Tallchief for Keeps (11 page)

“Mix…mingle…talk wool. Make sales.” Mark glanced down at Elspeth’s cerulean blue silk gown, which was supported by two tiny straps. A shimmering fringe ran across the bodice, then the gown clung, defining her slender body until it flared from her calves to her feet. Mark eyed her hair, pulled straight back into an elegantly twined chignon. “Wow! What a babe!”

Elspeth shot him a frown. Her stomach ached, and she rubbed her palms together. “Don’t grin. You know I’m nervous. You have no idea how I dislike this…packaging. The clothes in the apartment are too many, too expensive and…exotic. I feel naked enough with my work on display.” She resisted telling him about the mountain of seductive lingerie, scraps of lace and satin she’d found among the clothes.

“Just part of the game…don’t want a little-villager image who sells cheap.” Mark flipped the blue topaz beads at her ear. He touched her bare upper arm. “You’ve got muscles, kid. It’s exciting to know that a strong woman created your work. Just a selling point my partner thinks will work as we package you for the public.”

“I’m not the exhibit. My work…” Elspeth began. Her head throbbed, and in another minute she would return to her room. The gallery was packed, brightly lighted and everything she wanted to avoid.

The guests wanted too much, picking at the pieces of her life. One woman wanted to know if Elspeth had children, and how nice it was to pass a feminine tradition down to children.

Elspeth ignored the familiar pain and
answered that her works were her children.

“I must have that,” a woman told her husband, pointing to the untitled hanging. “I’m not much on that Native American-theme stuff and plastic arrow-heads, but this would be great in our bedroom—it’s so sensuous, so erotic.”

“Plastic arrowheads,” Elspeth muttered to Mark.

“Shh.”

Mark leaned closer to Elspeth. “Do more like that…the erotic stuff. We’ll pick up another clientele—”

“Not a chance—”

Mark turned, his expression lighting as he shook hands with Alek Petrovna. “Hey, guy. We’ve been waiting for you. This is Elspeth Tallchief, one talented weaver woman.”

Alek, dressed in a collarless black silk shirt under an expensive suit jacket and loose slacks, loomed at her side. His brows and lashes gleamed in the bold light, his cheekbones cut at angles across his face and there was nothing soft about his mouth and jaw. His scars and shoulder-length, unruly hair only added to his dangerous look, drawing women’s eyes. Alek did not look away from Elspeth. One eyebrow lifted, mocking her. He took Elspeth’s hand and raised it to his lips. He did not let it go at her first tug.

The shawl draped around his shoulders was
fringed and elegant, fluttering as he moved. Elspeth noted the merino wool and the fiery gold-and-red design made in Paisley, Scotland.

Una’s shawl.

She almost ripped it from him, but didn’t only because she treasured the fine work and her heritage. The man was another matter. Alek had found a new way to enter her life. The shawl was his declaration. Aware that the crowd was focused on Alek, a tall, striking man dressed in a suit and a fiery feminine shawl, she rounded on Mark. She sheathed her fury in a whisper. “Is this your partner? Is this the man that I’m supposed to travel with, to the exhibits?”

She could feel the snarl of anger curling in her. Alek should have looked silly in the shawl; he didn’t. The soft, fiery texture only enhanced his dark skin and black, amused eyes, and she hated him more for that.

Surprised by her hushed fury, Mark was alarmed. “Well, yes. Alek is my partner. He pointed me to your work. I’m glad he did. The first pieces we sold brought a hefty price, but with this showing that will go up. Elspeth, this is Alek—”

She rubbed her temples, her headache pounding. “I know who he is. Mark, you should have told me—”

“I’m her admirer. Let’s not belabor details, Elspeth. Mark, don’t sell that piece. It’s her best work, and let’s show it off.” Alek reached out the flat of his hand to caress the hanging in a blatantly sexual manner that took her breath away. Then he wrapped his arm around her waist and eased her through the crowd, despite her resistance. “I knew blue would look good on you.”

They were on the patio and alone. Elspeth jerked free and gripped the wooden railing. In another minute, she’d—“What do you think you’re doing?”

Her earring gleamed in his ear, challenging her.

Clearly bothered by Alek’s
commandeering and Elspeth’s unexpected temper, Mark strolled into their battlefield. He looked worriedly from Elspeth to Alek. “Is everything okay?”

“Go away, Mark,” Alek murmured. “She’s just a bit nervous.”

“Yes, please, Mark. Go away. I’ll be fine.” Elspeth wanted Alek to herself. She wanted to strangle him. He’d invaded her life and now her heritage. When they were alone, she said, “I want that shawl. How much?”

“You’ll have to fight me for it, love. Or you could tell me about the Marrying Moon.”

Every nerve in Elspeth’s body
stretched taut. No one had ever dared to toy with her, to push her as Alek had done. She wasn’t certain how she might react, but with Alek the prospect excited her more than weaving. “You deliberately packaged yourself in something that is mine. This could be war.”

“Mmm. I’m not going anywhere. Do your damnedest.” He leaned to brush a kiss on her nose, playing with her.

“You’d better take care of it. You chose this—” her hand swept down her gown “—and those bits of lace called lingerie. Alek Petrovna, you are a jerk…. Where did you get that shawl?”

“As a matter of fact, Talia picked the lingerie. I told her I wanted to give a woman friend something nice. Since I’ve been out of the lingerie game for a while and you were the wearee, my taste ran to bare flesh and nothing else. She has matching styles that she wears for Calum alone. The shawl is from a Paisley shawl collector. Sybil described it to me perfectly. It needs a broach, don’t you think?” Alek’s hand caressed the shawl.

She couldn’t let him get away with that. Elspeth caught his curls in her fist and drew his face down to her level. He didn’t deserve kindness. He’d invaded her privacy; she didn’t intend him to leave unmarked. Alek’s kisses had been hot and hungry, leaving her without a complete thought. She intended to do the same to him and maybe more. Elspeth tossed away the red flag of caution tugging at her; Alek needed a lesson, and she intended to give it to him.

“Here’s a challenge for you, Mr. Petrovna.”

She intended the kiss to be sensual, but she hadn’t prepared for the instant tenderness he returned, the gentle tempo of his lips brushing hers lightly and hers following his. He tasted of everything she’d missed and everything she wanted to grasp selfishly for herself. Unaccustomed to greed, Elspeth reeled in the need to vanquish Alek, to pit herself against him. She moved closer, allowed her body to lightly touch his. Alek tensed, the movement satisfying her.

No, it didn’t. Nothing could satisfy her but bringing him to his knees.

A siren wailed in the street below as Elspeth trailed a fingertip down his cheek and watched his expression harden. Because she knew she must, Elspeth stood on tiptoe and lightly kissed the scar on Alek’s lip.

He jerked her to him, wrapped his arms
around her waist and hauled her into the shadows of the potted bushes. Elspeth gripped the shawl with both fists. “Alek, you’re over your head.”

“Am I? You’ll have to show me, won’t you?” Alek’s hands went beneath the soft shawl. He touched her breasts lightly, tracing the shape of them. Elspeth breathed quietly, uncertain now. His prowling fingertip slipped beneath the bodice and stroked her softness. She wanted to be immune to his touch, to walk away unaffected. Alek leaned close to her, placed his scarred cheek against her smooth one and stood very still, allowing her the freedom to walk away. He wasn’t holding her; he breathed heavily, his fingertips smoothing her breasts, following the shape of her slowly. Then his hands cupped her breasts firmly, possessively. He bent slowly to place his face in the curve of her throat and shoulder. Her heart pounded heavily, racing…. The woman in her stirred, softened and wanted….

Elspeth closed her eyes. Alek wasn’t taking; he was giving himself to her care. Nothing could have been more effective.

His lips moved, kissing her throat, and she feared to breathe, her fingers fluttering against the soft wool around his shoulders.

She wanted him against her, deep inside where heat forged them as one—where the pounding of their blood couldn’t be defined as his or hers.

She’d have him frothing and then she’d walk away, leaving him to simmer in what he had started. There would be no Petrovna’s law where she was concerned; Alek had tossed her a challenge she couldn’t resist.

Elspeth slid her hands under his suit, caressed his chest and placed one palm over his heavily beating heart. Alek tensed, then ripped away the shawl and his jacket and caught Elspeth close again. “Touch me. Make me feel, Elspeth.”

He pulled the pins from her hair, releasing it and burying his face in it. Elspeth fought the emotions rising in her; she was too susceptible to Alek’s tender touch.

Alek bent and lifted her in his arms.
He raised her to kiss her throat. Elspeth dug her fingers into his shoulders, shaking, fighting. She hesitated, poised at the edge of a dangerous abyss, hovering between staying in the shadows and taking what she desired.

Desire. Heat. Hunger.

Alek’s heated face pressed against her throat, and he dragged aside one strap of her dress with his teeth, instantly claiming her breast with his lips. Shocked by the intimate heat, the laving of his tongue, Elspeth tensed, caught on the edge of surprise and delight. Another flick of his tongue, the edge of his teeth, and she fought the fire rising in her, stepped into heated space and gave herself to the gentle suckling until she was shaking. She pressed his head against her, running her fingers through the black curls and gave herself to the heat of his mouth, the sensations coursing through her, the need to be alive, to take, to give. When Alek lowered her, she raised her arms to capture him and gave him her mouth.

He was gentle, tempting her tongue with his.

She was on fire, wanting him closer.

This was Alek, her Alek, her lover and—He groaned unevenly, shaking in her arms, exciting her. His hands trembled when he touched her lightly, and it wasn’t enough. Elspeth nipped at his throat, and Alek shuddered; his hands smoothed her hips, then locked to her and pushed her against his steely need.

His palms ran down her thighs, trembling, easing the gown higher until he touched her soft, quivering thighs. His fingers explored the lacy elastic of her stockings and then found the satin lace covering her femininity.

She moved slightly, and his fingers caressed the damp satin, sliding inside to the heat—“Alek!”

His body supported her as the pounding, the intimate clenching, began, riveting her until she climbed the peak and then gently, slowly melted against him.

Alek shook, taut with need as he kissed
her and soothed the tremors running through her. “Elspeth,” he whispered hoarsely against her loosened hair.

His tone sent her tumbling into another time, when another woman’s name crossed his lips.

Reality and shame came creeping softly to her. She wanted to walk away and couldn’t, her legs still trembling. Alek had taken her beyond what she wanted, to prove she could take him down—

He smoothed her hair, drawing her head to rest on his chest. “Let me hold you.”

Alek rocked her gently, and Elspeth gave herself to a safety she hadn’t known since her parents died. She should have moved away; she couldn’t. She closed her eyes and knew that she didn’t want to think, to fight him…not now.

“You are not a nice man. I think
I’m going to kill you,” she said finally, faced with the reality of a gallery filled with clients already curious about her. She had to get away; she’d exposed her needs. She trembled and waited for Alek to speak. In another minute, she’d shatter….

He brought her hair to his lips, his eyes burning as he looked down at her. “Blush is definitely your color.”

Alek turned her and began combing her hair. She shivered, emotions streaking through her; she’d just threatened to kill him—not seriously—but she intended to nick him in a few places where it would count.

The novelty of being tended startled Elspeth; usually she was the caregiver. “You’ve done this before.”

Of course he had; Alek Petrovna had devoured experienced women. “I had baby sisters. Anton couldn’t be trusted not to tie their hair in knots.”

She didn’t believe him, not for a moment. Alek had touched her with experience.

Mark suddenly appeared in the lighted doorway. “Come on, Elspeth. They want to meet you. She’s been nervous all day, Alek.”

“She’s relaxed a bit.” Alek’s Texas drawl was back and filled with amusement. He stared down at her, the angles of his face rigid and reflecting his desire for her. She’d done that much at least—raised his desire. A quick learner, she could have him panting and giving her the shawl….

He jerked her hair lightly, forcing her to look at him over her shoulder. “You’ll have to work a bit harder to get that shawl, my fair Elspeth,” he whispered huskily.

“You think I…?” She
began to wonder if her hands would fit around Alek’s thick neck.

Mark came closer, clearly curious about Alek combing Elspeth’s hair. Alek made one long braid, then reached to neatly tear away a fringe from her bodice, which he used to tie off the braid.

Mark moved to Elspeth’s back. “Good job. Gave her a neck massage, did you? Good for tense muscles. I should have thought of that—the Native American look mixed with a contemporary businesswoman. You missed a strand, Alek. Do it again.”

“Do you want to?” Alek was not
amused.

“Heck, no. You won’t catch me braiding a girl’s hair. Your hands are shaking. Alek, you look like you want to strangle someone. Be cool, guy. She’ll be okay—”

“I think tomorrow I’ll strangle you slowly,” Alek muttered darkly.

“Will the two of you stop?” Elspeth wanted to escape Alek’s touch and her shattered emotions and the people waiting for her.