Love Storm (18 page)

"As if you know what modesty means, you arrogant egotistical rogue."

"Leave it to a woman to be persistent," he grumbled.

"No doubt you are intent upon knowing." Unintimidated, Zena sat there sternly eyeing Alex.

"Very well," he sighed resignedly, "if you must know, There was a costume party. I came as an archer, one of Robin Hood's band," the succinct recital went on impassively. "The party got out of hand, as was often the case, and a fucking contest ensued."

"A what?" Zena's blue eyes widened in shock.

"It happened a long time ago. I was young and reckless." he commented by way of explanation.

"How long ago?" she asked with suspicious sweetness.

"A year ago," he admitted ruefully.

"A year ago! That's youthful?"

"Well, I was damn drunk, too. Hadn't drawn a sober breath in four days."

"How
exactly
did you win this contest?" Zena inquired with acid saccharinity.

"I fucked steadily for twenty-six hours," he grinned. "Beat Yuri by an hour and a half. He's never forgiven me."

"What in the world did the woman look like after twenty-six hours?" Zena's expression mirrored her shock.

"Oh, we had to change women several times. They're too damned tender. I kept track of the women by the number of arrows in my quiver, hence the allusion to my costume and the nickname. It's all very childish."

"Did everyone watch?" Zena asked horrified.

"Of course."

"That's disgusting," Zena spat indignantly.

"Now you're mad,
ma petite.
I told you not to ask. I knew you'd rather not hear. Wish I would have known you then," he murmured playfully. "We could have set the record single-handedly." Alex quirked his eyebrows at Zena and his languid smile broadened.

Hot color flooded Zena's face. "You despicable cad! How dare you suggest such a thing," she exploded resentfully.

"Really, love, don't take offense," Alex replied soothingly. "I meant it as the sincerest compliment."

Anger boiled up so violently it practically choked her. "If that's the way you consider me . . . like . . . like
...
a
whore!" Zena sputtered.

"Good Lord," Alex protested. "I didn't mean that at all. Forget what I said, Zena, you misunderstood. Look I just meant . . ." he broke off lamely, recognizing his inability to vindicate the sportive statement in light of her flashing eyes. But then, unfortunately, his mind flew to a fleeting vision of he and Zena in that beguiling embrace, and his mouth twitched into an irrepressible grin.

"Misunderstood!" Zena cried, and the unfortunate grin fanned her already volatile rage.
"You're
obviously the one who misunderstands!" Then with an imprudent artifice, fully intended to provoke, she altered her voice to a sensuous purr and asserted archly, "If I've become as accomplished a lover as you suggest, perhaps I shouldn't conceal such glowing virtues. With my adroit versatility it would be foolish to limit myself to only one man. I, too, might discover additional delights with other men. You say Yuri was only one and a half hours short of you in this, ah, competency contest. I could begin with him," she declared with reckless audacity. Zena had the satisfaction of seeing a muscle begin to twitch near Alex's mouth. He towered above her, his fingers biting white-knuckled into the brandy glass in a hard-fought effort to control his rising ire.

"No one touches you but me," he grimly uttered.

Zena tossed her head airily. "
You
are no longer going to touch me! I don't particularly care to be considered in terms of the receiving half of a twenty-six-hour fucking contest. // you don't mind!" she disdainfully derided.

Zena'a direct and obdurate rebuff was a grave mistake, as any number of Alex's friends would confirm. Alexander

Kuzan, to everyone's certain knowledge, had never backed down from a confrontation.

"I'll touch you whenever I please," the stern-faced prince ground out between his teeth.

"You will not!" the foolhardy girl continued, indignant affront goading her impetuosity and Alex's detestable, overbearing insolence further aggravating her bold defiance.

"You think not? I assure you, pet, you're quite wrong." The purred words and look accompanying them held a distinct menace. "If it's rape you're looking for," he said in a voice silky with venom as he glanced down at her impatiently, "I'm in a temper to oblige you."

"You wouldn't," Zena gasped.

"In a minute."

The angry woman pugnaciously retorted, "I don't believe you!"

Alex tossed aside his glass, which shattered into splinters on the floor. His hand lashed out, grasped the collar of Zena's dress firmly, and ripped the soft georgette bodice from the neck to waist.

Zena froze in shocked silence.

"Don't look so pained," Alex laughed unpleasantly. "I'll buy you another."

Irrepressible fury welled up through the frozen shock. Midnight blue eyes grew stormy with wrath.

As rapidly as Zena's ire escalated, Alex's exasperation mollified. The grimness contorting his features disappeared. "Sweetheart, relax! You're overwrought," he conciliated, his peremptory act of tyranny having purged his fury. "I'll buy you three, four, five frocks to replace it," he grinned, triumphantly in command, delighting now as victor, relishing the endearing beauty of Zena's rage.

He was enjoying himself, toying delicately not only with the silken remnants of her bodice, but toying as well with the woman's fierce ideals, playing with Zena on a light-hearted, boyish level. He was enjoying the game between a man and a woman. He relished the saucy vivacity of the
mademoiselle
and her ability to taunt him with her show of independence. Complaisant women bored him. Zena was a fiery citadel when she was in one of these moods, and his senses stirred with desire as he contemplated the storming.

"No, thank you. "
Each word of Zena's refusal was bitten off frigidly. "Keep your damn new gowns!" she wither-ingly retorted.

"Oh,
n
o! You won't take any clothes from me?" Alex's tawny eyes glittered brilliantly as he drawled the question languorously.

"Absolutely not!" she snapped.

"In that case, I'll rip all your clothes off you this week and soon have you exactly how I most prefer you," he paused and dropped the word softly into the heated atmosphere, "naked."

"I'll take two," Zena retorted hastily.

"Smart girl," Alex murmured. "Flexibility, my puss, you've flexibility. You'll go far. Come here now and wrap those flexible legs around me, and I'll apologize contritely for my insufferable conduct and rudeness."

Zena hesitated, trying to reconcile her turbulent emotions as Alex's mocking eyes played over her half-nude form.

"Do we start this rape all over again?" asked Alex, lowering his soft voice to the nearly inaudible. "You must learn that frank and willful females are not widely tolerated in the world. Submission, my pet, is the answer. Come here, darling," he whispered and slid his hand around her waist.

She went then.

He pulled her down on the bed. Viewing the quietly distraught woman compassionately, he could understand her distress. He felt a twinge of guilt at the woebegone,
humbled look on her face. He knew he had beaten her unfairly; the contest was uneven, and he had all the advantages. But damn it, she'd better become disposed to a woman's role. She couldn't fight it forever. And he wanted her, wanted her for himself. An inexplicable urge to keep her welled up in him.

"Remember, I share you with no one. You're mine," he said with a quiet stiffness. He lay over her. "Are you mine? Answer, woman," he said gruffly.

Zena turned her head away.

Alex shook her gently. "Answer. Are you mine?" he ordered, his voice as cutting as a lash.

"Yes, Sasha," agreed a small whispered voice. Looking up at him she asked sadly, "Am I simply another of your possessions?"

"Not just
another
possession,
ma petite"
Alex reasoned. "But in truth my finest acquisition to date."

"You'd keep me here against my will?" she asked incredulously as Alex played with the ribbons of her chemise.

"Why not?" he answered blandly, thinking to himself pragmatically that she wasn't really suffering unduly, and she'd be considerably richer when she finally left. She had no money. He could keep her here indefinitely through lack of funds until such time as he chose to pay her and let her go. What the hell, that little technique—that little form of coercion—in one form or another had been around for three thousand years.

"I won't allow it," Zena responded, hotly jerking away. The long, lean fingers carelessly grasping the ruffled chemise neckline tightened automatically, and the sheer fabric tore under the strain.

"Come, come, my sweet. So many harsh words. I'm not entirely used to such disobliging treatment from females. Rest content now, my pet. Is the captivity so vile?" And his fingers lightly caressed her exposed breast.

Alex's golden eyes began to glow with a sensual, predatory gleam. His arms closed around her, and his mouth came down on hers. She felt the warm desire begin to stir, and she was sick with shame. She fought against him faintly, turning her head from side to side, trying to evade the burning lips while her traitorous body was heating with yearning passion.

Zena tried to recall the antipathy, anger, and humiliation he had roused. But he was all contrite apology now, petting and comforting her, murmuring softly affectionate words of atonement as he brushed his lips down the alabaster column of her throat.

When confronted by those sensual eyes, warmly whispered regrets, and heated, stroking fingers, Zena began to melt. She knew if he continued, all was lost.

But at the moment, as his arms pulled her close, her heart prevailed. She wanted him. She loved him with every fiber of her being. When Sasha held her in his arms, his smoldering eyes searching hers, she knew she would be anything he wanted as long as he kept her near. Her struggles ceased, her lips acquiesced, and she responded to the flame burning in her lover's eyes. Her body arched to him, and her thighs fell apart. And he pleased her then in all the ways he knew best.

The next week brought restored content. Alex was utterly charming and quietly accommodating to her abrupt mood changes, which swung dangerously with her love of Alex and her fear of the future for her child, which appeared more of a certainty with each passing day. Alex pampered her in little ways, being accessible not only physically but offering small anecdotes about his youthful holidays spent at the
dacha,
occasionally opening up enough to respond warmly to Zena
s
affectionate nuzzles and kisses. He no longer asked, "Why did you do that?" when she would impulsively stand on tiptoe to touch her lips to his cheek. He only smiled impassively now at these sudden, spontaneous kisses. She loved him, she knew that, and after last week her spirits soared. It seemed that perhaps his cool, impersonal reserve was indeed vulnerable. Could he care a little about her, too? Was it possible? Zena felt a joyful exuberance that would reappear despite momentarily depressing moods. She hopefully considered—indeed, felt almost a surety—that Sasha cherished her as a person and not simply for the comfort of her body in bed.

The pattern of their days lapsed into a familiar, restful routine. Zena was slightly on edge, perhaps quicker to take offense. She was certain she was carrying Alex's child now and terrified of telling him. If Alex had had any experience with pregnant females, he might have recognized the unstable emotional signs of gestation, but since these
phenomena were auguries with which he was unacquainted, he unwittingly regarded these quirks of pique as simply female temperament.

Alex's muzhiks had immediately upon their arrival taken to addressing Bobby affectionately as "the little prince." Assuming their master would not bother himself over a young child without paternal considerations and noting the dark hair and light eyes of both, they reached their own conclusions.

Zena had carefully explained initially that the boy was her brother. Blankly polite stares had accepted her explanation, and in her presence they were careful to refrain from referring to Bobby as "the little prince." But away from her vicinity they continued addressing the young boy with the deference due their master's son. Alex was quietly amused at the subtle battle operating between Zena and the servants and allowed them to continue addressing the boy as his. He was altogether familiar with the dogged stubbornness and intractability of the Russian peasant mind. Even if he had forbade them to regard Bobby as his, they would devotedly accede to the
batiushka's
orders, but their hearts wouldn't change.

In addition, the title bestowed on Bobby served as a subtle means of provoking Zena when he was in a humor to tease her or revenge himself mildly for one of her frequent fits of temper.

He had retaliated at dinner that night, when Zena flashed furiously at him during a trifling disagreement that perhaps she and Bobby should leave. Alex knew her threat was simply offended pride. He took on a suitably distressed and hurt expression. The prince, quite aware of the breathless interest of his household, gratified his pique by woefully lamenting, "I'm devastated,
mademoiselle.
Would you deprive me of Bobby's company?" The numerous servants attendant to the meal were shocked at the
baryshna'%
unfeeling attitude to the father of her child and expressed their disapproval in their scandalized expressions.