Tempted Tigress (40 page)

He shook his head, finding it difficult to verbalize what he hoped. "I want to ask the angels for a path. For my path." To see if
she
was his path.

Anna stared at him. "But you have always chosen your own path. You are the Enforcer. You were the darling of the Forbidden City. You have chosen all that you are."

He nodded, unable to deny it. And yet, he was also not proud of his choices. Perhaps it was time to choose something else, to allow the angels to guide him. His own choices had brought him little but blood and pain. "Will you help me?" he asked.

She nodded without hesitation, though he could tell she did not believe.

"We have one night," he said. "Whatever can be done in that time—"

"We will do together," she finished for him. He smiled, taking her hand in his and drawing her to his side. "I have had a chamber prepared for us."

From Anna Marie Thompson's journal

September 21,1895

I can't stop. I have tried and tried, but I can't quit taking opium. The dreams haunt my nights, and I spend all my money on it. I am so afraid that one day the pain will get too much and I will steal from Samuel. I can't. He will kill me.

But the dreams come, and they're so real. Dead men whose blood gushes hot into the dirt. Living men in an opium stupor. And I know I'm one of them, with dead eyes but a beating heart. And then, worst of all—the memories I can't remember except when I relive them in dreams. The times with men and unspeakable things. The things I allowed. The things I did...

I'm not even a whore, because I wasn't paid.

I want to die.

I want to stop.

I have to stop or I will die.

I have to stop.

Suppose there were people from another country who carried opium for sale to England and seduced your people into buying and smoking it; certainly you would deeply hate it and be bitterly aroused... Formerly the number of opium smugglers was small; but now the vice has spread far and wide, and the poison penetrated deeper.

—Lin Zexu, high commissioner of Canton,

in a letter to Queen Victoria, 1839

Chapter 17

Anna wasn't sure what to expect. Enlightenment through sex seemed to be a silly, heathen idea. But Zhi-Gang was the best educated, smartest man she'd ever met. And more important, he didn't have to lie to get her into bed. Why fall back on an elaborate religion just to sleep with her? Because he believed it? He couldn't possibly think that he could commune with angels just from bed play.

Apparently, he did. His manner was excruciatingly serious as he escorted her into the best bedchamber in the brothel. The house was closed for the night, which meant most of the prostitutes were gone or taking a much needed rest. That left the large building eerily quiet. Fortunately, the room they were in had been cleaned, the bedding changed, and the window open enough to let a soft breeze ripple through the faded silk tapestries.

Anna stood in the middle, next to the massive bed, and felt the most bizarre urge to giggle. She ruthlessly suppressed it, but that only made the feeling worse. Like a held-down jack-in-the-box, her mirth twisted and bubbled inside her, refusing to be denied.

"Are you hungry? I could have them bring up dumplings."

His statement wasn't funny, but she lost control anyway. A snort burst out of her mouth. He looked at her in startled surprise. She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

"Um, no," she finally managed with all seriousness. "I'm not hungry."

He nodded, his expression unreadable. Then he stepped closer and put a hand on her shoulder. The touch was electric, sending a shiver down her spine, but it also released another giggle. She tried to swallow it, but it slipped into her nose where she both snorted and choked at the same time. All in all, it was not an attractive moment. And yet, when she looked up at him, she saw humor in his eyes.

"You are nervous," he said.

"I..." The word came out as a high-pitched trill.

"I understand." He reached out to touch her face, but stopped just short. "It is a frightening thing, this attempt to speak to angels."

"It's..." She stopped just short of saying it was ridiculous. He knew her opinion, and she had agreed to try. So she adjusted her thoughts and her words. "It's a different thing," she said. "And I am not one who leaps easily into things that are different."

He frowned. "You left an orphanage to follow your adopted father. You ran opium up and down China. You tried to escape on the Grand Canal carrying that opium. I have never met a woman more different than you!"

She laughed, the sound coming easily now. "Nevertheless, there is different and then..." she dropped her voice. "There is
different."

This time, his hand did touch her cheek. "There is no reason to fear. I am with you."

She closed her eyes, turning her face into his caress. She felt each of his calloused fingers as it curved across her cheek and under her chin. Then she felt his thumb roll over her lips and realized she was still smiling. How odd, that she would do such a thing as smile with the Enforcer. But she did. He made her smile, and she wasn't even sure why.

"I am not afraid," she whispered. Her words echoed through her heart and mind with more meaning than she expected. He kept her safe. Whatever else she felt around him—
for
him—she wasn't afraid, and that made all the difference.

She darted her tongue out to taste the pad of his thumb. Her eyes were closed, so she couldn't see his response, but she felt his thumb against her mouth. Then he exerted a slow pressure. Her lower lip pushed down and his thumb slipped inside. Again she tongued it, rolling the tip along and around, feeling the changing textures, tasting the faint echo of Little Pearl's soy dumplings and special tea.

But the memory of Zhi-Gang's sister recalled other things to mind—most especially, what they were attempting. She drew back, opening her eyes to see him staring mesmerized at his thumb.

"That's probably not the way we're supposed to begin," she said.

He blinked and shook his head. "There are techniques and exercises." He shrugged. "But my sister tells me that intention and presence are what matter."

Anna shook her head. "I don't understand."

"I intend to stimulate your yin, mix it with my yang, and use the combination as a force to launch me to Heaven."

She stared at him. His words meant less than nothing to her. They didn't even appear to mean much to him. His tone was flat, his words spoken quietly. She lifted her hands in a confused gesture. "What do you want me to do?"

"Let me touch your breasts."

Until he spoke the words, she hadn't been very aware of her breasts. Now she abruptly felt every inch of her chest constricted beneath the tight silk. She felt their weight, their lift and lowering with every breath. And though her nipples hadn't swollen, there was a slight tingling beneath, as if in preparation for what he intended.

"I..." She swallowed. "Of course." She looked down at her silk top, then began fumbling with the buttons at her neck. He extended his hand to help, but she shook her head. "No," she murmured, strangely reluctant to let him do this. "No. I can do it."

He nodded, his hands falling to his side. She was aware of him watching her, following the awkward movement of her fingers and seeing the slow drop of fabric away from her body. The frog clasps began high at her collar, then cut across the top of her shoulder before dropping down her side. As she undid the buttons, the silk dropped open across one breast. She wore no undergarment. There hadn't been any available. So as she worked, a triangular view of the top of her breast appeared. That exposed skin grew larger and larger until her whole left breast was revealed to both their eyes.

She glanced up, embarrassment heating her cheeks.

This was supposed to be a religious experience, a serious seduction, no matter how bizarre it felt. Yet, here she was, bungling the most basic of tasks. Shouldn't she be moving erotically or doing something enticing? She didn't know how, didn't understand what to do, and so she looked at Zhi-Gang hoping for an answer while simultaneously fearing to see his disappointment.

He didn't meet her eyes. His gaze was fastened on her breast. She was still trying to undo the last button above her hip. One arm was lifted awkwardly while the other stretched across her to fumble at her waist. There was nothing beautiful in the position, and yet he still appeared fascinated.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why is that one breast so interesting?"

He took a moment to answer, but his gaze never left it. "Your skin is so fine it is nearly transparent. I see the veins and the blood. It is like a tiny net just beneath the skin."

She couldn't tell if he was repulsed or fascinated. His words seemed clinical, and yet as he watched her breast in the fading sunlight she heard awe in his tone.

"This is very strange," she murmured.

He flashed her a grin. "I have never really looked at a woman's breast before," he said. "Well, of course as a boy I was fascinated by them. Small ones, big ones, fleshy ones, tight ones—all were intensely amazing. But only because they made my cock hard and my thoughts run to sex. Your breast is..."