplied.

Wondering where he had heard that name before, Carl handed Victor a written message as he set the young lady to her unsteady feet. He started to relate the other messages when she seemed to be slipping. Victor's arm steadied her again. In the movement, Carl caught a glance of her clothes beneath the cloak, or lack thereof. His eyes widened with sudden mirth. She wore only a corset. He supposed he should expect such increasingly desperate tactics from the multitudes of women frequenting this house. "Mademoiselle"—his grin was all farce—"you must have dashed out in a hurry tonight."

She had no idea he was talking to her, even that he was talking. Carl watched her slipping with alarm, and thought to extend the courtesy of warning Victor. "Perhaps you should catch her up again before she totters."

Victor bent over and swept her off her feet again. He passed quick instructions as he headed up the stairs. "Cancel my Sunday engagements. My father is expected back."

"High time," Carl replied.

Victor cast an annoyed glance at him. "There are a few other messages."

"Tomorrow, Carl ..." At his bedchamber, Victor shut the door. He carried her to the enormous four-poster bed and set her gently on the velvet coverlet before turning to open the balcony doors. The room was so warm. She unclasped the cloak and laid back, luxuriating in the softness and velvet. So, happy to be in a bed. Like her parents' bed.

A smile came with the thought...

Two lamps threw gold light into the beautiful and luxuriant spaciousness of the unusual room. Done in rich blues and dark greens, the room had heavy furnishings made of smooth ebony, cut in straight lines and shining like black velvet. The furniture had been brought with great care from the Orient. Stunning seascapes hung on the walls: pictures of magnificent, bold ships sailing violent and stormy seas ...

He stood for a moment in the now open balcony doors, then turned to remove his vest. "Would you care for dinner, or a small supper—" He stopped as his gaze came to rest on her. He released his breath with a soft curse.

She drifted on a dreamy haze. In this haze of colors and pure sensation she knew no fear. There was no past or future or indeed any time at all. There were only brilliant colors beneath her closed lids....

She did not know how long she laid there before she realized someone stood over her. He was saying something. "... you look like an angel and taste like the heavens ..."

She reached out for him with a beckoning smile. "Please ..."

She felt the backs of his fingers caress the hot arch of her cheek before sliding back to remove the pins in her hair. Her long hair tumbled over the bedclothes. His fingers traced a line over the curve of her breast. Heated shivers gathered there; she reached for and found his hand. She kissed it tenderly as she begged, "Kiss me ..."

Never in the whole of his life had he felt so tempted and teased. Like a dream she was, the slender figure shrouded in golden light, more beautiful than anything his ample imagination could possibly have created, beckoning with her own desire. "Mary." He released his breath with the sound of her name. "Desire manifest in flesh ..."

She smiled at the whispered words, then felt his weight come to the bed. He gathered her into his arms, positioning her slightly beneath him so he might peruse the beckoning curves of her slender figure.

At first the sensation of his huge warm body pressed against her brought a rising panic; an idea struggled to come up through her foggy consciousness. She tensed with the shocking feel of the hard length of him. Yet the tension erupted into shimmering, heated shivers. She did not want to feel so helpless but the sensations grew. Any sense of will melted into a warm sea of feeling. His body was so much larger and harder than hers and so warm ... Blindness had long ago enhanced her senses; the potion carried them to a heightened plane. His fingers caressed

her throat, traveling down to her breasts.

How strange this desire! He let his hand smooth the silky softness of her hair, marveling at his control. His need had felt strong from the beginning, but now, with her soft supple body against him, the taste of her warm breaths against his chest, the rich perfumed scent of her skin, the long dark hair spread over his arm, it soared and urged....

"You'll never have to ask twice, Mary...."

Mary ... The name registered vaguely in her mind, then disappeared as his lips moved slowly up her neck to her ear, where his warm breath, the tip of his tongue, played. She felt a tremor of delicious pleasure as his moist lips moved to her closed lids, then her cheeks. He touched his lips to hers once. He drew back, his mouth hovering just over hers as the caress of his fingers parted her lips. The kiss deepened as he tilted her head back and drew her against himself, needing to feel her with the same urgency he needed breath.

He felt the yielding pliancy of her lips beneath him, the soft relaxation of her slender curves as she freed her hands to slide them around his neck. He was hot and hard and ready for her, his hands curving around her buttocks to draw her into close alignment with his male hips, the crux of a finger sliding beneath the flimsy corset, over and over, while his lips played against hers, teasing, soft as a whisper, then demanding ...

Chills rushed to greet the tender play of his lips on her neck and ear. A soft cry escaped her lips as she arched dramatically. A tingling congestion grew deep inside. She drew a shaky uneven breath and the tension erupted in warmth. A sweet pulsating warmth that matched the hard thud of her heart and made her arch her back again. She felt so restless and dizzy and she wanted very much to kiss him again.

She timidly sought his mouth.

"You kiss like a novice, sweetheart. Don't tease me with that tongue."

The words hardly registered but the kiss conveyed the message. As if to show her, it was hot and stirring, drawing on a slow lazy restraint that in turn seemed to draw warm moist fluids from every recess in her body.

The shivering turned to shimmering; a rainbow of color glistened in her mind as she lost herself to the demanding power of the kiss, feeling the deepest part of herself opening, rising to greet the strange compelling tide sweeping her. Some small part of her struggled desperately to make sense of this, certain it was all wrong, but all thoughts kept dissolving beneath a growing tide of pleasure, a need much too powerful to resist.

He rocked his lips over hers as he studied the feminine velvet of her dark brows and lashes, her lips, the flush staining her cheeks. He whispered words against her ear. "I want this off...."

She hardly knew what was said as his hands were sliding over her shoulders and his thumbs brushed the sensitive skin above her breasts. She held perfectly still, listening to the pounding of her heart as his hand deftly worked the laces of her corset.

He had never cared for corsets, the way the undergarment teased by accentuating, yet hiding, a woman's charms, and he always did his best to remove them quickly. He parted the garment down the middle and in a single motion pulled it from beneath her, tossing it to the floor. He stared at the lush temptation of the large dark pink tips of her breasts, as his hands gently caressed her head, combing through the long silky length of her hair. His lips came to her face.

She felt a tingling rush of chills follow the teasing play of his lips.

"Mary," he said as his hand moved over the curve of her waist to brush her breasts. The light touch washed her in sensations so tantalizing, they passed through her in feverish shudders. Her head swam with the sweet onslaught of sensations, all of them: the flat of his palms moved to the small of her back, where they lightly caressed back and forth over the curve of her buttocks, the warm moist lips molding hers, the heady taste of his brandy and the teasing play of his tongue, the tingling warmth between her legs that made her writhe against him....

Those hands slid from her back to court her hip and, moving whisper soft, he grazed the satin skin of her side before covering her breasts. Shivers, a thousand tiny spark like shivers, erupted where he touched her. She gasped with the hot pleasure of it, the pounding of her heart dropping as his palms circled the sensitive peaks. Her soft gasps taught him the right movement as he caressed her with ever-deepening strokes. He watched with wonder and no small amount of pleasure the sensuous color drawn by the erotic pattern of his hands. He was whispering words, heated love words, as his seeking mouth found her breasts.