The Tiger Lily (26 page)

She
was furious with Carlos for his actions and she would never trust him again, but
she didn't hate him—there were too many childhood memories binding them
together. As time passed, and she gradually calmed herself, she had begun to
search for some reason for his actions. She couldn't imagine anything that he
could ever say that would wipe out this afternoon's ugly memory, but deep in
her heart, she hoped that there was some extenuating circumstance that would
explain his actions.

As
for Brett . . . Her young face hardened. What else should she have expected
from him? He had no use for women—except one, according to Tia Sofia—and even
though these past days, she had hoped that they were forging a strong new bond,
today had showed her how frail that hope had been. He would always believe the
worst about any woman, and for that she could never forgive him. Had he really
believed that she would respond to him the way she had and then creep out to be
mauled and pawed by Carlos? Her mouth had twisted distastefully. What an ugly,
tortuous mind he must have, she had thought angrily.

Carlos
had betrayed a trust, but Brett's betrayal went deeper. He should have
understood, she had repeated savagely to herself. He should have realized,
should have known I would not be a willing partner to what was going on—no
matter how it looked! It wasn't very rational thinking, but Sabrina was young
and was caught in the painful throes of her first love.

She
hadn't known how she was going to react when she saw Brett again, but her heart
had given a funny little jerk in her breast when she walked out to join the men
at the table and was confronted with his indifferent glance. The face he showed
her was politely remote, and remembering the warm smiles they had been
exchanging this past week, her eyes sparkled with temper.

As
interested as he was in their blooming love affair, it was to be expected that
Alejandro would notice immediately the air of reserve and stiff punctiliousness
between the two younger people. His eyes puzzled and a little worried, he
looked from one set face to the other. What in the world, he wondered
bewilderedly, has caused this? And it wasn't until after a stiff, uncomfortable
dinner that an inkling came to him.

The
long table had been cleared, and fourteen-year-old Lupe, one of the kitchen
servants, was bringing in bowls of peaches, green grapes, and cheeses for
dessert, when Alejandro said casually to Sabrina, “
Chica
, I hesitate to
bring this up . . . but I do not think it is proper or wise for you to be
meeting so privately with your cousin Carlos. Brett mentioned to me this
afternoon that he had seen the two of you at the gazebo, and I really must
insist that if you wish to see Carlos you should do so here in your own
home."

Sabrina's
face paled, and she stiffened. Tale-bearing was not one of the crimes she would
have laid at Brett's door, but obviously she had overrated his scruples. Her
voice choked with outrage, her eyes flashing contemptuously, she got out,
"
Cielos
! And having seen us there together, he must immediately run
to you with the tale! There are words for men like him—ugly words!"

Startled,
Alejandro could only stare at her in astonishment. "
Chica
, what is
this? Why—"

Sabrina
stood up abruptly, and interrupting Alejandro, she said regally, "If you
will excuse me, I must leave." Slinging a venomous look at Brett, she
added, "The air in here is suddenly foul!"

Open-mouthed,
Alejandro watched as she swept from the room, her yellow muslin skirts frothing
behind her. He looked over at Brett and muttered, "What in the world
disturbed her so? I cannot understand her these days."

The
dark green eyes fixed with cold anger on the door Sabrina had just stormed
through, Brett threw down his napkin and said in a hard voice, "If you'll
excuse me, Alejandro? I would like a word with your daughter!"

Speculation
leaping to his eyes, his mouth still open, Alejandro suddenly found himself
sitting all alone in the spacious dining room. "Well!" he said
indignantly to the empty room.

Brett
caught up with Sabrina at the top of the stairs leading to their bedrooms. She
hadn't been aware that he had followed her, and his brutal grasp of her arm as
he swung her around to face him disconcerted her. She gave a small gasp of
alarm, and then, when she saw his dark angry face, her heart began to thump
painfully.

"Let
go of me!" she said furiously, jerking at the arm he held so tightly.

"Not
yet, your highness! You and I are going to have a private conversation
first," Brett snapped.

"I
don't want to speak to you! Ever! You have done nothing but slip around and
sneak and spy on me since you arrived here—and now you carry tales to my
father. You're despicable!"

A
muscle in Brett's jaw bunched, and the dark green eyes went nearly black with
fury. "I've had just about all of your accusations I'm going to take! Now
you shut up and you listen to me!" he said with cold rage, giving her an
ungentle shake. He sent a harassed look down the long hallway and then pulled
her into a small antechamber nearby.

Releasing
her arm, he regarded her unkindly as she stood defiantly in front of him, one
hand rubbing the place where he had grabbed her. Icily she said, "Since
you've dragged me in here, say what you have to say and let me go."

Brett
inclined his dark head in mock politeness. "As you command, your
highness." Propping himself negligently against the door, he said in a
level tone of voice, "I didn't run tale-bearing to your father. I did,
however"—an expression of disgust and contempt passed across his lean
features—"mention to him that I had seen you and Carlos at the gazebo. I
didn't," he went on in an increasingly harsh note, "tell him what you
were doing there!"

"And
what were we doing?" Sabrina inquired dangerously, the amber-gold eyes
glittering incandescently. "What was it you thought you saw?"

The
tanned face full if distaste and scorn, he said bluntly, "You damn well
know what I saw! But you can be assured your sordid little secret is safe with
me. Not for your sake," he added tightly, "but for your father's! I
don't want to be the one to disillusion him about his slut of a daughter!"

Sabrina's
hand swung out and cracked against his cheek before she had time to think. And
before she had time to realize what she had done, she found herself jerked
cruelly up against Brett's hard, long length.

His
mouth inches from hers, his warm breath teasing her lips, he snarled thickly,
"I think I warned you not to try that again! And since you seem to be
passing out your favors, I don't see any reason why / shouldn't have another
sample!"

Brutally
his lips came down on hers, his arms crushing her to him. It was a shockingly
carnal kiss, his tongue ravishing her inner mouth with frank demand. There was
nothing gentle about this kiss, nothing tender; it was full of anger, and yet a
strange longing seemed to be there, too. His arms kept her prisoner as he
pulled her between his legs, his body supported by the door behind him.

Sabrina
was helpless in his embrace, her own desires rising up uncontrollably to meet
the spiraling passion she could feel emanating from his muscled body. Crushed
intimately against him, she could feel the hardening of his manhood, feel it
lengthening and pressing insistently against her own increasingly hungry loins.
Unable to help herself, she responded blindly, deliriously, to the fierce
demand of his kisses.

Oh,
dear God, how very different this was from what she had experienced in Carlos's
arms. There was no desire to escape, no feeling of fury or degradation; only
passion and sweet need swamped her, driving her to cling to him, her body
aching to have his touch upon it. She could stay here forever locked in Brett's
savage, oddly yearning embrace, his strong arms holding her a willing prisoner.
Hungrily she returned his kiss, her lips opening more fully under the onslaught
of his, her tongue daring to touch his as he urgently plundered her mouth.

With
a groan, Brett pulled her even closer to him, his hands dropping to her hips
and caressing them with a feverish intensity. Sweet Jesus, but it was heaven to
have her in his arms, to have those taut, full breasts burning against his
chest, to have her warm body arching up next to his.

The
embrace was explosive; neither one of them was even aware of what they were
doing or how swiftly passion was taking them to a point of no return. Each was
lost in the urgent tide of desire that swept over them, their bodies straining
frantically together longing for something more.

Suddenly,
like plunging into a river of ice, Brett realized how very near he was to
taking Carlos's place in her arms.

Smothering
a curse, he pushed her violently away from him. The jade-green eyes full of
loathing, he snarled, "Oh, no, you don't! I've never taken another man's
leavings before, and I sure as hell don't intend to start with you!" His
body ached with desire, but stilling the overpowering urge to take her into his
arms again, he promised grimly, "I will warn you, though—continue to offer
yourself so blatantly, and I might weaken. Next time, sweetheart . . . next
time, I'll take you, and the consequences be
damned!
"

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

The
next day, Tuesday, when the servant appeared in her room announcing that Senor Carlos
was waiting to see her downstairs, Sabrina could hardly believe her ears. After
what had happened the previous afternoon, she had never dreamed he would seek
her out this way.

Angry
curiosity brought her down the stairs and out onto the patio where a wary and
apologetic Carlos waited for her. The servant had departed for refreshments; so
it was that Sabrina was alone with him when they met.

Reluctantly
she walked across the patio to where he stood by the iron table, nervously
turning his sombrero between his fingers. His expression was suitably
woebegone, the black eyes brimming with apparent misery. He looked at her
angry, set face and then glanced quickly away. He swallowed with difficulty.
His voice almost a whisper, he muttered, "Will you ever forgive me?"

Indecisively
Sabrina eyed him, astonished at how indifferent she felt. It was as if the fury
she had experienced when Brett had slammed out of the room last night had
burned away all her emotions—except the rage that was reserved especially and
exclusively for one Brett Dangermond.

Taking
her silence for encouragement, he flung his sombrero down on the table, and
startling her, he knelt theatrically down in front of her. His hand grasped
hers, and he carried it to his lips. "
Querida
! You must forgive me!
I love you so much that to have you so close to me drove me mad—I could not
help myself! I went crazy with love for you! I never meant to harm you or
frighten you." He struck his head with his palm. "I do not know what
came over me, how I could have acted so despicably, so dishonorably! I am a
swine! I am the lowest animal alive!" The black eyes fixed with pleading
on hers, he murmured, "Say you forgive me,
querida
! Say that all
the years of our friendship are not to be lost to me! I could not bear it,
Sabrina—you are too dear to me for me to face the future knowing I have
destroyed everything between us." Mournfully he shook his head. "All
the years of laughter we shared shattered by my unforgivable actions! I don't
think I can bear it!"

Sabrina
made a face. Not quite certain how to handle Carlos in this abject mood, she
said uncomfortably, "I forgive you—at least I think I do. Now please get
up before someone sees you there and wonders what is going on!"

Rising
to his feet with alacrity, Carlos reached for her hand once more and covered it
with kisses. "You are as good and kind and wonderful as the Holy Mother of
God!"

Deeply
embarrassed and showing it, Sabrina jerked her hand away from his. Seeing Lupe
approaching with a tray of glasses and jug of lemonade, Sabrina hissed under
her breath, "Will you cease! I said I forgave you!"

While
Lupe was present, they both remained silent, but as soon as the girl retreated
to the house, Carlos, who was now seated across the table from Sabrina, leaned
forward and said passionately, "Sabrina, I can never forgive myself for
what nearly happened yesterday. You must believe me—I never meant to harm or
frighten you!"

Before
yesterday she would have believed him completely, but trust once destroyed does
not return easily. She did forgive him because, beyond frightening her, and
thanks to Brett's timely interference, nothing had happened. But she was wary
with him now, wanting to have things as they had been and yet unable to forget
that, at least for a moment yesterday, he had taken advantage of their long
friendship and would have dishonored her. Awkwardly she muttered, "It's in
the past, Carlos. Please put it behind you." Sending him a strained smile,
she added, "I have."

"Have
you really,
querida?
Carlos asked shrewdly. "Can you say that
nothing is different between us?"

"No,
I can't," Sabrina answered truthfully. "Yesterday changed things, but
I ... I ... I don't hate you, and I wouldn't want our families to be distressed
by what happened—or nearly happened."

The
black eyes shuttered, he asked carefully, "Does your father know what . .
. nearly happened? Have you told him? Did anyone see you when you returned to
the hacienda?"

"No,
no one saw me," Sabrina replied quietly. "And I didn't mention
anything to my father. It ... it ... it would have caused complications."

"Complications?"
Carlos inquired with a lifted brow.

Sabrina
grimaced, her eyes on the glass of lemonade in front of her. "You know
very well what I mean. If he knew what had happened, he would either take a
bullwhip to you or demand that you marry me—or both! It would make things very
unpleasant!"

"I
would be honored to marry you,
querida
! As a matter of fact, I have
considered telling your father the truth myself and asking your hand in
marriage," he confessed softly, the black eyes watching her face intently.

Sabrina's
head jerked up at that. "Don't you dare!" she spat angrily. "I
love you, Carlos—you are like a brother to me—but I do not want to marry you .
. . and I will not marry you! Telling my father would only cause a terrible
rift between our families and put both of us through a great deal of
unpleasantness and pain. I said I forgave you and I do, but speak of what
happened yesterday and I'll
never
forgive you!"

There
was such grim promise in her young voice that Carlos relinquished the idea
immediately. Giving her an attractively rueful grin, he murmured, "I had
hoped you would react differently, but . . ." His dark face suddenly
serious, he said, "Sabrina, I am sorry for what happened yesterday, and I
will do everything within my power to earn your trust back." He smiled
sadly. "If I cannot have you as my wife, perhaps I can still have you as
my friend." An unexpected lump in her throat at the sadness on his face,
she leaned forward impulsively and touched his hands with hers. "You
always have my friendship, Carlos. Always!"

Friday,
Sabrina's eighteenth birthday, dawned hot and clear, the sun a blazing
yellow-orange orb in a blinding blue sky, and she was reminded of the same date
last year. Last year. How innocent she had been then. How unaware.

Sabrina
took a bittersweet enjoyment in the day. She had always delighted in the fuss
and frolic that set her birthday apart from any other fiesta, and this year was
no different. Bonita had brought in her breakfast tray adorned with the special
bouquet of yellow rosebuds as she had for every birthday that Sabrina could
remember; the gift this year was a pair of finely wrought silver bracelets that
jangled merrily whenever Sabrina moved her slim wrist. Everywhere she went she
was greeted and wished well, and she couldn't help basking in the attention.

The
day was nearly a repeat of her last birthday celebration, with one notable
difference—Brett Dangermond. Everywhere she looked, Sabrina seemed to see him:
laughing with her father over breakfast; talking with the guests as they began
to arrive; wandering about the grounds with various groups of smiling and
gesturing men and women; teasing fat Bonita as she waddled around overseeing
the hustling servants, and listening intently as Luis and Alejandro discussed
certain business prospects. Against her will, her eyes seemed to follow him, to
admire the tall, lean body as he moved with his effortless grace, easily
charming anyone who came within his radius. She was angry with herself and
irrationally furious with him, because in spite of everything, he still had the
power to move her, to make her heart beat faster, to arouse a fierce,
inexplicable longing within her. Time and time again she tore her eyes away
from the harshly handsome face and threw herself into the festivities that
were, after all, in her honor, and yet, not five minutes later, she would find
herself anxiously searching the shifting crowd for his dark head.

The
bullfight Alejandro had promised Brett was held in honor of Sabrina's birthday;
everyone trooped down to watch the various high-spirited young men pit their
skills against the magnificent black bulls. Vaqueros and their families lined the
makeshift bull ring; the guests viewed the activities from the relative comfort
of a hastily constructed grandstand, a canopy of bright yellow material
protecting the fair ladies from the blazing sun. Alejandro had considered a
bull-baiting and had even instructed his vaqueros to capture a bear to pit
against one of the fiercest bulls, but Sabrina had begged, "Oh, please do
not, Father! The bull makes such mournful bellows when the bear attacks him,
and the poor bear is gored unmercifully. I do not like it!" Alejandro had
shaken his head in mystification but had agreed to accede to her wishes.

Narrow-eyed,
she had critically watched the young blades display their proficiency with the
cape and the sword, and more times than not her sympathy lay with the bull. It
was a bloody and perhaps cruel sport, and yet there was something elemental
about it, something that stirred dark emotions, something that thrilled as well
as terrified. But it wasn't until Brett coolly walked out into the middle of
the red-dirt arena, the ground now torn and furrowed from the other fights,
small puffs of russet dust rising from beneath his feet, that she knew the full
depth of terror. Her heart seemed to stop, and her face went white, her hand
unconsciously clenching the lovely scarlet and gold fan Carlos had given her
for her birthday.

She
gave a small moan of denial, and Carlos, who was sitting next to her and who
had not deigned to participate this year in the dangerous amusement, glanced at
her sharply. "Is something wrong,
chica
?" he asked.

Forcing
herself to relax, trying desperately to hide the utter horror that roiled
inside her, she said weakly, "Why, no! What possibly could be wrong?"

"I
thought perhaps you might be concerned for the gringo. After all, this is a
Spanish sport, and big men are notorious for being slow on their feet."
Sending her a calculating glance, he finished, "It will be interesting to
see if he survives the encounter with one of your father's indomitable
bulls."

Numbly
Sabrina nodded her head, her gaze fixed painfully on the tall, broad-shouldered
man in the center of the arena. The sunlight brought out the hint of blue in
the black, thick hair, one lock displaying a tendency to fall across his
forehead. He was clothed in Spanish dress, and with one part of her mind,
Sabrina admitted it became him wonderfully, the dark green calzoneras fitting
snugly across his lean hips and thighs, the gold filigree giving them an
elegant air. The white shirt was blinding in the bright sunlit afternoon, the
scarlet cape whirling and fluttering in the still air as he made a few practice
motions.

Apparently
satisfied, Brett nodded to release the penned bull, and with a roar of
encouragement from the crowd, a huge nightmare of bone and muscle, of blood and
fury, exploded into the arena. To Sabrina, Brett seemed terribly defenseless as
the magnificent creature lowered its massive head, the long, wickedly curving
horns glinting in the sunlight. Her heart in her mouth, she watched helplessly
as, with a spine-tingling bellow, the savage animal charged the still figure
with the scarlet cape. To the crowd's delight, Brett proved himself an
excellent matador, moving with such precision and artistry that time and time
again it seemed the bull must touch him and yet he remained unscathed, stepping
gracefully away at the last, vital moment. It was immediately apparent that the
tall gringo knew what he was about, and the crowd shouted its enthusiasm as,
with elegant skill, Brett imperturbably performed one of the oldest, most
classical moves of the bull ring, the veronica. The scarlet cape swirled
sinuously in the air as he brought it down in front of the charging bull and
then swiftly up and around his own body. And when the kill finally came, there
was a concerted sigh of pleasure, almost of awe, as the sword found its mark
and cleanly made the fatal thrust.

Sabrina
had sat like a stone figure throughout the fight, her eyes never once leaving
him. And when the agonizing suspense was over, when the bull was only an inert
heap in the red dust, to her surprise she discovered that her hands had been so
tightly clenched that her fingernails had left deep impressions in the palms of
her hands, the skin purple and bruised.

Limp,
she had nearly sagged in her seat, only to stiffen when she saw Brett lean down
and cut off the ears of the fallen bull and walk straight in her direction. He
stopped directly in front of her, his gaze taking in Carlos, who sat next to
her. The men exchanged a peculiar look, Brett's dark green eyes glittering with
an oddly challenging spark, and then deliberately his eyes switched to Sabrina.
He gave her a long, unsmiling glance, and then impassively offered her the
grisly trophy. A trophy won at the risk of his own life.