The Tiger Prince (8 page)

Jane shook her head.

“You should do well enough.” Zabrie regarded her critically. “You’re young and not unattractive. Sometimes the British tire of the exotic and wish to indulge themselves with one of their own race.”

“Like your Scot?”

She frowned. “He meant only to tease me. He would be disappointed if I sent someone else.” She stood up, her henna-tinted fingers smoothing the sheer material veiling her breasts. “What do you say?”

“No.”

She shrugged. “I’ll wait. You’ll change your mind. When a woman is alone and without protection, there is only one road for her to take.”

The certainty in Zabrie’s tone sent a lightning bolt of fear through Jane. “I said no! I’m not alone, and even if I were, I don’t need anybody else. I can protect myself. I’m not a whore. I’ll
never
be a whore.”

Zabrie drew herself up haughtily. “It seems you, too, think a whore is beneath your touch.”

Jane drew a deep breath, trying to regain control. Her fierce response to Zabrie’s words had caught her by surprise. “I didn’t say that.”

“You did not need to say it.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you and certainly not condemn you. My mother was a harlot and in a far worse place than this. You must make your own choices, but …” She hesitated and then burst out, “I would rather die than sell myself.”

Zabrie’s gaze narrowed on her face. “You are afraid. Why?”

“I’m not afraid.” Zabrie gazed at her in disbelief. Jane explained haltingly, “Such a life takes away your freedom, you become a slave.”

“It is all how one looks upon the act. If a woman is good enough, it is the man who becomes the slave.” Zabrie turned away from the mirror. “You must go now.”

“Kartauk.”

Zabrie smiled as she saw Jane’s determined expression. “You don’t give up, do you? We may disagree on many things, but it’s one quality we have in common.”

“Will you at least provide a shelter for Kartauk in the city if I need it?”

“If you can arrange it so that there is no danger to me, I will consid—”

The door was flung open and the young girl Zabrie had called Lenar rushed into the room. “Pachtal! He came in a few minutes ago. He demands to see you.”

“What?” Zabrie whirled to face Jane. “You fool!”

“He didn’t follow me.” Jane stood up. “I know Pachtal and would have noticed him. He must have been watching this house.”

“And saw you come in. What difference does it make how he came to be here? He’s here.”

Jane felt a thrill of fear as she remembered Pachtal’s vicious expression, the agony as he had twisted her arm. “How can I get out of the house without him seeing me?”

“It’s too late.” Zabrie grasped her wrist and dragged her toward the door across the room. “He’ll probably search the place for you, but I’ll try to keep him away from here.”

“How?”

“The usual way. Pachtal and Abdar didn’t hesitate to use me when they were here before. I’ll call you when it’s safe.” She opened the door, pushed Jane into the adjoining room, and slammed the door.

ven in the dim lamplight Ruel recognized the gleaming auburn of Jane’s hair as she hurriedly entered the room.

The muscles of his abdomen clenched and his loins immediately hardened in response. Easy, he told himself, he was here for a purpose other than what his body demanded. Easy? The thought was ludicrous; at this moment both calmness and reason were out of the question. She was here.

Soon he would know more about her than ever before.

Soon he would touch her for the first time.

•     •     •

Jane heard the key turn in the lock of the door behind her. Another click sounded in the lock on the only other door across the chamber. She was a prisoner.

Her chest was tight with fear. The caged feeling reminded her of the helplessness she had experienced when she had stood sandwiched between Pachtal and Abdar on that lonely street only a few weeks before.

Darkness hovered over the chamber lightened only by a single oil lamp on the table beside her, and the heavy scent of musk and incense pressed down on her.

“At last. Come here and let me look at you.”

She froze, her glance flying across the room to the man lying on the bed.

In the dimness she could tell only that he was naked and lying on his side facing her. His cheek rested on his hand as his gaze slowly ran over her. “Unusual. It seems Zabrie took me at my word.”

This time she caught the slight brogue in the words. The Scot, Jane remembered, the man whom Zabrie had ordered brought here, the man who had wanted something different. “Zabrie will come to you later. She’s busy now.”

“But she sent you to entertain me?” He crooked his finger, motioning for her to come to him. “Don’t be nervous. I don’t mind. I told her I was in the mood for an English lass.”

He had mistaken her panic for nervousness at his displeasure. She would have laughed if she hadn’t been so frightened. “I’m not English and I’m not nervous. You don’t understand.”

“I understand I’m going to be a little annoyed if you don’t come over here and let me see what you look like.” She moved reluctantly to stand beside the bed. “I’m sure Zabrie will not be—”

Dear God, he was the most beautiful human being she had ever seen. He was all lion colors, golden skin, tawny hair pulled back in a queue to reveal a bone structure
that was close to perfect. But his eyes were blue, not a catlike green or yellow, a deep, piercing blue….

He lifted a brow. “How long before Zabrie arrives?”

She had forgotten what she had been about to say. She swiftly gathered her composure. “Just be patient.”

He chuckled. “This isn’t a situation where patience comes easily.” He gestured to his lower body. “As you can see.”

Her gaze followed the gesture and she inhaled sharply as she saw bold, pulsing arousal, splendid dimension. She quickly looked back to his face. “Zabrie will be here soon.”

“It’s not Zabrie who made me like this. You walked in the door and I wanted you.” She stared at him in disbelief.

“It came as a surprise to me too. I didn’t expect it. In those masculine clothes you certainly don’t look very appealing.” He reached out and grasped her wrist. “Take them off,” he said softly.

Her flesh under his grasp felt strange, hot, tingling, and she was experiencing a queer breathlessness. “No.”

“You prefer that I do it?” He pulled her down to a sitting position on the bed beside him. His light eyes narrowed on her face, holding her gaze. The scent of him surrounded her, soap and spice and something deeper, darker, blending with the incense-laden air. “Why not?” he murmured. “I might find it interesting changing a boy into a woman.”

“I didn’t say that I wanted—”

He started unbuttoning her shirt.

She instinctively jerked back.

He quickly grasped both her wrists in one hand. “Shh, it’s all right.” His other hand moved from the buttons to pet her breasts through the material. “I just want to see you.” He smiled as he looked down at the protrusion of her nipples against the material of her shirt. “Ah, isn’t that pretty.” He rubbed his palm slowly back and forth over her breasts.

Jane felt heat ripple through her and a tingle begin between her legs. Why wasn’t she struggling? She was
strong enough to break his grip if she made the effort. Pachtal. She grasped desperately at the only sensible reason occurring to her. She must be afraid Pachtal would come if she made a disturbance, or perhaps it was this incense that was making her dizzy and weak. “I … I don’t want this.”

“Of course you do.” He undid two more buttons. “Why else are you here?”

She swallowed. “You don’t understand.”

“You said that before. You’re wrong. This is something I understand very well. Ask Zabrie.” He undid another button. “We can—”

“Stop it!”

“You don’t want me to undress you? Whatever you say.” His hand fell away from the buttons and gathered up both her hands in his own. “See, I’ve stopped.” His thumb rubbed slowly, exploringly, over her palm. “Calluses.” He turned her hand over and gazed down at it. “Hard and rough. You didn’t get these planting flowers in an English garden.”

She tried to draw her hand away from him, but his grasp tightened.

“I meant no insult. I like them. They make us akin. I have calluses too.” He rubbed his palm over the top of her hand. “Feel them. You see? I know what it is to work so hard I’m tottering on my feet with exhaustion. I understand weariness and discouragement. I understand how you can try and try and still never reach a goal. It’s not easy to have to fight every single day, is it?” His voice was caressing, his words weaving silky bonds around her emotions. “That’s why we have to reward ourselves when we get the chance.”

“I don’t have to reward my—”

“Shh …” He leaned forward until his mouth hovered over her breast. “I want to see you but perhaps this is better. It’s quite arousing seeing what your nipples do to that shirt. Is that why you wear men’s things instead of a mask when you come here?”

His breath was warm on her nipple, and the tingling increased between her thighs until it was close to pain.
She felt drugged, disoriented … yes, it must be the incense….

His head was bent, and she could no longer see those light, glittering eyes, but his sun-streaked hair shone in the lamplight and she had the odd impression of sensual savagery, hovering, about to strike … or stroke.

His warm tongue touched the tip of her breast through the thin cotton of her shirt.

She gave a low cry, her back arching in a spasm of sensation.

“That’s right,” he whispered. “Feel me.
Need
me.”

She did need him, she realized dazedly. She had always thought it was men who needed women, that the soft, whimpering cries of pleasure and subjugation she had heard from her mother and the other whores were pretense. Now she had to bite back those same cries as she felt the warmth of this stranger’s lips. Dear God, perhaps it wasn’t the opium pipe that had seduced her mother and made her a slave, but this same pleasure.

No! She wouldn’t be caught like this. She would not be a whore. She would not be a slave. “Let me go!” She broke his grip and leapt to her feet. She fastened her shirt with trembling fingers. “Don’t
touch
me. I’m not a whore.”

He didn’t try to stop her, nor did he make any attempt to cover his nudity. He merely lay and watched her, graceful, catlike, aroused. “I didn’t think you were. I understand from Zabrie that a number of the British wives of the officers from the fort come here to amuse themselves.”

“I told you, I’m not English.” Her voice was shaking, and she tried to steady it. “It’s a mistake. I don’t want to fornicate with you.”

“I beg to disagree.” His gaze lingered on her engorged nipples clearly outlined against her shirt. “You most certainly do.”

“It was a mistake,” she repeated with sudden fierceness. “I was frightened and off guard.”

“Frightened? Of me?”

“No.” She backed away from the bed toward the
door and then stopped. She couldn’t leave until Zabrie came back and unlocked the door. “Not of you.”

He sat up and swung his feet to the floor.

She stiffened. “Don’t come near me. I have a knife.”

“Do you? How very uncivilized.” He didn’t move from the bed. “I wasn’t going to attack you. I can wait for my pleasure since you are apparently reluctant to provide me with it. Won’t you sit down?”

Her gaze flew back to his lower body.

“Oh, yes, it’s still there.” He smiled faintly. “But I can control myself.” He studied her strained expression. “Why didn’t you run out of here?”

“Zabrie locked the doors.”

“Interesting. Was it supposed to make the situation more exciting?”

“No, there’s someone here I don’t want to see.” He went still. “Who?” She didn’t answer.

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” He rose to his feet and moved over to the table by the door, where he was surrounded by the pool of light cast by the oil lamp. She tried not to look at him, but to no avail. Dear heaven, he was as beautifully exotic as a jungle animal and just as free from shame. His brown hair, bound in a queue, was full of tawny streaks set ablaze by the light. She watched the way the lamp highlighted the arch of his spine and the tightness of his buttocks, the compactness of the muscles of his shoulders. For the first time she noticed the white bandage that was tied around his left shoulder.