Surrender to Love (25 page)

He caught her arm bringing her back to him.  His gaze intent upon her, he raised a hand to caress the nakedness of her shoulder, the curve of her neck, as shivers played along her spine, dancing to the rhythm of his languid touch while the heat of desire rose within her.

With that one, simple gesture, Sabine knew he wanted her, too, and the need for  him that had intensified with every touch, every fleeting glance was now mirrored in Michael’s eyes.

Grazing his thumb against her lower lip, he tilted her face and bent his head toward her.  She closed her eyes, indelibly imprinting the very essence of him in her memory; cologne, the sweetness of tobacco, a touch of liquor.

The smells of a man.

Her man, she fervently hoped…yearned…prayed.  Regardless of what society had continually drilled into her head, she honestly and truly wanted him for her own.

“Michael,” someone called out over the music and voices.  “I am most happy to see that you have come.”

Michael groaned inwardly and reluctantly released Sabine from the mesmerizing stroke of his fingers, muttering a curse under his breath as her unsatiated need rapidly subsided to a dull ache, throbbing with tortuous insistence throughout her body.

A heavyset gentleman in black made his way toward them, motioning
with the lit
cigarrito
he held in his right hand while his dark eyes flashed with warmth.

“Enrique said you might not come,” he  said through a thick expanse of mustache as he caught hold of Michael’s hand, thoroughly wringing it in welcome.  “And now that you are here, I am eager to meet the beautiful young woman who is gracing your side this evening.”

“Luís,” Michael replied, and rested his hand comfortably on the small of her back, her pulse quickening at the simple gesture.  “I want you to meet Sabine DuBois.”

So this was
Luís Roderigues, she observed carefully, curiously. He was not at all as she had imagined him to be; somehow, she had expected a tyrant of sorts – much like Manuel Colón – a wealthy planter with money and power to spare, but relief and delight filled her as she discovered that his charm and flashing smile were genuine – not simply a guise intended for deception and fraud.

Regarding her with a sharp inclination of his head,
Luís took her hand and pressed it gently against his lips in a courtly manner, the fringe of his mustache brushing lightly against the heightened nerves of her skin. 

“I can see, Michael, why you went to all the trouble for her. I am most enchanted,
señorita.
”

She watched, intently interested in the man whom Michael greatly admired
and had spoken of with pride.  The Castilian lisp of his words rolled off his tongue smoothly and he leaned over and muttered something low in Michael’s ear.  Michael nodded in polite understanding, his look intense as the older gentleman turned, leaving hurriedly into the crowd.

“Is there anything wrong?” she q
uestioned, noticing Michael’s concern when he was out of earshot.

“No,” he replied distractedly, tension framing his words as he looked after the retreating figure of
Luís.  “Everything’s…fine.  I – do you mind,” he asked, his eyes searching impatiently, “I’ll be just a minute.”

He left before she had the opportunity to reply, and Sabine watched him slip through
the people, closely following Luís’s path.  There was something wrong.  Sabine knew it instinctively as she wound her troubled fingers through the cord of her reticule; she could feel it deep in her bones.

“
Señorita
DeBois?”

Sabine turned, her gaze
falling on the finely chiseled features and dark eyes of the man who stood before her.  His features hinted at a smile as he nodded in greeting, the lantern light glinting off his slicked hair.

“Enrique
Roderigues at your service,” he said, a grin flashing as he reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers invitingly.  “I have heard much about you,” he told her smoothly, “but I am sure many people have told you that this evening.  Would you care to have a seat?”  He motioned to a nearby table.  “You might be more comfortable than standing.”

Setting two glasses on the table, Enrique pulled a chair out for her; she accepted, her gaze darting once more to catch a glimpse of Michael’s blond curls
as the beating of her heart raced in her ears.

“He is talking with my father,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand, turning his attention to Sabine as he placed a glass of champagne before her. 
“He will return shortly.  I promise you.”

“Thank you.”

The remainder of his idle conversation was lost on her as Michael came into view once more, a scowl marring his handsome features as he approached.  He turned sharply as a feminine hand latched possessively on his arm, and a flash on envy pierced Sabine’s heart as he stopped to converse with the woman.

Someone from his past; or was it his present?  A beautiful catlike creature with glossy black hair that cascaded in sculpted waves and ringlet down her back.  Regal.  Elegant.  Everything Sabine was not.

Regret fell on her, dissipating the lingering remnants of her desire, and a sourness settled in the pit of her stomach as her eyes remained staunchly fixed on the scene that unfolded in the distance.

Instead of leaving with the woman who clung to him insistently, Michael angrily shook her off, biting off a series of sharp words.  The Hispanic beauty tossed her head, gesticulating wildly with her hands as she delivered an indecipherable tirade that that caused the fury to rise further in his flushed cheeks.

“That is Gisela,” Enrique stated with disgust, his voice breaking into Sabine’s thoughts.  “Do not concern yourself with her.  She is not worth the effort.”

”I’m not concerning myself with anything,
Señor
Roderigues,” she said quietly, and toyed absently with the stem of the glass before her.

“Your eyes betray you.”

“I don’t think my feelings are any of your business.”

“Michael has spoken very highly of you these past weeks,” he continued, his smile flashing.  “You must – “

He cut his words short as Sabine drew a sharp breath, her eyes wide with astonishment as the woman in blue taffeta snaked her bare arms around Michael’s neck, her red mouth covering his.

“Excuse me,”
she said sharply, and she averted her eyes, her heart leaping wildly in her chest as her stomach churned in betrayal.  “I believe I need some air.”

“I will accompany you,” Enrique said, rising to his feet.

“No.”  Her manner was short, almost angry.  “I’d rather be alone right now.  Thank you.”

She left in a swirl of green muslin,
her vision blurred with the hot pressure of tears that built up behind her eyes.  How could he?  How could he bring her here, only to humiliate her in the midst of these people?  And to think, deep in her heart, she had thought he wanted her.

What a fool she was! What a ridiculous, idiotic fool!

She sat down on a marble bench, the music and laughter muted in the distance as the soothing scent of roses reached her nostrils, and resentfully she brushed away a tear that started out the corner of her eye.  She had wanted so much tonight.  To laugh.  To dance.  To make Michael proud of her. 

But it was too much to ask for, wasn’t it?  A little happiness?  A little slice of heaven to call her own?  It never happened that way for her, she thought bitterly. 
Nothing
ever happened.

“Sabine?”

Her back to him, she sat a bit straighter, lifted her chin a little higher.  All the while tonight he had made her believe she was special; flattered her with kind words, awakened these strange feelings of desire for him that left her aching and confused. 

The reality slapped her hard in the face, just as she knew it always would.  Just as it always had.

And her dreams had been foolish ones.  Dreams of being treated as an equal.  Dreams of being respected and loved and cared for.  Dreams of finding that one special person who would make her feel whole and complete.

Dreams.  That’s all they were. 
And every time she opened herself up and allowed herself that small luxury of escape and hope, reality promptly and rudely reminded her that a colored girl had no right to feel those things.

“Please leave me alone,” she whispered, her voice wavering with tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks, and she wrapped her arms around herself in order to ward off the chill that pervaded her body.

“Enrique told me what you saw.”

“Well, then there’s nothing more to be said, is there?”

“It’s not what you think.”

Michael laid a hand on her shoulder and Sabine shrugged
him off forcefully.  Rising to her feet, she turned to him, the bright glint of tears shining in her eyes.

“I thought maybe you cared more for me than to simply parade me around as one of your whores,” she said sniffling, her voice unsteady.  “But I should have known better, shouldn’t I?  I’ll never be good enough for anything but – “

“God dammit, Sabine,” he shot out in exasperation, grabbing her arm as she stepped away, forcing her to listen to his words.  “Why won’t you give me a chance to explain?  You never listen to me.”  His words were raspy, more subdued now as he looked down on her, his blue eyes smoky under the thick fringe of his lashes.

The indignation she’d felt only moments before faded, and the banked embers of desire flamed as her quickening pulse fanned them to life.  She wanted to hate him…wanted
to reach out and strike him for stirring these feelings in her – feelings she had no right to have.

“You’re so damned headstrong, Sabine,” he continued, slipping an arm around her waist and roughly pulling her closer to him.
  “You get something into your head and you just can’t let go.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” she asked pointedly, but she made no attempt to wrest herself from his hold, he
r heart beating a wild tattoo against her ribs.

“Only when it gets in the way of hearing the truth
.”

Hi gaze still locked with hers, Michael’s hand slid languidly up her arm, his fingers winding into a lock of her hair.

“Who is she?”

“Her name is Gisela Rivera de Cuellar,” he said, his hand brushing softly against the base of her neck.  “And, no, Sabine, before you even ask, I don’t want her.  I never did.  Can I help it if she’s insistent?  I guess you missed the grand finale when she hauled off and slapped for turning down her advances for the thousandth time.”

“I thought, maybe – “

Her gaze broke from his, and intently she fixed her eyes on the buttons of his shirtfront, her bre
ath coming in short gasps as her splayed hands felt the rippling muscles of his midsection.  Why did he insist on this?  Why did he continually bombard her head with all this confusion of love and hate and desire?

“Trust me on this, Sabine,” Michael whispered.  “I have no reason to lie to you.”

He tucked a curl affectionately behind her ear and smoothed her cheek with a work-roughened hand.  Cupping her chin, he coaxed her eyes to meet his.  Damn she felt good as she yielded against him – her softness beckoning him with every move, every touch.  He liked the way his hands encircled her waist; the way her breasts brushed provocatively across his chest; the way the palms of her hands burned through his shirt, causing him to harden against his will.

He wanted her.  He wanted her so bad he had had to fight the urge
to take her right then and there on the patio this evening.  Their movements had almost been a prelude to the sacred dance of lovers – fluid, precise; but now he wanted more.  He wanted to create his own steps – make the dance truly theirs.  Joining.  Moving.  Becoming one as they reached the summit of their release.

His mouth came down on hers, savoring her sweetness, her softness, as his arms wrapped possessively around her
waist and shoulders.  And Sabine willingly responded, sliding her open palms across the firm muscles of his chest, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck as she pressed close to him.

The tenderness of his kiss grew more insistent, more demanding as she allowed his trespass on her body.  His hands plunged into the fullness of her hair, swept over her torso hungrily as he pulled her to the grass with him, his need demanding fulfillment to the pleasure she could offer – the pleasure they could share.

A low moan issued forth from her as his lips brushed the base of her throat, and he rested his hand on the curve of her hip.  He wanted to touch her there – stroke between her thighs until she cried out for more, until he left her spent with satisfaction.  Damn it, he wanted her so badly he could taste it.  Wanted her so badly that –

Muttering an indecipherable curse,
Michael quickly pulled away from her, the throbbing of his unsatiated need anchoring deep within him.  He steadied his ragged breathing as he rested his forehead in his hands.  What the hell did he think he was doing?

“Michael, I – “

“Why do you do this to me,” he asked hoarsely, rubbing at his temples as he squeezed his eyes shut.  “Dammit, you have no right.  You shouldn’t be here. 
We
shouldn’t be here.”