Perilous Pleasures (15 page)

Joanna eyed the black leopard as he nervously paced his cage. "Is Stefan going to work with Shani today?" she asked. "He never said anything about that."

"Probably."

"He looks more vicious than Rafat," she said, eyeing the animal as he continued to make figure eight movements within the tight confines of his cage, while at the same time baring his teeth and sending low growls rumbling whenever an attendant stepped near.

Walter glanced at the leopard. "Cats like Shani, that outwardly show their rage, usually prove manageable. It's the quiet ones that move to the back of the arena and lie down that cause the most trouble. They're often killers waiting for a chance to strike."

Joanna eyed Rafat with suspicion as Stefan and the handler reached through the bars and fastened a heavy leather harness under his chest and a collar around his neck. Although the big lion stood quietly in the narrow chute, when Stefan clipped a rope with a short section of chain to a steel ring on his collar, Rafat's ears lay flat, and his tail flicked with impatience. "He looks annoyed," Joanna said.

"He's been worked on a harness and collar before," Walter replied, "so he senses he will not be getting his way. And the chain bothers him. He can't get his teeth into it."

"The leather doesn't look all that strong," Joanna said, scanning the harness and collar. "Couldn't it break if he made a sudden sharp move?"

"Not likely," Walter replied. "It's relatively new and double reinforced with canvas between. And the buckles are strong. Stefan has never had a harness or collar break."

Walter's words helped. Still, Joanna couldn't repress the anxiety that was slowly creeping over her...
he'll be fine... it's just a training session... he's done it many times
...

Stefan rubbed Rafat's head and stroked beneath his chin, and the big cat closed his eyes and leaned his big frame against the bars, pressing his head toward Stefan's hand, encouraging him to keep stroking. Walter folded his arms. "That's what I don't like about that cat. Sometimes he acts like a giant house cat, and other times—" he paused as Tony walked up to the cage to grab the loose end of the rope. Low growls vibrated in Rafat's throat. Walter shifted uneasily. "Other times he's like that. I just don't understand. Stefan's worked him quite a bit... had him doing real well. Then, without any apparent reason, he becomes unmanageable."

Tony passed the rope through an iron ring and threaded it through the bars of the big cage, then looped it around his gloved hand several times and held tight. Rafat stood near the door of the cage, ready to enter the arena. Joanna pursed her lips as Rafat bared his teeth and snarled at Tony. "I still don't understand why Stefan doesn't get rid of him."

Walter's eyes shifted to Stefan as he stepped inside the big cage. "It comes down to a battle of wills and wits. Stefan is just as determined as Rafat. It's a power struggle."

"It's absurd." Joanna began drumming her fingers against her folded arms.

When the handlers released Rafat from the tethering cage into the arena, the big cat immediately charged Stefan. Tony tugged sharply on the rope, jerking Rafat around and off his feet. The big cat landed with a thud, pulled himself up and surveyed the situation. Again, he charged Stefan, and again he met the same resistance. He turned. Seeing Tony standing beyond the bars, he charged him, teeth bared in a fierce roar. The cage walls swayed as Rafat repeatedly tried to get to Tony. Walter moved around the cage to where Tony stood holding the long rope. After a few minutes the lion gave up and faced Stefan.

While Joanna watched Stefan and Rafat silently staring each other down, Karl Porter walked up to stand beside her. "So I see the king of the gypsies is having a standoff with the king of the jungle," he said, his words mocking.

Joanna refused to look at Karl. "What do you want?" she clipped.

"To see my star performer." He gave her a sardonic smile. "Take a good long look at your lover. Eventually his cats are going to get him, and when they do, you'll know what it's like to have loved... and lost."

Joanna refused to give Karl the satisfaction of seeing her cringe beneath his comment. Instead, she arched a brow and said, "And you will lose your star performer."

Karl's lips curved with a cynical smile. "That's where you're wrong. Tony Bernardo will step in and take over. He's also very good. And very ambitious."

"You'd actually like that," Joanna said, struggling to hide the shakiness in her voice as images of Tony in the arena, and the ramification of why Stefan would not be there, emerged.

Karl fixed his gaze on her, points of light in his eyes like the cold steel tips of twin daggers. "Stefan Janacek means nothing to me," he said, with indifference. "All I need is someone willing to go into a cage with lions and tigers and put on a show. I don't much give a damn who it is." In Karl's tone, Joanna heard the vindictiveness she knew was aimed at her. But she would not let him know how much his callous words affected her.

Eyeing him with contempt, she said, "Tony would not begin to draw the crowds that Stefan does because Tony is not the man Stefan is, and never could be."

Holding her gaze, Karl said in a slow, venomous tone, "Stefan Janacek is nothing more than gypsy trash who has you jumping through his hoops, crouching at his feet, and rolling over for him to service you."

Joanna let out a short, sardonic laugh. "Face it Karl. Stefan is everything you're not. Stefan is a real man in every sense of the word. He doesn't need to spread vicious rumors to get what he wants. And I don't have to jump through his hoops or crouch at his feet to get what I want, because I already have it. And I assure you, his performance outside the big cage is every bit as exhilarating as his performance inside it. You may be wrong about a lot of things, but you were dead right about one. Stefan Janacek is an exceptional man."

She'd injected her own barbs, knowing it would impact Karl where it was most effective. His male ego. The most Karl got from her were short, chaste kisses at the end of an evening, kisses that did nothing for her. But she'd had no one to compare them with back then. Now she did, and Stefan spoiled her for any other man.

"Your gypsy king's fans don't come because he's an exceptional man," Karl said, "They come to see him face the threat of death. They scream in terror when the threat is eminent, but don't fool yourself into believing they won't find excitement and derive great pleasure when it finally happens. To them, Stefan Janacek is only a gladiator in an arena. It's the same old story that goes back two thousand years. Janacek's spectators don't much give a damn how he performs in bed, but you do, so keep in mind that every performance could his last for you. One swipe of a paw could do it."

"Even emasculated, Stephan would be more of a man than you." Joanna folded her arms and angled her body away from Karl, saying nothing more. Hoping he'd leave, but realizing he had no intention of doing so, she turned and walked out of the pavilion. She would not let Karl see the apprehension she knew was evident whenever she watched Stefan work with the cats.

As she passed the opening to the menagerie tent, she was surprised to see the one-armed man, Klaus Haufchild, standing near one of the tiger cages just inside. She toyed with the idea of telling Stefan, then discarded it, deciding not to disturb him while he was handling his most dangerous cats. But, she
would
tell him later. Anxious to run off the tension she felt, she went to her wagon to change her clothes.

Ten minutes later, dressed in knickerbockers and a work blouse, she left the lot in an easy lope and ran along the road following the riverfront. She had just paused on a low bluff overlooking the river when she heard the frantic clanging of a bell. Soon she heard the pounding of hooves, and moments later, a white ambulance wagon thundered past, the driver cracking his whip across the horses rumps as two lathered animals galloped toward the grounds. Joanna's stomach tightened with fear. Blood rushed from her head.

Abruptly, she turned and raced toward the lot, heart pounding, legs feeling as if ready to buckle under her. When she arrived at the grounds, she saw people gathered near the entrance to the exhibition pavilion, where the ambulance wagon waited. Pushing her way through the crowd, she shouted, "
Let me by
!" But as the crowd parted, two attendants emerged from the pavilion carrying a stretcher. The injured person lay motionless.

Joanna shoved her way around a man who was blocking her path, and froze. Stefan lay on the stretcher, face immobile, eyes closed, blood running down his forehead. "
No
!" she shrieked. "
Oh, my God...no
!" When she rushed up to him, an attendant grabbed her arm. "Miss, you have to stand back."

"Please..." she pleaded, "let me go with him."

"Are you family?"

"No but—"

"I'm sorry. Stand back." The men raised the stretcher and slid it into the opened back of the wagon. One man crawled inside with Stefan. The other man slammed the rear doors and raced around to climb onto the driver's seat.

"But... I'm his wife..." Joanna called after him. But the man never heard her, and moments later, bells clanged and the wagon raced away towards the hospital.

Joanna felt an immediate queasiness curling in her stomach. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to quell the sickness. But instead, an acrid taste began to rise in her throat. Rushing to a nearby doniker, she hung her head over the hole and retched until her sides ached and her eyes watered. At last, she knew the gut-wrenching fear Helen Janacek had described. With a trembling hand, she opened the door of the doniker and walked toward the pavilion, terrified to learn the details, afraid not to know.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Stefan was vaguely aware of the far-off sound of a voice. Dominating all was his heart, which seemed to be hammering in his head. And someone was calling his name...

"...Mr.
Janasek
. Can you hear me?" It was the voice of a woman, he thought, though the tone was low and gruff. His brain still fogged, he tried to hold his eyes open. His wandering gaze moved across a blur of white and rested on a broad, nebulous face. He attempted to focus on the eyes peering down at him, but the face faded.

"Mr.
Janasek
! Open your eyes!" The stern voice came again. When Stefan moved his head, runners of pain shot up the back of his skull. He opened his eyes long enough to let loose a string of curses, then closed them again. A damp cloth moved over his face.

"Mr.
Janasek
! Open your eyes and look at me!"

Whoever the damn woman was, she was pronouncing his name wrong. "Check.
 
Ya
...
na
...check," he mumbled, trying to articulate his name with a tongue that seemed cumbersome. He raised his hand to his head and found a dressing crossing his forehead and covering his left ear. Slowly he opened his eyes. When he blinked, a blur of white swam into view. The face peering at him from under a starched white cap looked annoyed.

"Mr.
Ya
...
na
...check," the woman repeated his name, this time correctly, "I am your nurse, Mrs. Riggs." She folded the flannel sheet back, raised his hospital gown, and pressed something very cold between his legs, then shoved his male member into it, and said, "Now, you must void." She stood holding the urinal and waited.

Stefan realized now why being attacked by his animals was so distressing. He accommodated the nurse's wishes, but when she went to wipe him, he yanked the wet rag from her hand and said, "I can wipe my own damn cock!"

Saying nothing, the woman scurried away.

Stefan tried to sit up, but the bed seemed to tip and he felt himself falling in a sort of headlong plunge. Resting his head against the pillow, he waited for the spinning to pass. A few minutes later, the nurse returned. His vision cleared, and he peered into slate-gray eyes. The woman held a glass near his mouth, and said, "Now, you must drink,"

He pushed the glass away. "If I don't drink I won't have to piss in your pot."

"I am very sorry," she said in a tone that clearly said she was not, "but it is the doctor's orders." She shoved a glass straw between his lips.

Although he wasn't thirsty, he was too weak to do anything but follow the woman's orders. He sucked on the straw and a syrupy sweetness rolled over his tongue and trickled down his throat. He pushed the straw away. "Just set the damn glass down. I'll drink later." The woman was a pain in the ass.

"Mr.
Janasek
—"

"
Ya
...
na
...check," he groused.

The woman's lips twitched with disgust. "You must drink more." She raised the straw to his mouth and waited. Stefan drew in a long breath through flared nostrils, exhaled slowly, then sucked on the straw. After few more drafts, the woman said, "That will do," then slipped the straw from between his lips and plunked the glass on the bedside table.

It was then that Stefan noticed a vase holding a single yellow rosebud. He stared at the delicate blossom, then looked at the nurse and said, "Who brought the flower?"

 
"Your wife." The woman looked at him dubiously. "At least the woman claimed to be your wife. There is some question. Your family says you are not married."

"Where is she now?"

"Gone. The doctor would not let her in to see you, believing she was simply trying to gain access to you, which at this time would not be advisable."

"Did she leave a message?"

"No. She gave the flower to the attendant at the front desk and left."

Stefan slowly eased to a sitting position and allowed the nurse to prop his back with pillows. He lifted the vase and touched the flower to his nostrils. The delicate fragrance reminded him of Joanna's hair. But the message the flower brought was clear. Yellow. The color of suffering.

From the direction of the hall came the sound of Kitta's voice, accompanied by that of his grandmother and brothers. He suspected Walter and his mother would be with them, but they were always the silent ones.