Tiger Prince

"I regret you're reading me wrong. I'm very satisfied with every aspect of our time together and, if you'd admit to it, I believe you received an equal satisfaction."

"Because you gave me pleasure?" She shook her head. "Every time you gave me that pleasure it hurt me. It stripped my pride and made me feel less than myself, just as you intended it to do."

"I'm surprised you're telling me this."

"I wouldn't have admitted it when I came here." She shrugged. "It's different now. I don't mind giving you small victories. You need them more than I do. It must be terrible to live with such a passion for revenge."

"How condescending of you." His lips thi

She shook her head wearily. "I don't know how I would feel. It's too horrible to imagine." She met his gaze. "And I've never blamed you. I don't blame you now. I'm just glad it's over."

A multitude of expressions crossed his face, but she could single out only shock, frustration, anger, and desire. "Oh, it's not over yet." He smiled recklessly. "And I believe you'd best prepare to give me another victory." His gaze wandered over her. "If you must cover yourself, it won't be with that sheet. I believe it's time for you to don more appropriate apparel. Put on the cloth-of-gold gown in the armoire."

At first she didn't understand, but her eyes widened as she recalled his words that first night she had arrived on Ci

"Of course. I always keep my promises. Put it on."

"Don't you think this promise could be—" She broke off as she saw his face. His eyes were shimmering recklessly and she could sense the core of violence and frustration just below the surface ready to explode. She shrugged. "If you insist. It's not worth arguing about." She walked toward the armoire across the room.

A few moments later the three mirrors on the wall reflected her image gowned in a loose garment that was still blatantly sexual. It draped only one shoulder in the Greek fashion and then dipped across her body to bare one breast. The skirt was slit to the waist to show her limbs with every movement. She could feel the color sting her cheeks as she looked at herself. She felt more naked in this gown than she had totally nude.

"Lovely." Ruel's arms slid around her from behind, one hand cupping her breast. "Just as I imagined you."

She met his gaze in the mirror. "As a whore?"

"What else?" he asked mockingly, his thumb and forefinger pulling at her nipple.

A hot shiver went through her. The muscles of her stomach contracted. "This gown doesn't make me a whore any more than your treating me like one."

"But it bothers you."

"Yes, it bothers me. Does that please you?"

"Of course it pleases me. Why shouldn't it—" He stopped and again his expression reflected that mixture of frustration and discontent. "Kneel down on the carpet, dammit."

"The bed is only a few feet away."

"The floor."

She shrugged and fell to her knees.

"Now get up on your hands and knees."

It was begi

"I believe it's time we tried something new." He lifted her gown above her waist and the next moment she felt his warm palms caressing her buttocks. "The painting in the maharajah's railroad car . . ."

He plunged deep, taking her breath. He stopped, his hardness sealed within her while his hands went around to cup and fondle her breasts. "We have to faithfully reproduce the painting, don't we?" He began to move slowly, making her feel every inch. She involuntarily tightened around him as a spasm of heat tore through her. "Ah, that's what I want. Now look back at me. I want to see your expression."

She turned her head to stare at him. She knew what he was seeing—heat, lust, anger at herself for not being able to resist the passion he ignited so easily. His own face was flushed, his lips heavy with sensuality, set in an expression of painful pleasure, and yet once more she discerned that odd torment. "It's not the same," she gasped. "Don't you see? It ... can never be the same no matter what you see in my face. It's your expression that's wrong. I told you the painting was false. Men aren't gentle. Never gentle . . ."

He went still. "Damn you," he said hoarsely. "Damn you." He exploded, plunging in a fury of movement.

Her fingers dug into the carpet as the storm rose, each stroke whipping her into a mindless frenzy. She wasn't sure how long it lasted until she felt the burst of wild sensation that signaled both their release.

She collapsed on the floor and a moment later felt him leave her. She was completely enervated, unable to move. She became vaguely aware he was picking her up, depositing her on the bed.

"Are you all right?" he asked stiltedly.

The heaviness she had felt all day seemed to be pressing down on her, crushing the breath from her body. "Tired . . ."

He pulled the covers up to her chin and then lay down beside her. He gazed straight ahead, not touching her. "I lost my temper."

She didn't answer:

"All right, you don't have to wear the damn gown again," he burst out.

"It doesn't matter."

"Take it off."

"I'm too tired."

He muttered a curse beneath his breath. The next moment he was pulling the gown down her body and throwing it into a glittering golden heap on the floor. He pulled the covers up around her again. "Satisfied?"

It was not like Ruel to be so defensive, she thought dimly, but it was no more unusual than his other behavior today. "It doesn't matter," she repeated, and closed her eyes. "Not important . . ."

"Take me with you, Patrick," Jane muttered. Her voice rose. "Take me with you!"

"What the hell—" Ruel roused from sleep to see Jane tossing wildly on the bed next to him. Her eyes were closed. She was only dreaming, he realized with relief.

He reached over to shake her shoulder. "Wake up, it's only—" Her flesh was burning hot under his hand, "Jane?"

"I don't want to be like her." Her breath was coming in pants. "I won't be any bother. Take me with you, Patrick."

"Jesus, what the hell's wrong? Wake up." He sat up in bed and lit the lamp on the bedside table before reaching over and shaking her again. "Open your eyes, dammit."

Her eyes opened but stared without seeing. "The train. He's leaving on the train." She panicked. "Don't leave me, Patrick."

"No one's leaving you." His arms closed around her. God, she was hot. His heart was pounding as hard as hers as he tried to make her lie still against him. "It's all right. No one is going to leave you."

"Yes, he will. Unless I make him take me."

"Christ, stop thrashing around."

"Patrick!"

What could he do? She wasn't in her right senses and he was afraid to leave her alone even to fetch help. Tamar wouldn't return until he brought breakfast.

"Please, I don't want to be like her," she whispered.

His arms tightened around her. He knew who she was talking about and the memory she was reliving. While awake she may have conquered her demons, but now she was a child again with all the fears and torments of the mind let loose.