Barbara Faith - Kiss of the dragon (17 page)

"Open it," the old man said. "You must be sure."

"Yes." Tiger glanced at Bethany. She pressed trembling hands against her face.

Tiger undid the cord that bound the box. He took off the lid. The statue had been wrapped in scarlet silk. He removed it from the box and placed it on the desk. He looked at Bethany, waiting.

"Unwrap it." Her voice was husky when she spoke.

Tiger took a deep breath. The silk was soft beneath his fingertips. Slowly, carefully, he unwrapped the statue. Hardly daring to speak he freed the golden dragon from its wrapping and placed it on the desk.

He heard Bethany gasp and the ancient monk murmur. But he couldn't speak, he could only stare at the object before him.

The dragon stood almost two feet tall. More man than beast, half standing, half reclining, it was an object of ancient, priceless beauty.

"I didn't know," Bethany said in a hushed voice, "I didn't know it would be this beautiful." With a trembling hand she touched the dragon. It seemed... it seemed to quiver beneath her fingers. The emerald eyes seemed to look directly into her eyes. Bethany's breath stopped, her body stilled. She saw the golden tear. She passed a finger over it, then, scarcely know-, ing what she was doing, brought her finger to her lips—and tasted salt.

The Hotel of the Swallows was almost new. It had been built only four years before when tourists began flooding into China. At first the tourists had traveled only to the well-known cities like Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou. Now they came up the Yangtze River to cities like Chungtai.

There were twin beds in their fourth-floor room. There was also a cupboard for their clothes and a separate bathroom. On a table opposite the bed there was a thermos of boiled water and a tin of green tea.

Bethany sank down on one of the beds. She took off the black slippers, lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. The taxi had not been at the gate when they left the monastery. They had waited, hoping he would come, then started the long trek down the mountain road that led to the town. Half way down they had seen the taxi chugging up.

"I was delayed," the driver explained.

"It's all right," Tiger said. "Just take us to a hotel."

Now they were here and suddenly Bethany was too tired to move. Perhaps it was the reaction, the letdown after finding the golden treasure at the end of
the rainbow. She hadn't expected to feel like this; she'd expected to feel jubilant and rich. But she no longer saw the dragon in terms of dollar signs. It was an ancient object of art, of beauty and of grace.

Tiger unwrapped the dragon and placed it on the other bed. "Is it what you expected?" he asked in a low voice.

"No...no, it isn't. I've never seen anything so magnificent." "Nor have I."

"Will it be difficult, taking it back to Tsingyun, I mean?"

"We will go by another route. But first we will rest here for a few days. I don't think that whoever has been after us will trace us to here, but it is best that we not wander around the town. One of us must be here in the room all of the time to watch the dragon."

Bethany nodded. "We should let your mother know rat we've found it."

"I don't think that would be wise," Tiger said. "It's possible that someone is still watching the house in Tsingyun. I know that Mother is worried, but I don't .ink we should risk trying to contact her. We will be there before the week is over, then she will know that all is well." He ran his hand down the dragon's back. "It
is
beautiful, isn't it?"

"The poet," Bethany said. "Yes, he's beautiful."

Tiger looked at her. But before he could speak Bethany got up from the bed and into the bathroom. She stayed in the shower for a long time, her eyes closed against the rush of the water. For a reason she would have found impossible to explain, she needed
thi
s time alone. Awa
y from Tiger, away from the beau
ty of the golden dragon.

W
hen at last she
stepped out of the shower she w
rapped the clothes she'd worn for almost a week into a bundle, and covering herself with a towel, left the bathroom. She took the half-slip out of the basket and put it on.

"Can we get someone to do the laundry?" she asked Tiger. "Everything is dirty."

"I'll find someone to do it." He put his hands on her shoulders. "You look very tired," he said. "I've sent down to the restaurant for our dinner. After we eat you must rest."

A few minutes later a white-jacketed waiter brought up a tray. He set it on the table and bowed himself out.

Bethany wasn't hungry, but she tried to eat. After only a few spoonfuls of rice and a couple of bites of meat she said, "I'm sorry, Tiger, I just can't eat."

She stood up and when she did he came to her. Putting his hands on her shoulders he kissed her and looked at her strangely. "Is something the matter?" he asked.

"No, of course not."

But her voice was uncertain.

Tiger let her go. "I'm going to shower now. Why don't you rest?"

When he closed the bathroom door, Bethany turned back the bedspread and lay down. Pulling the sheet over her, she lay on her side so that she could look at the dragon. Her last thought was of his beauty. Then her eyes closed and she slept.

Chapter 17

Bethany barely awoke when Tiger slipped into the narrow bed beside her. Carefully he put his arm under her head and drew her close. For a moment her body stiffened, then she relaxed and her breathing deepened.

Tiger rested his chin again the softness of her short cropped hair and sighed with the pleasure of having her close again. In a way that he didn't understand, Bethany had been withdrawn since their return from the monastery. He knew of course that she had been as deeply affected by the golden dragon as he had been, as stunned by its beauty. Her gray eyes had widened in astonishment when he unwrapped the statue and her hand had trembled when she reached to touch it. Tiger had looked at her. Then he'd looked at the old monk and he'd been puzzled at the strange smile on the ancient man's face.

Then the moment had passed. The monk had said, "It was in the last days of the war that your fathers came to us. I knew, as everyone in China knew, of the daring exploits of the Flying Tigers. What gallant men they were, those young Americans who risked their lives to protect us. I had the utmost admiration for them, so I was surprised and pleased to meet two of the Tigers in person."

The monk had closed his eyes, remembering. "They were brought to me and when we were alone they said they had a package they would like me to keep for them until after the war. It was the statue of a dragon, they said, and it was very valuable." The old man opened his eyes. "It was in this same box. I did not open it, but I think I knew, even then, what it was. They asked me to keep the statue safe, and because they were the valiant protectors of China, I agreed."

The valiant protectors of China. In the quiet of the night Tiger closed his eyes and tried to conjure up the image of his Irish-American father. Bill Malone had been a tall man with sandy-colored hair, a ruddy complexion and green eyes. He'd talked a lot to his son about his days with the Flying Tigers, of the old P-40's they'd flown, and of the adventures he and his best friend, Ross Adams, had had together.

Tiger had first learned of the dragon's existence when he was ten. They were living in Hong Kong then. He'd come home early from school and as he passed his mother's sitting room he heard his father say, "The dragon belongs to Ross and to me."

His mother, in her cool and haughty voice answered, "No, it does
not.
It belongs to China."

"It belongs to whoever possesses it," his father had roared, his Irish temper flaring. "I'm not going to give up a fortune because you've got some fool notion in that head of yours. One of these days China will open up again and when it does I'm going after the dragon."

A few days later his father had taken him fishing, and he'd told Tiger about the dragon. "I may not make it back to China," Bill said, "what with your mother feeling the way she does. But some day, when you're a man, I want you to go after the statue. It's worth a lot of money, boy, enough to keep you and your mother in style for the rest of your lives."

After his father's death Tiger had discussed with his mother the possibility of taking the statue out of China. But she had been so adamant in her refusal to tell him where it was that he had let the matter drop. Then Bethany had come to Hong Kong; now the golden dragon was theirs.

Tiger looked across the room. By the pale ray of moonlight through the slatted blinds he could see the golden dragon reclining on the other bed. It had come between his father and mother; he would not let it come between Bethany and him. His arms tightened around her. Then he closed his eyes and he too slept.

The cherry trees were in bloom. The delicate flowers made a carpet of white beneath her feet and perfumed the air with their sweet scent. Through the still night she heard the sound of a lute and knew that at last he had come. She pressed her pale hands together, trying to still the frantic beating of her heart as she looked fearfully back at her father's house.

Silently she wept for the days of her childhood and the knowledge that she would never see her mother again. After tonight she would belong to another; she would never return to this house that she had always known. Then she heard his voice and her sadness was forgotten.

Silently, hand in hand, they crept down through the willow trees to the river.

"I have a boat," he told her. "It will take us safely away."

Her hand trembled in his as he brought it to his lips. "Do not be afraid, little bird. With this journey our lives begin."

He led her onto his boat, and with the moon to guide them, they began their journey down the river. They spoke little, but their gazes rested on each other as the boat moved silently through the water. When the hour grew late, he said, "I think I will die if I do not kiss you," and turned the boat toward the shore.

Her heart beat like a captured bird's. The moment had come, the moment that would bind them together for all eternity.

When they reached shallow water he jumped out of the boat and pulled it to the shore. She could smell the jasmine in the air as he took her hand and led her to a place that was hidden by leafy green bamboo. Gently he laid her down there, gently he undressed her. When she lay naked in the moonlight he gazed at the perfection of her body, then dropped to his knees beside her.

"Your skin is as soft as the petal of a rose," he whispered as he touched her cheek. "Your hair drifts like silk through my fingers. Your pomegranate lips await my kiss."

She looked up into his strange green eyes and the night seemed to stand still. From somewhere above them a nightingale sang a song of unutterable sweetness.

"My love," she whispered. "Come to me. Come to me now."

His mouth tasted of honey. She drank in the nectar of it, and sighed with a pleasure she had never known as her pale arms came around his neck to draw him closer.

He touched her breasts and she quivered with desire. Her delicate fingers tra
ced the line of his li
ps, moved over his shoulders, down to his chest. Her fingers lingered at his waist, trailed delicate patterns over the plane of his hips and stomach and followed the thin trail of hair below his waist.

The breath caught in Tiger's throat. He spoke her name but she stopped his words with her lips. She touched him and he moaned against her mouth. She took his lower lip between her fine white teeth, held it as she ran her tongue back and forth, then took it to suckle before she slipped her tongue into his mouth. And all the while her pale, cool hand caressed him.

Tiger's heart raced as he drew her closer. "Give me your breasts," he whispered, and felt her shiver with the pleasure of his touch. Then her hands were on his shoulders, urging him over her to join his body to hers.

Her body was fire and lightning streaking across the midnight sky. She was wild and wonderful and without restraint as she urged him to peaks of pleasure he had never dreamed possible.

Lost in ecstasy
,
Tiger cried her name. He told her in Chinese how wonderful she was and how he loved the feel of her body against his.

"I know," she whispered. "The feel of your body excites me too."

He touched her silken skin and felt her quickened breath against his throat. "My love," he murmured in Chinese. "Take me to paradise."

"To paradise," she whispered.

Together then, in quickened cadence, they climbed the heights of love, spiraling up and up until then-bodies burst with rapture and they clung, heart to heart, in that sweet and final moment of ecstasy.

It was only later, when she slept, that Tiger remembered he had, in the throes of passion, spoken to her in Chinese. And that she had responded.

Bethany awoke slowly the next morning, conscious of the tickle of hair against her cheek and Tiger's slow and steady breathing. She opened her eyes. One hand was curled around Tiger's neck, her face rested against his chest. She frowned, trying to remember when he had joined her in bed. She'd slept so soundly. She remembered looking at the golden dragon, thinking how truly beautiful he was; then she must have drifted off to sleep. The dragon? Her body stiffened. Had she dreamed about him? But no, the dream hadn't been about the dragon, it had been about Flowering Peach and the young poet. About... Suddenly hot color flushed Bethany's cheeks. She raised her head and looked at Tiger. Had they made love? Had she... ?

His eyelids fluttered open. A slow smile crossed his face and his arms tightened around her. "Bethany,"
he whispered. He kissed her and when her mouth trembled under his he told her how wonderful the night had been.

Last night? But last night had been a dream, a dream of Flowering Peach and her lover. It hadn't been real. It wasn't me, she wanted to cry. It was her, that other girl from long ago. But how could she tell him? How could she explain?

Bethany turned her face away so that she could look at the dragon. Its golden body gleamed in the sun. The green eyes looked into hers and she was touched by their sadness. Oh please, her heart cried out. What is it? What do you want?

"Bethany?" Tiger captured her chin and brought her face close to his. He kissed her eyelids closed and feathered soft kisses over her cheeks. "I love you," he whispered against her mouth. "I want to marry you and have children with you."

"Marry...?" Her eyes opened. "Tiger, I don't know. I—"

"You must know how I feel about you, Bethany. I'd like to talk about it now, but if you don't want to then we'll discuss it when we're back in Tsingyun." His arms tightened around her. "But I won't let you go, Bethany. I
am
going to marry you."

Before she could answer Tiger covered her mouth with his, crushing her protests before she could utter them. He
would
have her, he told himself, not just for now, but forever. After last night, after she had given and taken so wildly, so freely, she could not deny that she was his; that he was hers. They were one now, always and forever, united by the bonds of eternal love.

With shaking urgency Tiger said, "I love you, Bethany. I want you, I want you now." He felt her pulling back and suddenly he was bewildered, afraid, unable to understand that the Bethany who'd made such wonderful love to him last night was the Bethany he now held in his arms. He wanted to call her back. He wanted the woman who loved him last night to love him again, soar with him again. "Oh God," Tiger murmured, then with a low cry of need he joined his body to hers. He held her possessively, fiercely, stopping her cry of protest with a kiss as his arms went around her, rocking her to him in an exultation of love. And suddenly Bethany was his again. Her mouth softened, her lips parted. She put her arms around him, held him close and lifted her body to his in complete surrender.

It was too urgent, too fast. It ended in a burst of passion that left them breathless. His body covered hers, he buried his face in the hollow between her throat and shoulder, breathing in the scent of her, knowing that he would never get enough.

They lay for a long time without speaking, still in the position of love, reluctant to part.

"I love you," Tiger said.

"And I love you." Bethany kissed the top of his head. She looked over at the golden dragon. "I love you," she said again.

After their clean clothes were delivered they showered and dressed. "I think it would be all right to go downstairs for breakfast," Tiger said, "but we'd better take the statue with us."

He wrapped it in the scarlet silk and put it back in the box. Then he took Bethany's arm and led her downstairs to the small hotel dining room.

Bethany was silent during breakfast. There was something she had to tell Tiger, but she wasn't sure how to begin.

Over their last cup of tea, Tiger said, "When we finish I'll take you back to the room. Then I'll go to see about our transportation. If there's a flight tonight we'll take it. If not, we'll wait until tomorrow."

Bethany nodded. "It'll be good to get back to Tsingyun," she said. "I've missed your mother."

"I'm glad the two of you like each other." Tiger smiled at her across the table. "I was afraid at f weren't going to get along."

"So was I." She added sugar to her tea. ''We're wry different in most ways, Tiger. But in the most important way we're alike."

One dark eyebrow raised. "In what way?"

"We both love you."

Tiger covered her hand with his, but before he could speak, Bethany said, "Tiger, I have to talk to you."

"Of course, Bethany, what is it?"

She shook her head. "Not here."

His gaze met hers across the table. Her gray eyes were serious. He nodded and stood up.

They went back to the room without speaking. When they went in Tiger closed the door. He put the box on the bed and turning to her said, "What is it, Bethany?"

"The dragon." Bethany sank down on the bed and rested her hand on the box. For a moment she didn't speak, then she said, "I don't want to sell him."

Tiger's eyebrows came together in a puzzled frown. "What are you talking about?" He sat down on the bed next to her and took her hand.

"We can't sell him," she said again, "We don't know what would happen to him if we did. What if somebody melted him down for the gold? What if—"

"I doubt anyone would do that, Bethany."

"But we can't be sure."