The Tiger Prince

  “On purpose?” Ruel asked sardonically.

  “God works in mysterious ways.”

  “Convenient ways also.”

  “Shall I continue to watch the yard?”

  Ruel hesitated. “Not now. We know what we need to know. The rest can wait.”

  “That’s not at all like you. You’re usually more impatient.”

  Impatient? Christ, he was so impatient and on edge, he felt like a volcano about to erupt.

  But his impatience had nothing to do with Kartauk.

  he rains started early in the morning two days later.

  The skies opened and a deluge poured from the heavens. The rain was like everything else in this blasted country, Jane thought with frustration— heavy, warm, and near impossible to fight. During the first few hours she actually welcomed the struggle against the elements because, for the first time in days, she was able to ignore Ruel’s presence and concentrate on the task at hand.

  By noon the water had pooled on either side of the track and the workers were slipping and sliding with every step. By three o’clock the sheets of rain were falling so hard and fast, it became difficult for the workers to even see the heads of the spikes they were hammering. At four o’clock Jane called a halt and told everyone to go home and come back at dawn tomorrow.

  “It’s about time,” Ruel muttered as he threw his hammer into the tarpaulin-covered wheelbarrow beside the tracks. “I thought you were going to wait until we drowned in this muck.”

  “Don’t come back if you don’t like it,” she said fiercely. “No one asked you to stay. I’m not going to let the rain stop us. I have fifteen more miles to go before the rails are joined, and we’ll be here every day until the job’s finished.”

  “Or you’re finished.” Ruel stood looking at her, rain dripping off the brim of his hat and running down his cheeks. “You’re barely able to stand on your feet.”

  “I’m fine. You’re the one who’s complaining.” She moved toward the bridge over the gorge. “Perhaps you’d better not come back tomorrow.”

  “You don’t get rid of me that easily.” He suddenly smiled. “I don’t like this damn weather, but I can get used to it.”

  The demon could probably get used to burning in hell, she thought despairingly. Dear God, it was happening again. He had only to look at her in that certain way and her body began readying, ripening. “Why bother? It can’t be worth it to you.”

  “It’s worth it.”

  She could feel his gaze on her back as she walked quickly over the bridge. The river was no longer a sickly trickle but a muddy torrent racing through the gorge. The supports were holding firm, she noticed with relief. That’s right, think about the railroad. Forget about how Ruel had looked standing in the rain with his shirt clinging to the ridged muscles of his chest and belly. Think about her weariness and discouragement, not about this strange, aching emptiness between her thighs.

  “Why not wait until the monsoons are over?” Ruel asked quietly. “You can’t make much progress in this rain.”

  “We’ll do what we can.” She ducked beneath the heavy canopy formed by the branches of the banyan trees and picked up Bedelia’s saddle. “The maharajah doesn’t make exceptions because of the weather, and that means we can’t either.”

  “What a charming man. I can hardly wait to make his acquaintance.”

  “Well, it won’t be through me.” Why was he just standing there watching her? Her fingers fumbled with the cinch as she quickly saddled Bedelia. “If that’s what’s holding you here, then you might as well give it up.”

  “That’s not what’s holding me. You know why I’m here.”

  “I don’t know why—”

  “Then stop avoiding looking at me and find out.”

  “I don’t want to look at you. Why should I want—” Her gaze met his and she quickly closed her eyes. “No,” she whispered.

  But she still saw him standing there, the rain molding his clothes to his body, muscles tense, gaze intent.

  “Aye,” he said. “It’s time, Jane.” His tone was soft-, coaxing. “You don’t want to fight me any longer. You’re tired and discouraged, but I can help you forget all this. You want it—take it. If you don’t like me, I won’t bother you again.”

  But she knew he would make sure she liked him. He was like one of those powerful ancient mandarins Li Sung had told her about, effortlessly casting spells, mesmerizing his subjects.

  Yet she was no helpless simpleton. She had the strength to fight him … if she wished.

  If she wished? It was the first time she had admitted to doubt, and a sudden stream of relief cascaded through her. He was right, she was weary of fighting him. Why not let him have his way? One time, and he would no doubt grow bored, as men always did when their needs were assuaged, and she would be done with him.

  He was unbuttoning her shirt.

  Her eyes flew open.

  “Shh.” His face was only inches from her own, his fingers deft and quick on the buttons. “I want only to see you. I didn’t get the chance at Zabrie’s, but I believe today you may be in a mood to be more generous.” He parted the edges of her shirt and looked at her. “Oh, yes, very generous.” He bent forward, his breath feathering her engorged nipple. “Now, let me—”

  She cried out, arching back against the mare’s saddle, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as sensation after sensation poured through her.

  He sucked slowly, sensuously. “Good,” he muttered. “So good.”

  His hand slid beneath her belt and found the curls surrounding her womanhood, petting, tugging. “Part your legs. That’s right, now a little more.”

  Her knees almost gave way as he found the nub for which he had been searching.

  Her neck arched. A primal cry tightened her throat as he began pressing, plucking.

  He lifted his head. Beautiful, she thought dazedly, she had never seen any sight as beautiful as Ruel at this moment, his cheeks flushed pomegranate-bright, his blue eyes glittering.

  “Not here in the rain.” His hand left her and he quickly buttoned her shirt. “We need to go somewhere.” He lifted her onto Bedelia and quickly saddled and mounted Nugget. “And, for God’s sake, don’t change your mind.”

  She wasn’t sure she had a mind to change. She felt blank, dazed, responding only to touch, like an animal in heat.

  He gave Bedelia’s rump a slap to urge her into a gallop. “Only a little while longer,” he said hoarsely. “Hold on.”

  Hold on to what? she wondered. She was without a mooring, floating helplessly on the tide Ruel had ignited.

  “Wait.” He nudged his horse closer, his hand reaching out to slide up her thigh and cup her womanhood. His nostrils were flaring, his cheeks hollowed as if from a terrible hunger. “I didn’t have enough. I have to touch you. God, I want in.” He squeezed slowly and then released, squeezed again. “Do you know what I’d like to do? I want to drag you down in the mud and strip off your clothes. I want you naked and wanting, holding up your hips, asking me for more.”

  The rawness of the words should have offended her. They did not. A thrill of heat shot through her.

  His hand fell away and he muttered something she couldn’t hear. “Let’s go, I can’t wait much longer.”

  The rain was falling as heavily as ever, but it didn’t cool her. She felt as if nothing could ever cool her again. “Where are we going?”

  “The railway station.” He spurred ahead. “It’s closer.”

  It didn’t seem close. By the time they reined in at the station platform, she was trembling and shaking, as if with the fever.

  “Hurry,” he said jerkily as he lifted her down. “Where are the keys?”

  The maharajah’s car. He wanted the keys to the railway car. She fumbled in the pocket of her sodden denim trousers as he propelled her across the platform toward the maharajah’s private car. He grabbed the keys, unlocked the gold door, and pulled her inside. He slammed the door behind them.

&n
bsp; The car was in half darkness, the light streaming through the window gray and bleak, the raindrops running down the glass veiling the interior from the outside world.

  “Hurry.” Ruel stripped off his shirt and threw it on the carpet. “God, just listen to me. I promised you it wouldn’t be fast and I’m like all the others. But I’ll try …” He turned and saw that she hadn’t moved. “Why aren’t you undressing?”

  She couldn’t seem to move. She was aching, still hot with the same fever, but found herself unable to look away from him. She had never seen anyone so alive, so charged with emotion. She could feel his need and passion. He blazed like a thousand burning candles in the pearly dimness.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind. I couldn’t …” He stepped closer, his fingers unbuttoning her shirt, his tone velvet-soft, almost crooning. “Did I frighten you? I promise you’ll like me. We have only to get past the first time, and I’ll keep my word.”

  His brown hair was wet, and she couldn’t distinguish the golden threads she knew ran through it. His magnificent face was alight, his eyes shimmering as he exerted a magnetism so strong, she could only stare at him, mesmerized.

  He peeled the wet shirt off her and dropped it on the floor. He slowly bent forward and his warm lips brushed the hollow of her left shoulder.

  A shudder went through her. The touch was much less intimate than the ones that had gone before, but somehow was more boldly sensual.

  “I’m hurting so much, I don’t think I can hold on for very long until—” He broke off and laughed harshly as he looked down at his hands. “Christ, look at me. I’m trembling. You’ll have to do the rest yourself.”

  His confession of weakness broke the spell. Her hands were also trembling as they went to her belt. She felt weak, helpless, wax-pliable, her heart pounding as hard as the rain on the metal roof. Dear heaven, she wanted his hands on her again. She had to rid herself of these clothes, rid herself of barriers so that he would touch her.

  “That’s right.” His tone was coaxing, encouraging, as he sat down on the divan and took off his boots. “It’s going to be fine. You know we both want this.” He paused, half undressed, his gaze on the fleece surrounding her womanhood. “Soft,” he whispered. “I remember how soft….”

  Heat moved through her, and she clenched as if his hand were still there between her thighs, searching, caressing.

  He saw the movement and a muscle jerked in his cheek. “Come here.”

  She moved toward him, obeying without question, vaguely aware of the softness of the carpet under the soles of her bare feet. She stopped before him.

  He gently parted her thighs, and his hand cupped her as he had before.

  Pleasure, need, hunger.

  “You want me?” His finger rotated, pressed.

  She shuddered. “Yes.”

  “You want to draw me in and hold me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fast? Hard?”

  “Yes.”

  He pushed her gently down on the divan and was between her thighs. “Then take me,” he said hoarsely as he nudged into her womanhood.

  She gasped as she felt the intrusion, warm, smooth, club-hard.

  He frowned. “Don’t fight me. I’m not going to hurt you. Let me in.”

  “I’m not fighting you,” she said. If anything, she was fighting to take him, accept more.

  “Too tight,” he muttered. “You have to be fight—” His hips thrust powerfully forward.

  At the sudden pain, her teeth sank into her lower lip to keep from crying out.

  His head snapped up and he looked down at her. “No!”

  He was sheathed deep within her, a part of her yet not part of her.

  His light eyes blazed down at her. “I can’t stop, dammit. It’s too late now. I have to go on.”

  “I know you do.” She swallowed. The pain was going away, leaving only an ache for completion in its wake. “I know….”

  “You don’t know anything,” he said harshly. “I wish to God you did.” He drew a shuddering breath. “Jesus, this is going to—kill me.” He drew out and then thrust gently forward.

  Gentleness, care, skill. She could sense the stormy violence brimming beneath the surface, and yet every move was controlled, disciplined.

  “Ruel …”

  “Be quiet,” he grated between his teeth. “I have to think about what I’m doing.” He laughed desperately. “And not doing. Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’m going to take the next step.” He flexed, drew out, and then sank fast, hard like a sword thrust.

  She gasped, her gaze flying to his face.

  His eyes were now unseeing, his lips heavy with sensuality, his expression revealing the same mindlessness as she felt.

  “Good,” he said hoarsely. “Now hold me, I’ll try to have it over fast. Ride it out.”

  He exploded in a flurry of motion, thrusting, plunging.

  Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she held on as he had bid her. Dear heaven, what was happening to her? Total possession. She felt chained to him in body and response. She couldn’t stop herself from taking, yielding to his every move, his every command. She was held captive by the pleasure, the need that kept soaring higher and higher….

  The pleasure mounted, crested and then …

  Was she screaming? She wasn’t sure of anything through the heat haze enfolding her.

  He tensed, his back arching, and an expression of unutterable pleasure stamping his face. Then he was collapsing on top of her, trembling as if he had the shaking sickness.

  Dangerous … The thought emerged through the mist of languor and exhaustion enfolding her. She had been right to resist Ruel, wrong to yield. It was too powerful. He was too powerful.

  She became vaguely aware of Ruel shifting off her, rising to his feet and moving toward the far end of the car.

  “Where are you going?” she murmured. Dear heaven, she felt as limp and weak as if she had been ravaged by the torrent pouring through Sikor Gorge.

  “Lighting the stove.” He knelt beside the pot-bellied ceramic stove and opened the door.

  “Are you cold?” she asked wonderingly. Her own body had never felt warmer, more heavily ripe.

  “No.” He lit the coal and swung the door shut again. “But we may be here awhile and I don’t want you chilled. God knows I feel guilty enough without that burden.” He stood up and strode toward her. “How do you feel? Are you sore?”

  “A little.” She sat up and brushed a tendril of hair back from her temple. “It was … more than I expected.”

  “You were more than I expected too.” He grabbed a paisley silk couch throw from the divan and draped it around her. “And I have no liking for it.”

  Even through the mellow haze surrounding her she became aware of the grimness of his tone. “You’re angry.”

  “I didn’t want this.” He dropped down on the rug, his hands tightly linked around his knees. “It’s a complication. You weren’t supposed to be a virgin, dammit. I don’t want the responsibility.”

  Hurt spiraled through her, jarring her back to reality. She said haltingly, “It’s not your responsibility. No one forced me to come here. It was my choice.”

  “The hell it was,” he said roughly. “I seduced you. I wanted you and I set out to get what I wanted.”

  “That’s right, you did.” That first flush of heat was leaving her. She shivered and drew the throw closer around her. “And I’m sure you were very good at it. But I let you do it and now it’s over. I’d … better get back to the bungalow.”

  “To Patrick.” He smiled bitterly. “Do you know I’ve been very close to paying dear Patrick a visit? I kept thinking about him and his fondness for little girls and decided I wanted to cut his heart out.”

  She believed him. Ruel sat motionless, looking like a splendid statue of a naked gladiator, but the repressed ferocity she sensed beneath his stillness bewildered her. “It was never like that with us.?
??

  “Obviously. Why the hell did you let me do it?”

  “I thought if I let you … men go away afterward. They don’t want it anymore.”

  “Don’t they?”

  She gazed at him and her breath left her.

  “Oh, yes, I still want it. I wanted it again almost the minute I left you and I’m mad as hell I can’t have it. Are you going to tell me why you deliberately misled me?”

  “I didn’t mislead you. It was none of your concern.”

  “Well, it is now. Who is Patrick Reilly to you?”

  “My father.” She saw his surprise and rushed on. “There’s no proof, you understand. He was only one of my mother’s customers, but I know he’s my father.”

  “But he doesn’t?”

  “He doesn’t like responsibility either,” she said simply.

  “Christ.”

  “Someday he’ll tell me he believes it’s true,” she said quietly. “But you don’t have to worry. I don’t expect anything from either of you.”

  “Even I have a code of sorts. I took something from you and now I have to give it back.”

  She smiled tremulously. “I believe that’s considered physically impossible.”

  “Then I’ll give you something else. What do you want?”

  She realized he actually meant it. “You didn’t take anything of value from me. I’m not like those women at the fort who believe a woman is lost to shame because she doesn’t go to her wedding bed a virgin.”

  “Ian told me,” he said sardonically. “You’re ‘different.’ I doubt if your bridegroom would approve of this particular difference.”

  “I shall probably never wed, so it’s foolish to continue this discussion.” She looked around for her clothes and found them strewn across the carpet where he had tossed them. “Would you please pass me my shirt?”

  “No, but I’ll put them closer to the fire to dry out.” He scooped up the garments and crossed back to the stove. “You’re not leaving until we finish this. Now, what do you want?”