PHANTOM IN TIME (20 page)

She
waved a hand. “You most certainly do—kissing all those women, leading them on.
Tell me, do you intend to go to bed with all of them?”

“But
of course not!” Now he was a picture of outraged male vanity. “I simply adore
all the girls in the troupe, as they adore me. I enjoy them as I relish every
charm life has to offer. I kiss them to let them know they please me with their
youth and beauty. That does not mean I intend to seduce them all.”

“Ah,
so the kisses are innocent?” she asked cynically.

“Yes.”

“Then
why did you take such umbrage today when Andre kissed me?”

Storm
clouds loomed in Jacques's eyes. “Because
his
kiss was not so innocent.
He intends to seduce you.”

“As
do you.”

Jacques
grinned. “But of course.”

Bella
flung down her napkin. “Oh, you are such a reprobate! Totally without a
conscience. And I refuse to believe those kisses of yours are so chaste. Indeed
someday, an outraged husband or sweetheart of one of those women is going to
march onstage and shoot you.”

He
laughed. “Then we had best enjoy ourselves while we can—eh,
ma belle?”

“You
are impossible,” she declared.

Jacques's
mirth was curtailed as Abner stopped by their table. “Mr. LeFevre, Henry has
requested that you come to the stage and sing for our guests.”

Jacques
scowled. “Can you not see I am with a lady?”

Abner
smiled at Bella. “By the lady's leave, sir.”

Bella
eyed Jacques's expectant face and knew he was dying to perform. Disappointment lanced
her at the thought that he preferred singing to being with her. Despite his
contention that they had a lot in common, he truly was an exhibitionist, a
showman to the core, totally different from her. Would any woman ever possess
his heart as steadfastly as did the stage?

“Oh,
go ahead, I'll be all right,” she muttered.

“Will
you sing with me?” he asked wistfully.

The
unexpected request caught her off guard, and the longing reflected on his face
tempted her more than she ever would have dreamed. But he was asking her to
share his world when she knew she could not. Reluctantly, she shook her head.
Jacques sighed, pecked her cheek, and swaggered off to the stage.

Bella
soon found herself regretting her choice, indeed aching to join him, as he sang
several popular melodies in his mesmerizing tenor. The crowd was particularly
enthralled by his stirring rendition of “I Love You in the Same Old Way.” He
stared at Bella throughout, and she felt her cheeks heating with excitement.
She knew he was singing the song just for her, and this left her confused and
conflicted. How could his singing take him away from her yet draw her close,
all at the same time?

Between
renditions, the showgirls began to buzz around him, touching his arm, laughing,
and brazenly flirting with him. Bella could feel her blood pressure surging.
She was further miffed when two of the girls pulled him onto the stage to dance
the cancan with them. Of course the rogue obliged, grinning the whole time!

The
crowd went wild, stomping and cheering as Jacques, with an arm around the waist
of each girl, kicked up his heels, laughed, and danced with the women to the
lively music. The exhibition became so spirited that at one point the three of
them almost careened off the stage. But Jacques reeled in both females and
whirled them back into line, and Bella found herself gritting her teeth,
perversely wishing he had skidded off the stage and landed on his head. At the
conclusion of the song, he took his bows with the women—then kissed them both,
to the howling approval of the crowd!

Bella
had seen enough. Seething, she rose, left the saloon and went out onto the
deck. Her fists were clenched, her stomach churning with anger and jealousy.
Not even the cool breeze, the spectacular vision of the Mississippi aglow with
silvery moonlight, the huge full moon hanging in the distance, could cool her
fury, especially since she was equally frustrated with herself because she
could not seem to take part in Jacques's cavalier world, could not devour life
with his same
joie de vivre.

Within
a moment, he joined her at the railing. “Bella, what is wrong?” he asked
solicitously, slipping his arm around her waist.

Finding
herself illogically close to breaking down, she shoved him away. “Leave me
alone.”

His
tone was bewildered. “You are angry because I danced the cancan?”

Her
voice trembled with anger. “And kissed the girls.”

He
gave a low chuckle. “You're jealous, aren't you,
petite?
But, Bella,
I've already explained about the kisses.”

To
her horror, his cajoling tone pushed her even further toward mortifying tears.
“Fine. Go back inside and kiss all the showgirls you want. Just stay the hell
away from me.”

He
whistled softly, then trailed a caressing fingertip up and down her bare
throat. His voice was sensual. “Let me kiss you as I've never kissed any
showgirl.”

Catching
a shaky breath despite herself, she drew away and flung a glower at him. “No,
thank you. I don't think I can compete with your adoring female following.”

He
leaned over to whisper at her ear, his warm breath making her break out in
gooseflesh. “Ah, but none of them can compete with you,
ma belle.”

Her
voice cracked with hurt. “Look, why don't you just stop lying and leave me
alone?”

“I'm
not lying, Bella,” he replied seriously.

“Fine.
Leave me alone anyway.”

“But
you're angry and upset, and you must let me make it better,” he cajoled.
“Besides, we are stuck together until the boat returns to the levee, no?”

“Unfortunately,
we are,” she replied, turning back to the railing and staring moodily at the
river.

Jacques
moved up behind her, his warm hand touching her bare arm. “Are you cold,
darling? Is this gooseflesh I feel?”

“I .
. .” Not wanting to admit that
he
had excited her, murmured, “It's just
a bit cooler out here. I'll adjust.”

“I'll
warm you,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist and nestling her
against him.

Oh,
he was warm—so warm, and hard and strong against her! His possessive cuddling
deeply thrilled her, but she was still indignant enough to resist the
treacherous pleasure. “Let me go.”

“No,”
he replied calmly, running his hand up and down her arm, “not until you stop
shivering, and calm down a bit.”

“Release
me or we're going to come to blows,” she gritted.

The
rogue only chuckled, tightening his grip. “In that case I shall win. Don't fight
me, Bella. I'm not going to hurt you.”

She
groaned, realizing he had left her no choice. She felt extremely vulnerable
being comforted by the very man who had so offended her pride. She feared she
would give in, expose herself and her emotions to him. Yet Jacques, like no man
she'd ever known, had the unique ability to unravel her, to stir up her
emotions and make her all too susceptible to his wooing.

He
leaned over, pressing his warm cheek against hers. “Look how beautiful the
night is, Bella.”

Repressing
a shiver at the feel of his warm, slightly rough cheek against hers, she gazed
out at the endless silvery river, the shadowy trees beyond. She heard an owl
hooting deep in the forest, and realized that the grandeur of the night and the
romantic steamboat ride were only enhancing the provocative spell Jacques was
weaving about her. “It's quite lovely.”

Jacques
brushed his fingertips across her shoulder, then toyed with her earring. “You
are still angry about the chorus girls?”

Restraining
a shiver, she nodded.

His
titillating finger stroked her underlip. “Let me kiss you and make amends.”

“No,”
she whispered, shuddering.

Abruptly,
she was turned and pressed against his warm, hard chest, facing his intent,
dark countenance. “I'm sorry, Bella,” he murmured.

Bella
was caught off guard by the unexpected and sincere apology. He was regarding
her so tenderly that she thought she might die of the poignant aching he
stirred inside her. Slowly, he caught her lips with his own.

Her
response was utterly shameless, as if her will were no longer her own. A riot
of desire seared her at the touch of his warm mouth. All the tensions between
them poured forth in a single kiss. She opened her mouth to him, welcoming the
deep, hot thrust of his tongue. She pressed herself eagerly into his warmth and
curled her arms around his neck. Her nipples tingled at the pressure and warmth
of his chest. Jacques's heat, his scent, his vitality, aroused her deeply.

“How
do you feel now,
ma chère?”
he murmured huskily against her cheek. “Do
you still hate me so?”

A
small, shaky laugh escaped her. “I think I am disgraceful—watching you flirt
with the others, then letting you cajole me this way.”

“Ah,
ma belle,
you cannot fight what is meant to be,” he whispered. “Come
home with me tonight. Let me take you to bed, make love to you, worship you,
and show you that you are the only woman who stirs me in this way.”

Oh,
she was so tempted! It would be so easy to give in to the passion she felt. But
the truth was, she
wasn't
the only woman who moved Jacques LeFevre this
way. Doubtless every female between here and Memphis aroused him to staggering
desire. They were from separate worlds, and wanted different things out of
life. And besides, giving in to her carnal appetites might well distract her from
her more important purpose of saving his life.

With
great effort, Bella managed to pull away. “I—I think it's time for us to go
back inside.”

He
gripped her hand. “Not quite yet. I must know something.”

“What?”

Soulfully
he regarded her. “Why wouldn't you sing with me, Bella?”

For
a long moment she stared out at the river, listening to the churning of the
paddle wheel, the distant croaking of frogs. “I . . . just couldn't. Something
inside me held me back. It always does.”

“Your
fear,
ma belle?”
he asked gently.

She
nodded.

His
thumb stroked her moist palm. “And this same fear keeps you apart from me?”

She
bit her lip.

“Bella?”

“Yes,”
she admitted shakily.

He
pulled her close again and pressed his lips to her hair. “Ah, so now I understand.
Perhaps you did run from a scoundrel who tried to ravish your innocence. My
tender little rosebud hasn't blossomed yet. You are a virgin, no?”

Unprepared
for the direct question, Bella gasped and jerked away from him. “You are
crude.”

He
grinned his triumph. “But I spoke the truth, no? You may be hiding things from
me, Bella, but you do not respond with the full abandon of a woman of
experience.”

“Perhaps
you don't excite me in that way,” she asserted with bravado.

He
cupped her chin in his hand and stared her straight in the eye. “That's a lie
and we both know it.”

Bella
glanced hastily away, feeling weak and tremulous, but retreating in the face of
an obvious truth.

“I'm
delighted, you know,” he added softly.

She
turned back to him, outraged. “You would be. Seducing a virgin would make your
victory so much sweeter, wouldn't it? Tell me, does a virgin qualify for two
notches on your bedpost rather than just one?”

He
actually blanched at her harsh words. “Do you think I only want to conquer you,
Bella?”

“I
have no idea what you really want,” she replied honestly, “besides the
obvious.”

“I
will tell you this—I want all of you, Bella.” His tone was intense. “And have
you thought that you may not be able to sing publicly until you release
all
of your passion?”

Bella
was electrified to hear Jacques ask the very question she had ofttimes asked
herself. He possessed an uncanny, unnerving ability to see through her, to
delve into her fears, thoughts, and motives. “I . . . don't know.”

“But
it's true, darling. The passion and music are one in you, just as we will
become one. But you hold back, Bella. You cling to your fear like a child. And
you will never be happy until you embrace life and music to the fullest, until
you give free rein to your emotions and become the fulfilled woman you're meant
to be.”

“You're
just saying that to get me into your bed,” she accused, her voice quivering.

“Non,
darling,” he murmured, then chuckled. “Well, perhaps I am, a little. I want you
very much, you see.” He caught her hand and raised it to his lips, convulsing
her with new shivers as he gently kissed her flesh. “But how can you know I'm
wrong, darling Bella? You've never been fully seduced, have you?”

She
stared up at him, electrified, and he claimed her lips once more. She moaned as
he slashed his tongue possessively inside her mouth, drowning her with his
kiss. His hand moved to cover her breast, the fingers gently kneading, and she
arched eagerly into his bold touch. Desire seared her deeply, prompting her to
slip her hands inside his jacket and caress the strong muscles of his back.

Oh,
she was wanton, kissing him this way, mere moments after he'd kissed the
showgirls! But he was hers now—hers at least for this moment—and that was all
she cared about.

“You
know I'm going to have you, Bella,” he whispered against her ear. “You can
fight it, but it's futile.”

She
knew . . . oh, God, did she know!

At
last, when a laughing couple joined them on deck, Jacques took Bella's hand and
pulled her back inside. Although flushed and breathless, she thrust her chin
high and avoided his eye, fearing otherwise she would be lost—

Instead
of reforming the rogue, she was becoming hopelessly corrupted herself!