Firestorm (26 page)

He had finally given in. They had fought about Diego again last night, after dinner, Storm becoming increasingly stubborn as the argument progressed. He had finally made wild, passionate love to her, effectively ending that fight—for the moment. She had fallen asleep in his arms, while he had brooded over the energy they had wasted arguing over something so inane—and all because he was being unreasonably jealous. He had never been jealous before. Not ever.

He had looked down at her while she slept, and an in
credible tenderness had stolen across him, wrapping warm, vibrant tendrils around him, seeping through him like the warmth of brandy. My magnificent Storm, he had thought, and then wondered if he was falling in love with her.

That thought had struck him with a panic that was close to terror.

He had shoved it away, buried it. He enjoyed his wife tremendously, but that was that. Love was for romantic fools, not for him. What he felt for her was carnal, nothing more. Well, maybe admiration, too.

She wouldn't quit. They had argued again before breakfast until Brett had heard himself give in. He still couldn't believe it. But as much as he hated to admit it, he was wrong. She was right. When in hell had that ever happened to him before?

He was used to whores and mistresses, women he paid for, who accepted his authority without question. Even now, thinking how he had conceded to her will, denied his own wishes, made him uneasy. And if Diego touched her…His fists clenched.

He walked farther into the gardens. The old man had been his usual irascible, proud self last night, but Brett had noted one thing—he liked Storm. He had interrogated her during most of the meal, and Storm hadn't been intimidated by him.

Brett understood Don Felipe's ploy. Everyone was afraid he, Brett, was the heir, because of the don's interest in him and Storm. Brett didn't really blame him for such a deception. Elena and Sophia were vipers. Emmanuel was too kind and too blind to thwart them should they attempt to gain control of Gabriella and her fortune. Brett resolved right then and there to make his sister's welfare his concern, whether Don Felipe lived to see her married or not.

What a sweet, beautiful child she was. He was stunned to realize he was feeling something like pride, like brotherly affection, for her. He had promised to take her riding
before he and Emmanuel went out. He was looking forward to it.

But Storm was still angry with him.

Their kisses and lovemaking had not dimmed her wrath. She had told him that Apaches hold grudges. Brett had told her that this Apache had better not. Then he had stormed down to breakfast alone, the wonder of their morning lovemaking dissipated. He hated fighting with her.

“Brett?”

He turned, stiffening, at the sight of Sophia hurrying toward him. Now what? he thought. He wasn't in the mood for another confrontation, especially since Storm had ignored him when she had come in to breakfast, making their argument known to everyone.

Sophia walked as if she were on air, swaying toward him, the sunlight glinting off her blue-black head and her ivory breasts, swelling above the black bodice of her gown. Few women looked good in black, but Sophia was one of them. She paused in front of him, smiling. “I was hoping to find you out here,” she murmured.

“Don't bother, Sophia,” he said curtly. “Whatever you want with me, don't bother.”

“My, we are cross today!” Her tone lowered, her fingers came to rest on his chest. He was wearing only a linen shirt and could feel the warmth of her palm through the material. Her voice dropped. “But I understand why,” she said throatily.

He covered her hand with his, then deliberately removed it. “You do?”

“A virile man like yourself, fighting with your wife,” she said, smiling. “How hungry you must be!” The same hand moved back to his body, this time stroking the flat of his abdomen.

“No,” Brett said, both amused and repulsed, “how hungry
you
must be.”

“I'm always hungry,” she said, her hand moving down the front of his breeches.

“I'm afraid I can't oblige you,” Brett said, grasping her wrist and removing the offending hand. “If you need to get laid, I'm sure someone else will be more than happy to oblige you.”

“I want you, Brett,” she whispered, her voice thick. “Brett, I want you to make love to me the way you did with my mother.”

He was still holding her left hand tightly. Her right hand came up and cupped the soft bulge that was his manhood. Angry now, he cursed and grabbed that wrist, too, yanking her forward, the jerking motion bringing her against him. Her full, soft breasts were crushed against his chest. He was not aroused. He was annoyed.

“Oh, Brett,” she said with a groan, rubbing her pelvis against his groin, her breasts against his chest.

“Brett!”

His head whipped toward the sound of Storm's voice, and he froze, instantly comprehending the compromising position in which she'd found him. Her face went stark white, her eyes wide as she stood frozen in her tracks, staring at them. Brett pushed away Sophia, who laughed huskily. “Storm, wait!” he cried.

She was running, back the way she had come. Brett took off after her, cursing Sophia, cursing himself, cursing fate. Storm disappeared through the hedges. He followed, turning a corner. Dogwoods and magnolia trees in full bloom greeted him, but there was no sign of his wife. “Storm! Storm! Damn!” he cursed.

“Brett?” Sophia said from behind him.

“Don't come near me,” he snarled, wanting to strike her. He plunged farther into the gardens. This time he didn't call out for Storm, because he was sure she wouldn't answer.

 

“I had no idea you were so eager to go riding with me.” Diego flashed Storm a white grin.

She managed a stiff smile. Did he know something was wrong? Could he tell that her heart was breaking? That at any moment she was going to lose the precarious control she had been exercising and become hysterical? Oh, Brett, how could you!

She had evaded him and somehow had run right into Diego and convinced him that she wanted to go riding now—not a moment later. She had been so stunned and frantic, her blood pumping so wildly, that she hadn't even judged Diego's reaction. She couldn't remember anything. Not going to the stables, not waiting for their horses to be saddled, not mounting, nothing. Now they had put the hacienda behind them and out of sight. All she could think of was Brett with that beautiful woman in his arms. How could you, Brett? It was a silent wail.

“Tell me what is wrong,” Diego said quietly.

Storm tried to smile but failed. “Let's gallop,” she said, and then Demon was running, Storm crouched low over his neck.

Clinging like a monkey, she let him run full out. She rode blindly; she couldn't see because of the tears streaming down her face. The stallion's mane whipped her cheeks. How could Brett? After this morning and last night and yesterday and the night before, after his hands and mouth had worshipped her with such emotion, as if he needed her, wanted her, loved her. As if she were the only woman in the world for him. As if…as if…A sob tore from her chest.

She wasn't aware of stopping, or that the black had eventually slowed on his own accord, that Diego had caught up with her and grabbed the reins, and halting both mounts. She was aware of nothing. Then she felt his hands as he pulled her down and into his arms. “Tell me,
cara
,” he said, holding her. “Tell me why you cry.”

She sobbed hysterically. Her face was buried in his neck, for he was only an inch taller than she, and she clung to his jacket while he stroked her hair and back, the Stetson hanging down her shoulders from the chin strap. Finally awareness sank in, and she realized she was crying with abandon in a stranger's arms. Still, Brett's betrayal made her own seem irrelevant.

Diego cupped her face and lifted it until she was forced to look at him. “You can only be crying like this for a man,” he said softly. “For Brett?”

She nodded.

“And only if there is another woman.”

She nodded again, miserably.

“It is the way of the world,
cara
. Men have wives and mistresses. It is the way.”

“I hate it,” she cried, not able to look at him, not wanting him to witness her pain and humiliation. “I hate him!”

“I think you love him,” he murmured. “I think he is very, very lucky.”

“I hate him,” she cried again.

He held and rocked her, his body warm and comforting. Eventually she had no more tears left to cry. Sniffing, she pulled away, and he released her, watching her steadily. “Perhaps it is better you find out now,
cara
, and not later, when you love him more.”

“I already knew,” she said, accepting his handkerchief and wiping her face. “He has a mistress in San Francisco. A beautiful woman, as beautiful as Sophia.”

“So it was my sister,” Diego said, his gaze narrowed but unreadable. “It doesn't change anything,
cara
, not for you. You are still his wife. When you go back home, Sophia will stay here. She will be forgotten.”

“Not by me,” Storm said savagely. “I'm going to divorce that sonuvabitch.” Her eyes glittered dangerously.

“You are frightening and magnificent,” Diego breathed.

“I'm sorry, Diego,” Storm said suddenly. “What must you think?”

“That you are beautiful beyond belief,” he murmured.

Storm suddenly saw the hot light in his eyes. Not knowing how to respond, she said nothing.

“Let me comfort you,
cara
,” Diego said softly, reaching out to touch her face. “Let me take away all thoughts of him. I can do that.”

She was frozen. Her desire for vengeance was strong and overwhelming. Yes, her mind shouted. Let Diego kiss you, touch you, even love you—then throw it in that bastard's face! Her desire to avenge herself and hurt Brett was suddenly vicious. Diego stepped closer and took her in his arms, accepting her silence for acquiescence. Storm gazed steadily up at him, her heart starting to race.

He groaned softly and lowered his face to hers.

The moment his lips brushed hers, the moment his mustache touched her skin, tickling her, she felt a surge of revulsion. “No,” she cried, and wrenched away. “No, please, just be my friend.”

He stared at her as if debating. She touched his shoulder timidly, tentatively. “Please, Diego, I need a friend.”

He relaxed. “For now I will be your friend, but I want to be your lover,
cara
. He need never know.”

She shook her head. “I can't.”

“Because you love him?” He was intent.

“Yes.” She turned to Demon, mounting. Because her back was to Diego, she didn't see the anger cross his features, and when she smiled down at him, he was smiling back. As if nothing had happened.

 

“Where have you been?” Brett demanded.

She ignored him, calmly removing her Stetson and placing it on a chair, then began unbuttoning her bolero-style jacket.

“Storm, dammit, why did you run off like that?” Brett moved to her, his face taut with worry.

“Don't,” she said, a hot, angry gaze searing him warningly.

“It wasn't what you think,” he said, clenching his hands at his sides. “How could you think Sophia and I—”

“I know what I saw,” she cried, her voice breaking. “Stay away from me—just stay the hell away from me.”

“You didn't see anything,” Brett insisted, grasping her upper arms. “No, don't struggle, I want you to listen!”

“I hate you,” she said tremulously, tears glittering in her eyes. “I truly do.”

“You don't mean that, I know you don't.” He was afraid. “Storm, listen to me.”

“How could you?”

“I didn't! I didn't do anything! She grabbed me, and I grabbed her to get her off. She was pushing against me—we weren't embracing, for God's sake.”

Storm laughed bitterly. “Do you think I'm that stupid?”

“Why won't you trust me?” he demanded. “After the past few days, how could you even think I'd look at another woman?”

“I was deluding myself,” she said honestly. “I really thought it was special.”

“It is, dammit!”

She turned her back on him, pulling off the jacket, her shoulders shaking. She was hurting—over him—but nothing had happened! Her pain tore at him. He pulled her into his arms from behind. “Please believe me,” he whispered. “Storm, darling, it was not an embrace or anything more. Not that Sophia wouldn't like more—although God only knows why when she knows I can't stand her. Please, Storm, trust me.”

She twisted in his embrace until she was facing him, and Brett was agonized to see that her face was tearstained. He didn't want to hurt her. “Trust you?” she
said. “The man who went to his mistress and humiliated me on our wedding night?”

“That's unfair,” he said stiffly, “and you know it.”

“Then what about when you came back from being in Sacramento? You went straight to her! Leanne St. Clair couldn't wait to tell me how my husband had visited his mistress before me. Then you had the gall…the nerve…You pig!” She struck him on the chest.

“You listen,” he roared, capturing her wrists and holding her against him. “Dammit, why do you always think the worst? I did go to Audrey's that day—for all of fifteen minutes. To terminate our relationship. It's over. I wanted to start our marriage off on the right foot, dammit.”

“Really?” It was a hopeful squeak.

He relaxed, gazing down at her. “Yes, really. How could I want her, or any other woman, when I have you?”

Storm bit her lip. “I want to believe you.”

“Then believe me,” he commanded, wrapping his arms around her. “Please, believe me. I'm not a liar, Storm. If I wanted another woman and you found out, I wouldn't deny it. I wouldn't be the first man to have a wife and mistress. But I don't want another woman.”