Lady Vixen (23 page)

The
idea had been at first merely a pleasant daydream of revenge, but frowning in
sudden concentration, she began to pursue it in earnest. If she were to make
herself so necessary to his needs that he could not do without her, might not
their roles be reversed? And if she were artful enough to snare whatever tender
feelings he possessed, wouldn't the balance of power fall into her own hands?
Wouldn't Saber be willing, even eager, to please her? To do anything she
wished? Such as free Allen . . . or, and her eyes glittered with animation,
oust the Markhams from her estates in England!

How
did one set out to enslave a man? She had watched, though not closely, several
women work their charms on Saber, but to no avail. He played with them,
manipulated them to his purpose, and then forgot them. Frowning, she tried to
remember if there had been any who had held his interest, which told her one
thing—her task wasn't going to be easy!

Her
advantage over the others lay in the fact that she was not enamored of him,
regardless of the physical fire between them, and that she was bent on using
him in the same fashion he had used others. She also realized that part of her own
allure for him was indisputably her professed dislike and defiance.

The
thought of pitting herself against Saber, of beating him at his own game,
restored Nicole's volatile spirit. Half-formed plans spinning in her brain, she
paced the room until that first flush of excitement died, leaving her suddenly
aware that the hour was late and that she was very sleepy. She eyed the bed
uncertainly, not particularly pleased at the thought of Saber returning and
finding her asleep. Yet at the same time she was enchanted with the idea that
he would find it extremely disconcerting if, expecting a raging virago, he
found instead a woman so indifferent to him that she could without a qualm
calmly go to sleep! Grinning to herself she stripped and crawled under the blanket.
As she drifted off to sleep it occurred to her that her unexpected arrival was
bound to cause some change in Saber's plans; she hoped disagreeable ones for
him.

Actually
her arrival caused Saber little inconvenience, although he would have preferred
not to have presented her to Lafitte. But that aside, her presence hardly
changed his plans at all. He had intended to return to Thibodaux House in the
morning, and that still held true, except now he would have Nick's glowering
company on the trip back.

Returning
to the library and ignoring the obvious curiosity in Lafitte's eyes, Saber
helped himself to a glass of fine French brandy. Settling his long length
comfortably in a chair, Saber proceeded to act just as if nothing had happened,
and the two men spent the remainder of the evening just as planned originally,
playing piquet, smoking cigars, and drinking contraband brandy. If Jean had
expected Saber to cut the evening short he was disappointed. Saber stayed until
the hour was well past midnight, discussing everything but the woman upstairs.

When
it became obvious that Saber was not going to mention Nicole, Lafitte yawned
and got to his feet.
"Mon
ami,
are you ready to retire, as I
am? Or is your silence because your thoughts are with the girl upstairs?"

Annoyed
that he had allowed his thoughts to wander, Saber answered sharply, "If
you wish to seek out your bed, do so. Don't let me keep you."

Wearing
a pained expression, Lafitte remarked, "Truly it must be time for us to go
to bed. You are becoming positively vile or," his eyes glittering with
bright laughter, he added slyly, "is it that you are having troubles with
amour?"

Giving
a sigh of exasperation, Saber rose from his chair.
"Amour!"
He
pronounced it as though it were a curse. "You damned French are always
prattling on about it. That chit upstairs is nothing out of the ordinary. She
means not a bit more than a half dozen others I could name." With less
than his usual mocking manner he bid Lafitte a cool
bonne nuit
and
strode down the hall to his room.

The
darkness in the room surprised him—as did the sight of Nick asleep. The longer
he stared at her, the angrier he became. By God! he thought furiously. She had
more brass than a gypsy peddler.

As
if aware of his presence, Nicole stirred, and opening her eyes, she met his
golden stare with a shock that was almost physical. Quelling the instinctive
urge to recoil at the sight of his black-bearded face looming above her, she
remained motionless, her features, she hoped, betraying nothing. For several
seconds their gazes locked, neither being able to look away. Then, his eyes
still on her, he reached out and with slow deliberation removed the blankets
covering her body. She made no move to stop him, and even when his hand lightly
fondled one breast, the thumb brushing her nipple with insistent pressure, she
lay motionless, silently fighting the sudden hot longing within herself.

She
had told herself that when next they met she would give in to this . . . this .
. . compulsion to have him make love to her, and yet, now that the moment was
upon her, she found herself resisting the dictates of her own body. Helplessly
she felt her nipple hardening beneath his hand and was ashamed at its betrayal.
But her body had a different will, a different thought than the one her mind
commanded. A warm, melting sensation was struggling in her loins, and with
feverish determination her eyes clung to his, despising the cool, unmoved
expression in their yellow-gold depths. She sensed he was holding himself back,
toying with her as though she were of no real interest to him.

She
truly hated him in that instant, hated him for the power he seemed to wield
over her defenseless body. She wanted him in spite of all that had gone before,
yet she was furious that he could gaze at her nakedness, caress her, and remain
unmoved while she was being devoured by her own desires.

With
his eyes still on hers, he left off fondling her breast and with agonizing
deliberation trailed his hand down the narrow ribcage to her waist. Almost
playfully, his fingers walked to her navel, and then his hand, spread wide,
suddenly swept down her stomach. A faint tight grin, almost tigerish, curved
his mouth as Nicole gave a gasp of half terror and half anticipation.

She
couldn't help the increased thump of her heart, and she was sick, knowing her
eyes were giving her away while still, damn him, he seemed unmoved. She tried
desperately to maintain her composure, but there were a dozen signs that gave
her away; her eyes were dilated and dark with passion, and her nipples rigid
with desire.

It
was a duel between them—she fighting to remain cool and frigid, and he
deliberately arousing her and willing her to respond as he remained aloof and
uninvolved himself.

Huskily
she spat, "I
hate
you, Saber!" But he gave no sign he even
heard her words. Giddily she wondered if he was somehow punishing her for last
night. Then coherent thought fled as his fingers, no longer teasing her
stomach, opened her and found her. The shock of that gentle caress shot through
her entire body and built in intensity as he continued his movements. She
fought the feeling as long as she could; then with an anguished moan she
twisted away from him.

She
lay half on her side, half on her stomach, her arms clasped over her breasts.
She tried to capture a dozen fleeing thoughts and emotions as a tight, almost
painful ache between her legs clamored for relief.

His
face was no longer blank, and a thin film of sweat on his forehead betrayed his
own fight for control. Saber stripped with ferocious speed, and before Nicole
had time to recover her shattered wits, his hard body was pressed against her
back. His breath was soft and warm on her ear, and she felt his body mold
itself to hers as they lay there together on their sides. It seemed they
touched the entire length—his chest against her slender spine, her buttocks
curving into his stomach, and his legs following the position of hers. She
started to jerk away but one sinewy arm came down in front of her and he
whispered, "Last night was unfortunate and I intend to change that —right
now. Let me, Nick, help me—let me
love
you."

She
barely heard him, for already his hand had momentarily cupped one breast before
it slid down between her legs once more. She was aware, yet unaware, of things
besides the fire that was raging in her loins—his other arm sliding beneath her
hips, his own rapid breathing as he felt her melt against him, giving herself
up to him, and the warm pulsating length of him riding gently between her
thighs. He did not enter her at once but again with his hand explored and
deliberately gave her her first taste of sexual completeness. She knew that she
cried out, as with his hand between her legs, he took her to the peak, but her
emotions were spinning beyond her control and nothing mattered at that instant
but that the feeling go on. It did. She had barely drifted back to sanity when
he, still lying on his side, thrust himself gently within her, his body driving
deep into the welcoming softness, his hands holding her tight against him. Like
a dying fire leaping to renewed life, she felt her entire body respond to his
and hungrily, unaware that she did so, she curved her body to make his
possession easier, arching herself back against him. When the end came, this
time it was as if every nerve in her body exploded with pleasure.

Panting,
still in a daze, her eyes wide with the shock of it, she lay there hardly
conscious of him beside her and slowly, very slowly, awareness came creeping
back. She knew now irrevocably why those other women so shamelessly pursued
him, and she would have given everything not to.

Reluctantly
she rolled over to face him. He was lying on his back, one arm behind his head,
watching her. For a long minute she stared at him and wondered how she could
hate him and yet have her entire body turn to a quivering mass of yearning at
the thought of his kisses. In a small, defiant voice she said, "I still
hate you!"

Unbelievably
he smiled, not the reckless, half-mocking expression she knew so well, but a
rueful, almost tender smile. Softly he replied, "Do you know that's
exactly what I thought you would say? You might hate me, Nick, but your body
doesn't."

He
turned onto his side, so that their faces were only inches apart. Gently his
hand traveled down the center of her body and stopped when it encountered the
dark triangle between her legs. She stiffened desperately, ignoring the sudden,
unexpected leap of longing within her stomach.

"See,"
he laughed low, uncannily aware of her response. "I could make you want me
again, despite what you say you feel for me." Roughly his mouth covered
hers, giving her no chance to reply. It was like no other kiss he had ever
given her. It was soft, yet compelling, warm and deep. Lifting his head, he
looked down at her and whispered, his voice already thickening with passion,
"Shall I, Nick? Shall I show you?"

Dumbly
she shook her head, her eyes fixed painfully on his. There was no need, she
thought unhappily, to prove what they both knew so well.

At
her negative shake Saber sighed, moving away from her with reluctance, but he
made no effort to change her mind. Instead, startling her just a little, he
gathered her unresisting body next to his, brushed a faint kiss across her
forehead, and murmured, "Go to sleep, Nick. We have a long day
tomorrow."

Surprisingly,
her body curled confidingly against his, and she did just that. Not so
Saber—for quite some time after Nicole's even breathing revealed that she
slept, he lay there thinking about the future.

He
and Lafitte had concluded the sale of
La Belle Garce
this evening, and
when morning came he and Nick would be on their way home with a hefty amount of
gold. The disposal of the troublesome Allen Ballard had also been taken care of
tonight—he would spend the next few months as an unwilling guest in Lafitte's
calaboose. Saber had not yet decided upon Ballard's ultimate fate, but in the
meantime he was safely under lock and key.

With
La Belle Garce
and Ballard removed, there was just one unsolved dilemma,
and that dilemma lay warm and trusting by his side—Nick! Soon she would be
privy to his secret, and he wondered what she would make of the fact that the
Captain and Christopher Saxon were one and the same person!

Christopher
Saxon. He was oddly satisfied to think that in less than twenty-four hours he
would resume his own name once again; the dual personality of the bearded
privateer Saber and the clean-shaven plantation owner would no longer exist.

The
deception had begun long ago when he and Higgins had jumped ship. To escape
detection by the British authorities searching for deserters he had called
himself Saber Lacey. But when he had joined up with Lafitte, it had been
Lafitte who had suggested there might be a great advantage in a dual identity.
Thinking of his grandfather in England, Christopher had agreed. It was thus
that Captain Saber had sailed on
La Belle Garce
and Christopher Saxon
had won a fortune and Thibodaux House in the gaming rooms of New Orleans.

Saber
had never appeared in New Orleans, though Saxon did periodically. Saxon lived
several months of every year at Thibodaux House. True, Saxon disappeared for
months on end, but who cared? And who would notice that during Saxon's absence,
Captain Saber appeared at Grand Terre and
La Belle Garce
wreaked havoc
on the seas? No one except Nick!