The Tiger Lily (14 page)

The
sight of Sabrina in the arms of another man, however, had stunned him, sending
a savage flood of conflicting emotions through his body. He was at once grimly
satisfied that she was proving to be as vainly flirtatious as he knew women to
be, but there was also an odd sense of betrayal, of crushing disappointment and
some other powerful emotion . . . jealousy? Stung by his thoughts, he had
jerked away from pursuing them further.

He
was already angered by his reactions, and Sabrina's flippant words were too
provocative to ignore. A glitter in his jade-green eyes, he reached for her,
yanking her brutally against him. His mouth inches from hers, he snarled
softly, "If it's comparisons you're making, add this to your samples!"

Ruthlessly
his lips came down on hers, and the touch of that warm, hard mouth engulfed
Sabrina in a maelstrom of intoxicating, bewildering sensations. Ah, but it was
sweet to have him kiss her again, to be once more in his arms, to have that
taunting mouth moving so urgently on hers, to feel the thunderous beat of his
heart against her breast. She was hazily aware that she had wanted this to
happen. She pressed her slender body closer to his, seeking more than this
half-savage, half-gentle assault upon her senses. Unknowingly she slid her arms
up around his neck, her head tilted backward as she shamelessly, innocently
offered herself to him.

At
her sudden surrender, Brett's anger vanished, and he forgot everything but the
bewitching soft body in his arms. All the hungry desires that he had kept so
tightly leashed sprang free, and his arms tightened around her, crushing her
fiercely against him. His mouth moved with increasing demand across hers, but
it soon wasn't enough, and huskily he commanded, "Open you mouth to me. I
want the taste of you on my tongue."

The
words sent a quiver of excitement through Sabrina, and when his lips touched
hers, she obediently opened her mouth. His tongue plunged hotly between her
parted lips, filling her mouth as he slowly, sensuously explored the inner
warmth.

Stiffening
with shocked, pleasurable astonishment, Sabrina wondered giddily what he was
doing to her. Her knees felt weak, her head was swimming, and there was an
increasingly painful yearning in her loins that the touch of his probing tongue
in her mouth only intensified. Her nipples were unbearably sensitive, and she
moaned softly, wanting incredibly for him to touch her there, to feel his hard,
knowing hands on her breasts.

Brett
had been weeks without a woman, and his body was one long ache of desire. His
manhood was hard and throbbing between their bodies, his blood was thundering
in his brain, and Sabrina's artless response to his lovemaking nearly smashed
his control. Nearly made him forget who she was, who he was, and why it was
both ungallant and dangerous to be kissing her this way. He might treat women
callously and with contempt, but he had made an ironclad vow ages ago never to
chose his ladybirds from among the female relatives of his friends. Nor was it
his custom to share his bed with young girls like Sabrina; his preference ran
to older, experienced women who knew what they could expect from him: skilled
lovemaking and generous settlement—no emotions.

Realizing
sickly how close he was to throwing scruples to the winds, with a smothered
curse, he thrust Sabrina from him. His breath labored, he said sardonically,
"I think that was sample enough, don't you?"

It
took Sabrina a moment to slide back into reality, to leave behind the sensuous
world she had glimpsed in his embrace. She stared up at him blankly, her mouth
slightly swollen from his kiss, her eyes still drowsy "with desire, but
then the import of his words sunk in.

For
a second she glared up at him, and then before he could guess her intentions,
she drew back her arm and slapped his dark face as hard as she could. "You
blackguard!" she spat wrathfully.

Gingerly
he reached up to touch the cheek she had just slapped, and mockery creeping
into his eyes, he said mildly, "For an infant, you certainly pack a
wallop!"

Sabrina
gritted her teeth and said thickly, "Don't call me 'infant'! I am not an
infant
!"

He
suddenly grinned and murmured, "I'll have to admit—you certainly don't
kiss like an infant!"

Choking
back a gasp of fury, Sabrina spun on her heel and stormed through the iron gate
into the courtyard. Fortunately it was empty, and as she marched angrily toward
her room, she wondered blackly how she was going to endure Brett's infuriating
presence for an indefinite amount of time. She was either going to explode with
rage—or murder him!

CHAPTER
EIGHT

 If
Alejandro noticed, as they inspected the various sites for a sugar mill, that
his daughter treated their guest with icy disdain, he made no comment. Nor had
he commented on the suspicious scarlet mark on Brett's cheek. But he
speculated.

Sabrina
speculated about nothing. She was so furious, so ashamed and alarmed by her
reactions to Brett, that she refused to even think of what had happened between
them.

Still
ruffled by the morning's events, she declined to accompany the men when they
rode over to the de la Vega ranch that evening. Besides, she told herself
sourly, she didn't want to sit through a grueling inquisition by Tia Francisca
and all the other curious ladies.

Sabrina
might have escaped Francisca de la Vega's merciless interrogation, but Brett
did not. Alejandro had gently warned him about his sister, but even Brett
hadn't been prepared for such blunt questions.

They
had arrived at the de le Vega ranch a few minutes early, and Francisca had used
that time to good effect. Barely allowing the introductions to be made, she had
instantly launched her questions. When had he arrived? How long was he staying?
Why was he here? What were his prospects? Was he unmarried? Why wasn't he
married? Was he on the lookout for a bride?

Even
if Brett hadn't heard from Sabrina about the possibility of a marriage between
her and Carlos, Francisca's barely disguised hostility and rude questions would
have indicated where the land lay. That and Carlos's even less thinly veiled
dislike.

There
had been almost a tangible air of tension between the two men when they had
been introduced. Brett had sized up Carlos immediately—arrogant, selfish, and
cruel . . . and displeased that a possible rival was on the scene. Carlos was
also quick to take his opponent's measure—a rich, ruthless gringo, and one who
was far too blatantly masculine not to have an effect upon Sabrina. The
americano
was also too confident and had too easy a relationship with Alejandro for
Carlos's liking.

Almost
by unspoken assent, the two men moved away from the others and toward the
courtyard. Carlos instantly opened the hostilities. His black eyes cold and
unfriendly, he murmured softly, "How strange that you should appear so
suddenly in our midst. Alejandro has said nothing of your impending arrival. We
were surprised even to learn of your existence—my uncle seldom speaks of his
dead wife's family, but I am certain that he has never mentioned you before.
Nor has Sabrina. I wonder why?" The words in themselves were innocuous,
but Carlos's tone of voice implied that there was something unsavory and
sinister about the entire thing.

Brett
quirked an eyebrow, well aware that he was being baited. "Oh?" he
said mildly. "Perhaps the reason my name has not been the topic of
conversation is simply that Alejandro does not gossip. As for
Sabrina"—Brett shrugged his broad shoulders, a mocking light leaping to
his eyes—"women do not tell all their secrets . . . especially to other
men."

As
Brett watched interestedly, Carlos flushed angrily, his hand clenching into a
fist. "It is not gossip, " he ground out, "when one merely
acknowledges the existence of a relative—no matter how distant the
connection!"

It
was very apparent that as far as Carlos was concerned, the connection wasn't
distant enough. Senor Dangermond annoyed him, and there was also something elusive
about those jade-green eyes and that reckless mouth that bothered him—where had
he seen this man before? As he stared at Brett, he had the most curious
sensation that he had met him before. But where? And when?

Brett
had the same sensation—I've met this Spaniard before. Somewhere our paths have
crossed, but where? And when? New Orleans was the most logical place. There, or
Spain?

As
Brett made no reply to his earlier comment, Carlos, realizing the uselessness
of open warfare, forced a smile and said smoothly, "You must forgive my
seeming rudeness, but Sabrina is my
novia
, and I am not unnaturally
concerned that a virtual stranger has taken residence in her home."

"Your
fiancee?" Brett questioned sharply, aware of a sudden inexplicable knot
forming in his gut. A slight frown darkening his brow, he added, "I was
under the impression that nothing formal had been decided upon—Alejandro did
not tell me that Sabrina had been formally betrothed." Nor had Sabrina, he
reminded himself dryly.

Carlos
sent him a superior smile. Malice gleaming in the black eyes, he said
mendaciously, "Between Sabrina and myself it has long been settled, the
announcement is a mere formality. Our parents know and wholeheartedly approve
of the match. In fact, they are eager for it—almost as eager as Sabrina and
I."

"I
see," Brett said slowly. He distrusted Carlos's words, and yet . . . This
morning he'd seen Sabrina in this man's embrace, and Sabrina herself had
alluded to the possibility of a marriage between them, so why did he resist the
idea? Because Sabrina hadn't kissed him like a young woman engaged to another
man? He smiled cynically. Now that was a foolish notion. She wouldn't be the
first to act so—hadn't the lovely Diana done the same thing, and with him?

Alejandro
called to Brett just then, and there was no chance for further conversation
with Carlos. Which was just as well, Brett thought wryly. The more I know of
him, the more I find myself holding him in extreme aversion! Almost with relief
he joined Alejandro and was introduced to some gentlemen who had just arrived.
Shortly they all adjourned to the library, leaving Francisca to reign over the
ladies who had accompanied their husbands and sons.

The
de la Vega library was a long, narrow room. Slightly worn but comfortable
leather chairs were scattered about; a huge pine
trastero
served as a
liquor cabinet, and at one end of the room was a rather untidy oak desk.
Colorful rag rugs lay on the wooden planked floor, and for the first time Brett
became aware of an impression that had been forming in the back of his mind
since he had first seen the de la Vega hacienda.

The
de la Vegas were obviously prosperous, but their wealth did not compare with
that of the del Torreses. Their hacienda was smaller, the outbuildings were not
as extensive and the furnishings were noticeably less luxurious. He suddenly
wondered if money wasn't behind Carlos's engagement to Sabrina. Not that Sabrina
herself wasn't reason enough for Carlos wanting marriage, but was it just love
that motivated Carlos? Brett's mouth curved sardonically. What did it matter to
him? Marriage for wealth and position was common among people of his class, but
he found the idea of Sabrina being married for such a reason oddly distasteful.
She certainly had little to gain from the match! Carlos would be the one to
reap the benefits—a lovely wife and a fortune!

Luis
de la Vega called the informal meeting to order, and for the next several
hours, Brett listened alertly to what was being said. A few times he frowned
and almost joined the discussion, but aware that he was a newcomer and a
stranger, he saved his questions and comments until he and Alejandro were
riding home.

They
were quietly traveling along the winding trail that led to the hacienda when
Brett asked suddenly, "How long has this trouble with the bandits been
going on?"

Alejandro
grimaced. "We have always had trouble with bandits—we are too far away
from civilization for rogues and robbers not to flourish. But this latest
series of attacks began, I think, about four or five months ago." His
features brooding, he added, "They are very clever these bandits. They
seem to know exactly when to strike—and precisely whom to rob. The Rios attack
is a good example of their work—Senor  Rios had just returned home from New
Orleans after selling a fine herd of wild horses there, and that very night his
hacienda was attacked and he and his wife were killed. Carlos had been by to
visit them only that afternoon, and he said that poor Rios had been so pleased
and relieved to have made it home safely with his gold." Shaking his head,
Alejandro muttered, "Such a tragedy. Such good people, and now they are
dead, their home looted and burned to the ground."

"Is
this the first time something like that has happened?"

''Si
. Before it was
only robberies—no one had been hurt. But now . . . Now it worries me that they
grow so brazen."

"What
about your hacienda—will Sabrina be safe?" Brett asked curtly.

Alejandro
smiled, suddenly feeling more confident about his attempt at matchmaking than
he had since Brett's arrival. "My hacienda is safe. For weeks now I have
armed my vaqueros and warned them particularly to be wary of strangers. As for
my daughter"—he nodded his head slowly—"she will be safe, but only if
she will stop her willful rides alone."

Brett's
face hardened. "While I'm here you can be damned certain she won't be
doing anything like that!"

Alejandro
smiled again, a very pleased smile.

Brett
wasn't smiling, however, his thoughts on the bandits. Abruptly he inquired,
"You said they seem to know whom to rob. What did you mean?"

"Only
that they make no mistakes; their victims are always affluent people, and they
are robbed, like poor Rios, only when they have great sums of money on
them."

Frowning
blackly, the suspicion that had been forming all evening in his brain becoming
a certainty, Brett asked tersely, "Any strangers in the area lately?"

"No.
At least no more than usual. We are a frontier settlement, amigo, and as such,
we see a constant flow of strangers. But none of them has seemed any more
suspicious than any other, and more importantly, except for a few with families
who have staked out their farms, none has remained."

"Then
your bandits have to be someone you know and trust. There is no other
answer," Brett said flatly.

Alejandro
appeared startled. "But you must be wrong! I know of no one who would do
such a thing! We are a small community—you saw yourself how outraged my fellow
citizens were tonight. Everyone wants these murderers caught and
punished!"

Brett's
brows rose skeptically. "I doubt that. And I would be willing to wager
that your bandits, when found, will turn out to have been at that meeting
tonight— probably wanting to know precisely what is being planned to stop
them."

Alejandro
would not countenance such an idea, and for the remainder of the ride home, he
very earnestly tried to argue Brett around to his way of thinking, all to no
avail. As they dismounted in front of the hacienda, Alejandro said
half-angrily, half-teasingly, "You cling to your stubborn ideas like an
honorable woman does her virtue!"

Brett
smiled. "You should write and tell my father so—he would agree with
you."

Alejandro
snorted, and a few minutes later they parted, Alejandro to seek his bed, Brett
to light a cigarillo and wander out into the empty courtyard. He was strangely
restless this evening, and though the hour was fairly late, almost midnight, he
found himself unwilling to retire to his bed. His lonely bed, he thought with a
twist to his mouth—women did have their uses, and a warm, willing woman would
have done much to relieve the tension that was slowly building within him. The
trouble was, he admitted grimly, the only woman he wanted was a half-child,
half-seductress with flame-colored hair!

Angry
with himself and displeased by the admission that he did indeed want Sabrina,
he coolly switched his thoughts to the evening he'd just spent at the de la
Vega hacienda. More particularly, to Carlos de la Vega. Where the hell had he
seen him before? A cynical expression flitted across his face as he realized
that half his interest in the arrogant Spaniard stemmed from this morning's
incident with Sabrina. That and the irritating fact that Carlos claimed to be
engaged to her. Was there really an understanding between them? he wondered
disagreeably.

Furious
that once again he was focusing on Sabrina, he took another drag on the
cigarillo. For a little while he was able to consider other things—the bandits,
his enjoyment of the Nacogdoches area, and Alejandro's surprising proposition
to grow sugar—but soon he found himself thinking again of Sabrina, remembering
how she had felt in his arms, the way her mouth had tasted when he had kissed her.
With a disgusted motion he ground out the cigarillo under his boot heel.