Fires of Paradise (33 page)

He backed her up against the wall. His kisses were voracious, his hands now roaming freely over her back and buttocks, and it dawned on Lucy that he had no intention of stopping, that in just a few moments he would be pushing up her skirts and penetrating her, right there, against the wall, in the library—at her rehearsal dinner.

Everything was happening too fast. Somehow she had to stop this, stop him. Stop herself. She felt him press his palm against her womanhood. He was more than preoccupied, he was maddened by his own lust, and Lucy wrenched away from him, slipping on the floor in her heels and falling to her knees. She scrambled away and lunged to her feet and put the couch between them.

For a scant instant, shock was etched on his features, shock that she had left him so close to the consummation of their passion. And then his expression was wiped clean. She needed time to recover, but apparently he did not. He straightened his bow tie, staring her right in the eye. ' 'Who's fooling whom?" he asked shortly. "Who's the little liar?" Lucy closed her eyes briefly, panting and trembling, feel-

ing very, very shaken. "I still hate you. Go away."

His smile was twisted, and when he spoke, it was with absolute conviction "The feeling is mutual, princess."

Her eyes flew open. "Why do you hate me?"

"Did you think I might love you?"

So much hurt and pain rose so rapidly from somewhere so deep in her soul that Lucy was immobilized by it. He came toward her. His hands, large and hard, found her shoulders. "But that doesn't change anything, does it? Lust has nothing to do with love, or with hate—as we both know firsthand."

They stared at each other for an endless moment. Around them, the noise of the party swelled and rose, but the fact did not penetrate as the library door was opened and closed. I have to get away from him, Lucy thought. I have to think. This can't have happened, it can't!

"How dare you!" Marianne cried.

Lucy gasped when she realized Marianne had entered the room again and was standing furiously beside them. Shoz barely acknowledged her. His gaze was filled with loathing. She knew it was not for Marianne—but for herself.

"If you don't leave," Marianne hissed, "I'm going to call the Braggs in here. Now, get out!"

Shoz gave Lucy another glance. "Tell the lucky groom I send my best," he mocked, and then he was striding out, slamming the door fiercely behind him.

Lucy looked at Marianne, her future mother-in-law, a blush staining her cheeks, terribly relieved that Marianne hadn't walked in just a moment sooner. "It wasn't what you thought," she said, then went silent at the fury she saw contorting the woman's face.

She reminded herself that this was Shoz's former mistress and Leon's mother. That this was a woman ruthless enough to accuse a man of a crime he had not committed and send him to prison for it. In essence, this woman was some kind of monster. Warily, Lucy straightened. She was, however, not prepared for Marianne's assault.

"You little whore!"

"You can't talk to me that way!"

"Oh yes I can," Marianne said. "After all, we both know you know Shoz intimately."

Lucy flushed, but only with fresh anger. "You're forgetting something, Marianne. We both know Shoz intimately, wouldn't you say?"

Marianne was momentarily taken aback. Lucy felt a moment of wicked satisfaction until the other woman recovered. "I advise you to watch yourself before casting stones. I also suggest you stay away from him if you want to marry my son. Because my son will not tolerate infidelity from his bride—or his wife."

"I have advice for you," Lucy said, ignoring Marianne's gasp. "I'm marrying your son—not you. My life is just that—mine."

"You are a fool, Lucy!" Marianne was furious. "Don't throw your life away. Leon will take you where you want to go—-Shoz can do nothing for you outside of the bedroom. Do you understand?"

"Oh, I understand," Lucy said, thinking of Marianne being an adulteress, and then maliciously sending Shoz to jail. She was filled with fury, and it was all directed at the woman who would become her mother-in-law on the morrow. "I understand more than you know, Marianne."

And with that, she turned on her heel and left her hostess standing there alone.

Chapter 40

Going to the Claxtons' had been stupid, and now Shoz was in a deadly, black humor. Clad only in trousers and a pair of black suspenders, Shoz dragged on a cigarette, staring out the hotel window at the city's night lights.

He knew he should be anywhere but here, alone in this dreary room, alone with his bleak thoughts. Dammit! His fist hit the windowsill. Hard. The pain was welcome. He shook his hand, wondering if he'd cracked a bone.

She still felt like she belonged to him. She still felt like his. Even though it had been a very long time since they'd been together, even though she had betrayed him by divorcing him, even though she was about to marry another man—
even though she had never really loved him
—she still felt like his. He couldn't stand knowing that tomorrow afternoon she would wed Leon, a man who was everything he was not—as Lucy had been so quick to point out.

Not for the first time, he dared to admit his deepest, most secret feelings—he was sorry he had divorced her so precipitously that day in Brownsville.

Of course, she had divorced
him first
. There was no point in brooding. It was over, it had been over for a very long time; soon she would belong to Leon Claxton. Her feelings had been very clear: she despised him. She was marrying now for money and position—everything he did not have. He smiled grimly. But he had one thing she wanted, and she could deny it until she took her last breath—she wanted him.

He paced and chain-smoked. Too late, he knew he should have never seen her again at Marianne's. He would have relished her uncontrollable physical attraction to him, except that it went both ways. She lit him up like a volcano. Around her, he was barely containable. One moment he wanted to murder her, the next rape her, hurt her, and in the next, love her.

She was probably home by now. Home, and alone in her big bedroom, maybe asleep. The need he'd felt when he'd first seen her at Marianne's, and the anger, crashed over him again. Suddenly he knew he would never be able to sleep, not tonight, and he dressed quickly and strode from the room.

Outside, it was frigidly cold and starting to snow. Bareheaded, Shoz walked and walked, his hands deep in his suit jacket pockets, not caring that he hadn't worn an overcoat. The cold air felt good. The brisk pace felt better. This was what he needed, to get out and escape himself and his thoughts, even if it meant physically outdistancing them.

His footsteps slowed. He saw with dismay that he had walked all the way to Central Park. Had it been his intention all along? He cursed aloud, knowing he should turn back, knowing he wouldn't. He began walking uptown, at first slowly, then faster, the snow falling harder now. He crossed Sixtieth Street, then Sixty-first. His breath made puffy clouds in the frigid air, and his ears felt numb. On the corner of Sixty-second Street he finally stopped, panting. Dammit! He was such a fool!

He stood and stared at the Bragg mansion through the curtain of falling snow, all the upper floor lights extinguished, the downstairs windows shining with warmth. He wanted to leave.

But he couldn't.

Instead, he leaned against the lamppost and stared. Then, impulsively, he started across the street.

After the rehearsal dinner, Lucy did not even try to sleep. Once alone in her bedroom, she didn't know whether to scream with relief or shout with frustration. Finally she was alone, she could think! The evening had turned out to be an interminable bore, Leon was an interminable bore, and Shoz was here, here in New York, and tomorrow was her wedding day. God, she couldn't go through with it!

She paced the room, barefoot, in her nightgown. A fire crackled in the hearth. How could she cry off at the last minute? How could she dare? And what about Shoz?

She was shaking. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself. She had two issues to sort out, and they weren't related. One thing was very clear—she could not marry Leon tomorrow.

She had been a fool to think she could. She was not a woman who could marry without love. Absurdly, that had been made clear by the flood tide of memories that seeing Shoz tonight had caused. She would send Leon a note early tomorrow morning. There was no explanation that was ac¬ceptable; her behavior—jilting him at the altar—wasn't ac-ceptable, but there was no choice. Leon would be furious, his family would be furious—even her family would be angry. But her parents would come around, eventually.

It would be a big scandal, and on the heels of the last one, intolerable. Lucy sat down hard on the bed. She would not stay in New York, oh no. It would be years—if ever— before she could hold her head up in this town if she stood Leon up at the altar. She could go to Dragmore, or Paradise, or even to California with her aunt Storm and Uncle Brett. She had options, but staying here would not be one of them.

Despite the terrible thing she was doing, she felt a vast sense of relief. Far better to remain a spinster and her own master than to marry a man she barely knew and did not love. Somehow she would adjust to this new status, and all that it entailed; she would still have her family, and their love—she would manage without Society. Lucy thought about Shoz. In truth, she hadn't been able to get him out of her mind, not for a second, since she had seen him in the library at the Claxtons'. Her reaction to him infuriated her; worse, it frightened her. Clearly he could seduce her if she did not find the strength to resist him. But why had he come to New York, especially now? It was obvious that he harbored no fondness for her, just the same maddening lust that she felt for him. He had known she was about to wed. Had he come to cause trouble? If so, he had succeeded!

She would probably never marry now, not after doing this. Lucy signed and walked to her closet. Hanging there among her vast wardrobe was her bridal nightgown. She touched it. It was the sheerest silk, with a daringly low lace bodice, slit high on one leg, right to her hip. Now she would never wear it. Impulsively she pulled her cotton nightgown over her head and let it fall to the floor. Then she slipped on the bridal gown and went to the mirror. She was beautiful, more than beautiful, mostly naked and very sexy, the gown so sheer, it revealed everything, the bodice so low, the tops of her nipples were visible. Suddenly, fantastically, she wished it were Shoz she was marrying tomorrow, that this gown was for him, that he was her bridegroom and they would have a storybook ending—the way it should be.

She walked away from the mirror. Would she ever stop being a fool? Shoz had only wanted one thing from her, while she had loved him. She had to pound that fact into her head. And what about the other facts she had learned tonight? He had gone to prison for a crime he hadn't com-mitted, setting his life on a terrible course, one he hadn't deserved. He wasn't a real criminal, not at all. He was the victim of a ruthless woman's jealousy.

It made so much sense. It was the greatest relief. Lucy cursed Shoz for not declaring his innocence from the start, for not even bothering to explain the truth. Yet she also knew that although Shoz might have begun his path of lawlessness as a victim, he had taken to it readily. And there was no denying another fact: he was a hard, dangerous man, not the silky-soft gentleman lover of a schoolgirl's dreams. He was the biggest contradiction she knew.

Why was he in New York? And why did he hate her so? She hadn't done anything to him, but he had done everything to her.

She should try to sleep. It was almost two in the morning, and tomorrow she had to send Leon the note. Lucy hesitated, about to remove the bridal nightgown, then decided to sleep in it. After all, it was unlikely that she would ever be a bride after tomorrow. She turned off the lights except for those by her bedside, poked the crackling fire, then decided to leave it ablaze for the extra warmth it provided. She climbed into bed and knew she would never sleep, not tonight. There was a novel on her bedside table, a gift from Nicole. Lucy was about to reach for it when something caught her eye, and she stared at the balcony doors facing her bed. For a second she had thought the knob on the door had moved. And then it did move, it turned, and Lucy sat bolt upright with a cry. The door opened.

And standing there was Shoz.

They stared at each other.

Lucy was stunned. Reality seemed suspended. This wasn't possible.
What was he doing here?

He was covered with snow, which was already beginning to melt. He smiled. It was a mocking smile, a dangerous smile. The look he was giving her was also dangerous. It swept her from head to toe. It was more than intimate, it suggested he was about to sample what he once had had. Lucy knew what he could see, knew she was no better than naked. She did not move. She remembered instantly how he had smelled, how he had tasted, and how he had felt when she had been in his arms just a few hours ago.

His smile widened. "Felicitations, princess," he said softly.

Lucy sat up straighten "You shouldn't be here!"

He grinned, closing the door with his boot without turning away from her. His long fingers went to his tie, unknotting it. "Probably not."

Her heart was pounding hard enough that had she not been so experienced, she would have thought herself about to faint. But it was the anger and the desire. She slipped her feet to the floor, but did not leave the bed. "Shoz, you're crazy. My brothers are right down the hall. If they catch you, they'll kill you."

He pulled the tie free of his shirt and let it slip through his fingers and to the floor. "Then why don't you scream?" He smiled again; the effect was devastating.

Why didn't she? Lucy opened her mouth to shout for help, but said instead, "You son of a bitch. I hate you, but I don't want to see you back in prison, and you know it."

"You're right." He grinned. "I do know it."

She gripped the bedclothes. "What are you doing?"

He removed his jacket, and it also fell to the floor. "You know what I'm doing."

Lucy inhaled hard. "Stop.
Stop right now!
" He was casually removing a cuff link. "Or to hell with my being such a nice person, you don't deserve it, not from me, I will scream this house down!"

He removed the other cuff link. "We're definitely going to finish what we started at the Claxtons'—and you know it as well as I do."

She practically shredded the sheets in her hands at his blunt reference to the sexual act that was going to take place soon. "No! Get out! Get out of here now!"

"If you really wanted me to leave, you'd have screamed the moment I walked in instead of sitting there in that bed in a very open invitation."

Lucy's breasts heaved. He was right, damn him, but she was going to resist, he was not going to win.

His expression turned ugly. "Do you love him?" She was breathing too fast and shallowly. She couldn't get any response out.

"Do you?" he related harshly.

"No!"

"You have a helluva way of showing it!" He hurled the cuff links with all the force he had, which was quite considerable, at the wall behind her. Lucy ducked. She ducked, heard them hit and fall to the floor. She was already leaping off the bed, running for the bathroom.

He had been waiting. The instant she moved, he moved. He leapt onto and off the bed and caught her on the other side before she took three steps, dragged her backward as she braked furiously, then lifted her and heaved her back onto the mattress. She bounced but came up scrambling for the other side. He grabbed her ankle and yanked. She sprawled facedown and was pulled back into the center of the bed. It dipped from his weight as he straddled her. She felt the strength of his thighs on her sides, the heat of his groin on her spine. He flipped her over abruptly so she was on her back staring up at him.

He was panting, too. Lucy didn't hesitate. She reached out to claw his face. He caught her hand and wrenched her wrists up over her head. With his other arm he lifted her up, forcing her to arch toward him uncomfortably. His knee parted her thighs, jamming into her. His mouth came down on hers, hard and bruising. Lucy tried to twist away, tried to buck him off. She writhed wildly, but caught between his thighs and body, with her wrists imprisoned in his powerful grip, it was hopeless. But she would not capitulate, and continued to struggle.

Mindless of her efforts to heave him off, he continued to terrorize her, kissing her hurtfully, forcing her mouth open, raping its interior with his tongue. His hold on her wrists was excruciating. His knee was hurting her, too. His arm beneath her back was contorting her spine, crushing her to his chest. She wondered if he would break her in two, and it increased her determination not to give in.

He finally pulled his mouth from hers. "Little hypocrite. Stop playing the virgin, Lucy."

Her eyes blazed. When he lowered his head to kiss her again, she quickly bit his jaw.

He cried out, yanking back, touching the wound. Lucy instantly struck him with her one free hand, balled into a fist. Furious, he caught her palm. "You little bitch!"

"I won't give in," she gritted. "You're going to have to rape me!"

His smile was frightening. "Do you think I won't?" For emphasis, he ground his thick, hard shaft into her.

Lucy stiffened, closing her eyes, panting hard. She heard him opening his zipper. Her pulse, already racing, roared. She was afraid he would touch her and discover the truth, that her resistance was only an act of extreme willpower, that her body was on fire for his.

And he did touch her. Abruptly he hauled her delicate nightgown up and delved between her thighs. Lucy tried to jerk free one last time, while he went still. Then she heard him laugh softly, in utter male satisfaction. "Liar," he said, stroking her. "Such a little liar."

Lucy couldn't stand it, and he had found her out anyway. She moaned as his mouth touched hers and opened to accept him more fully. She touched her tongue to his. He froze. She stroked him delicately, deliberately, then began seeking out every crevice and cranny she could find, with rising frenzy. Licking, sucking, lapping. He released her wrists and wrapped her in his arms. Their tongues warred fiercely, mated hotly. His throbbing groin settled against hers, bare flesh to bare flesh. With his palm he found her breast and possessed it roughly.