Firestorm (27 page)

Her face crumpled, and she buried it against his chest. She wanted so desperately to believe him, and she did. Not being a liar herself, it was hard for her to understand that another human being could be purposely deceitful. She clung to him. “Oh, Brett!”

He buried his face in her hair. “Oh,
chère
,” he sighed. He had been so terribly afraid, and now the relief was overwhelming.

She stood bent over at the waist, her hands gripping the footboard of the huge bed. “Ah,” she moaned. “Harder…yes!”

The man pounded into her, standing behind her, her hips clenched in his hands. “You are still a damn bitch in heat, Sophia,” he rasped. “God!”

Sophia cried out softly while the man thrust one final time and shuddered with a gasp. For a moment he sagged against her, and then she dislodged herself and climbed nimbly on the bed, a fine gleam of sweat covering her. “You haven't lost your touch, Diego,” she purred, stretching sensually. An image of Brett flashed through her mind, stirring her desire all over again.

“Damn,” Diego said in a low voice. “We shouldn't have done that.”

Sophia laughed. “That comment is ten years too late, brother.”

He was looking for his pants, flashing her an angry glance. “You know what I mean. Not here. Jesu! If someone found us…”

“That's half the fun,” she said. Then she reached out and grabbed the waistband of his pants as he was about to button up the fly. “Don't leave. That was just a taste.”

“You get crazier and hungrier every day, Sophia,” he growled. “Someone—”

“Everyone's asleep,” she said, her tone sharp now. “And we need to talk.”

“Talk?” He chuckled. “Okay,
hermana mía
, talk. But I'm putting on my clothes, to be safe.”

“Coward,” Sophia murmured. “Remember the first time? Remember how I came to your bed at Papa's?”

“I'll never forget,” he said, smiling. “Damn, you were hot! And all of fourteen, the tightest little virgin…”

Sophia laughed. “Come, sit here,” she said, patting the bed beside her, “and afterward we can play again.”

He sighed. She was one of the most beautiful and exciting women he had ever known, the kind of woman who could never get enough. And she was his sister. The combination was so titillating he could not resist. He sat. “What's on your mind?”

“Brett D'Archand,” she said promptly.

“Another conquest.”

“Not yet.”

“No?” He was surprised. “That's not what Storm told me. She saw the two of you today.”

“I couldn't have planned it better, Diego.” She laughed, a rich sound.

“So? If you want him, seduce him. That should be easy enough.”

“I want him for myself. I want
her
out of the way.” She regarded him steadily.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you want her,” Sophia said coyly. “I think we should work together on this.”

Diego felt excitement gripping his insides. He smiled. “What?”

“I will get Brett in my bed, and she will find out. You will take her away. Brett will think the two of you have run off. He will be so furious he'll wash his hands of her.”

“What if she won't come?”

“Force her.” She looked at him. “Why don't you take
her to my place? There's no one on that decrepit ranch except for the peons. You'll have plenty of privacy to do as you like.”

He grew hard. He thought about having her there, even against her will. She might scream, but no one would come. She would fight. His pulse began to throb. “What if Brett comes after her?” It never occurred to him to consider that his sister might fail to seduce Brett.

“He won't. Tomorrow Papa has to go to San Diego, so he will be out of the way. Mama will probably use the opportunity to disappear with that vaquero she's been bedding. Felipe is no problem. I intend to drug Brett after supper tomorrow—a little laudanum. I'll keep him drugged through the following day. By the time he starts after you—if he does—he'll never catch up.”

“Why don't you keep him drugged for a few days?”

“Diego, be sensible. Brett is no idiot. I will convince him he got drunk, spent the night making love to me, then overslept.”

“You are going to a lot of trouble to bed a man.”

She laughed. “Bed him? I want more than that, Diego, much more. Yes, Brett is beautiful, but he is rich—
rich
. He can take me away. Do you really think I intend to marry another Californio just because our damn uncle orders it? Spend the rest of my life trapped on some godforsaken hacienda bearing some stupid clod's sons? Oh, no.” She stared passionately at Diego. “But I have to get rid of
her
. Brett has to take me away from this godforsaken life we lead. San Francisco!” Her eyes lit up. “Silk gowns, jewels, fine restaurants, theater, balls…I want it all!”

“When Papa finds out what you've done—”

“He won't be able to stop me. I'll be gone. If I had a peso, Diego, I'd go by myself, right now. But we are all so damn poor, except for damn Don Felipe. And who knows? Maybe Brett will marry me one day. I will spin a
web around him that he can't resist!” Her eyes glittered, making her outrageously beautiful.

Diego felt a stab of jealousy. “I can't decide what motivates you more, Sophia, wanting Brett in bed and under your power, or wanting to leave all this.”

“I want him,” she said simply. “I wanted him when I first saw him and Mother together, but he refused. I still want him, and I always get what I want.” She leaned back against the pillows, smug and confident. “And, Diego, when you finish with
her
, get rid of her.”

His eyes widened in shock. “Kill her? That's going too far!”

“Then sell her south of the border. Just make sure she'll never come back and can't be found.”

Diego felt a twinge of guilt before desire fueled his resolution. He need not ever get rid of her, he decided; he could keep her indefinitely and visit her as the whim took him. He smiled.

He felt Sophia's hand and looked down to see her fondling his erection. “Which excites you most,
caro?
” she whispered. “How you are going to stick that huge cock in me now—or rape her, later?”

He groaned, rolling on top of her.

 

“This is beautiful land, Brett,” Storm said, gazing down the rocky cliffs at the blue, blue bay.

“Yes, beautiful,” he murmured, gazing raptly at her.

She looked at him and blushed.

Brett grinned, his body quickening. Never had a woman fed his desire like she did. It grew each time they made love, every time he looked at her. I must be falling in love, he thought, dazed by the enormity of that thought.

“Come on,” he said, flashing another smile.

Storm followed, her own blood racing, for she knew that look in his eyes well. That hungry look, as if he were moments from losing control and ravishing her. She shud
dered with anticipation. Never had she dreamed a man could do what he did to her. Never had she thought a man could hold her every waking thought, and her dreams, too—that she would become weak-kneed from a glance, that her heart would soar at the mere sight of him.

They trotted their horses through a green meadow sprinkled with pink and yellow wildflowers. Brett dismounted, and Storm followed. They tethered the horses, then Brett pulled down the blanket and picnic basket.

Storm found herself watching his large, strong brown hands. They were powerful, she knew, but also gentle and sensuous. He laid out the blanket, his movements graceful and natural, then knelt, sorting through the contents of the basket.

Her heart was fluttering at the memory of how he had touched her last night, bringing her to an incredibly sweet yet desperate yearning. And how he had filled that need. Her cries had been so loud he had had to clamp his hand over her mouth. Where had this passionate side of her nature come from?

She studied Brett's hawklike profile. He was a ruthless-looking man, his features harsh, almost cruel, but he was immensely handsome, and if she were honest with herself, she had to admit she had been attracted to him like metal to a magnet from the first time they had met, on the threshold of her cousin's library. As Brett bent now, clad in high boots, breeches, and a lawn shirt, his thighs bulged, and the muscles in his back rippled beneath the damp, clinging material. He looked up.

She didn't blush. There was a terrible ache between her thighs, and she wanted him, now. Her eyes were dark and bright, and she met his gaze steadily.

“I wonder if you know how you're looking at me,” he said.

His response gave her a heady feeling of power, one she was testing with sensual relish. “It's so hot,” she
murmured, and took off her Stetson, her movements slow and unrushed. Her hair was braided in one long plait, but wisps had escaped to curl damply around her face. Feeling like a female animal, and a provocative one at that, she began brushing the wisps off her face, then she reached, slowly, for the top buttons of her jacket. She unfastened them.

She saw that he was watching with interest. His eyes were on her hands, now moving over the buttons on her bosom. He lifted them, briefly, his gaze so hot and hungry that Storm froze. “Don't stop,” he whispered thickly.

She pulled off the jacket. The lace-edged shirt clung perfectly to her, molding her superb contours, and Storm wished he would rip it off. She unfastened the top button at her throat and the two on her neck. She looked at him. “Brett?” It was a plea.

He took a step toward her, then stopped, clenching his fists at his sides, restraining himself. “Take off your clothes, Storm. Take them off for me,” he said hoarsely.

She unbuttoned and removed her blouse, then her split skirt, standing only in pantalets, boots, and a thin, sheer chemise. She was amazed she didn't feel shy. Instead, she felt like a seductress, every movement she made seeming sensuous and exciting. She looked up slowly and saw that he hadn't moved. The hard, long, thick line of his arousal caught her attention. His nostrils flared.

She bent over, giving him a clear view of her lush breasts, partially baring the erect nipples, and pulled off one boot, then the other. She straightened, reaching for the hem of her chemise.

“You're teasing me,” he muttered.

She gave him a wanton look and pulled the chemise over her head. He groaned almost inaudibly. She stepped proudly out of her pantalets and stood naked before him.

She smiled, reached for her braid, and with slow, delib
erate movements, separated the strands spreading them out, shaking out the long tresses. She looked up at him.

For one instant, his hot gaze roamed her, lingering on her full, firm breasts, then on the triangle of hair between her thighs. “You are so beautiful,” he said thickly, moving to her.

In that next instant his mouth was on hers, his hands everywhere, stroking and caressing, sliding over her arms and shoulders, cupping and squeezing her breasts, tugging at her nipples. He ran his hard hands gently over her hips and thighs, coming back up to fondle and knead her buttocks. He pulled her against him, rubbing suggestively. Storm was whimpering.

“Mine,” Brett whispered in her ear, nibbling and then licking hotly. She shuddered.

His hand found one lush breast and began to stroke and play. “You are mine,” he said again, and his mouth swooped down on hers, hard and insistent.

Supporting her with one arm, he slipped his other hand between her thighs, searching and seeking until she was trembling and moaning with need. With a triumphant laugh he lifted and carried her to the blanket, laying her down. Still fully clothed, he knelt between her spread thighs and gazed at every inch of what she offered.

“Oh, Storm,” he said. “I want you, and I'm going to take you, now, and again, and again, until you beg for mercy.”

“Brett,” she moaned, gripping his shoulders. “Please.”

“Tell me how much you want me,” he demanded ruthlessly.

“Yes,” she said, shuddering. “I want you…Brett…please.”

With a languorous hand, he caressed her inner thigh until she was quivering and panting and arching against him. “Tell me,” he demanded.

“Brett, I shall die if you don't take me now!”

“Maybe I will take you like this,” he said thickly, and lowered his head, parting the folds of her glistening flesh, kissing and searching with his tongue. Immediately, her hands settled in his hair and she cried out his name, raggedly, again and again.

He laughed with pleasure, desire, and power. That she was so desperate and ready for him filled him with a sense of triumph. He began inflicting the sensual torture of his mouth and tongue again, with ruthless determination. He could never get enough of her. “Sweet,” he murmured against her dampness. “So sweet.”

“Brett,” she gasped. “I want you inside me. Please, Brett!”

He rose above her, in one motion feeling his hard, huge manhood, and pressed the gleaming tip against her. She cried out in protest; he smiled savagely and lowered his head to take a hard nipple between his teeth, tugging and sucking, probing with the head of his shaft, teasing mercilessly.

She thrashed wildly. Finally he couldn't control himself any longer, and slid, slowly and tantalizingly, into her. She sobbed. He withdrew almost completely, and her nails dug into his back while she moaned and gasped in raging protest. He thrust in wildly then, pumping into her, battering her, and she rose to meet him as savagely as he was taking her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, screamed and clung, and he cried out her name, shuddering convulsively into her.

After he drifted back to awareness, he cradled her tenderly in his arms, stroking her waist absently. He looked down to see her gazing up at him, and to his amusement, she blushed. He chuckled. “Wild little wanton, aren't you?”

“You like it,” she replied boldly, her color deepening.

“Indeed I do,
chère
.” He grinned, then hesitated. He
was filled with intense feelings right now, and he could no longer ignore them. He had been with too many women not to know that the joy and tenderness he was feeling toward Storm was unique. In a low voice, he found himself saying, still lazily touching her, “Do I make you happy,
chère?
”