Winds of the Storm

  He smiled and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “So I’m learning.”

  “Women have obviously come to you too easily.”

  “That’s not been the case with you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  His fingers were idly stroking the edge of her jaw and the side of her neck. Each languid pass stoked the embers of her desire.

  Then he asked, “Where will you go when you leave New Orleans?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. West maybe.”

  Archer didn’t like the idea of her leaving, but because he knew her true identity, he also knew her leaving would be a foregone conclusion. “What would make you stay?”

  Zahra looked into his eyes. The seriousness she saw there gave her pause. She knew the answer he sought, but she had to tell him the truth, for once. “I can’t stay, no matter what is offered or promised.”

  “I admire your honesty.”

  He reached out and slowly traced her mouth. The sweet sensation closed Zahra’s eyes. “Do you know what the word papillon means in English, chérie…”

  Before she could respond, he leaned in and placed a humid kiss against one parted corner of her lips, then offered the same kiss to the other side of her mouth. His fingers slid down her throat and then across her collarbone.

  “Do you?” he whispered, lifting her chin so he could see what he could of her eyes in the golden mask.

  “No,” she finally responded. Sensations were spreading though her like warm sunlight.

  He placed his lips against her ear and husked out, “It means…‘butterfly.’”

  Zahra stiffened. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what this meant, but when he winked at her boldly, she leaped off the sofa. “Damn you, Archer Le Veq.”

  But his smile remained. “What’s wrong?”

  “Who told?”

  “No one.”

  “Then how’d you find out?”

  “From you.”

  Archer could see the confusion on her face. “It was your razor. The one you scared Lynette with is the same one you used to cut me down in that barn.”

  Zahra threw up her hands. Trust him to have such an acute memory. It had never crossed her mind that something as mundane as a razor would be her undoing. “Dammit!” she swore.

  He chuckled.

  “This isn’t funny, Le Veq.”

  “Maybe not to you, but I knew you were a fraud from the moment I placed your hand on me. You’d never held a man like that before, had you?”

  She didn’t lie. “No.”

  The heat in his eyes made her desire return.

  He walked over to where she stood and fit himself against her rigidly set back, then wrapped his arms gently around her. He kissed her cheek. “Why’re you so upset?”

  She turned to face him. “Because I’ve never had my disguise breached before. Never.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “That’s not the point.” Once again she whispered, “Dammit!”

  Smiling, he studied her masked face. He reached up to the ribbon ties, and his eyes silently asked for permission.

  “You may as well.”

  The ties loosened easily, and a moment later her face was revealed. Archer would be the first to admit that he had no clear memory of her features, only that she’d been a beauty. Now, five years later, he realized he’d been correct. The brown face was regal, the features almost feline. The skin, so soft, drew his fingers down her cheeks. “Thank you for saving my life…” he husked out.

  In that moment, Zahra’s emotions changed; gone was the frustration, in its place a familiar tightening of her core. “You’re welcome.”

  The kiss that followed had been simmering since the day they’d met. The heat of their lips meeting overwhelmed them with its sweetness, its fire. He pulled her closer for a better fit, and she wrapped her arms around him in return. They nibbled, licked and placed kisses against passion-parted corners in urgent response to their need. Hands roamed; mapping, enticing, fueling a desire that made the kisses deepen and the sounds of their breathing rise in the otherwise silent room. He blazed a trail with his lips down the column of her throat while his hands teased her breasts.

  Archer thrilled to the feel of her softness inside the gown. “Where’s your corset?” he asked, boldly easing down the neckline of her gown, then commanding the exposed nipple with his magic hands.

  “In the wardrobe drawer. Ohh…” she cried out sensually as he took the prepared bud into his warm mouth. He loved her with a series of sucks and licks that had her twisting and groaning, arching and flowing.

  “And you want to leave, this,” he accused heatedly.

  He exposed her other breast and treated it to the same fiery loving. No, she didn’t want to leave this, but she couldn’t stay with him, no matter how thrilling the kisses stealing her breath or the fingers playing lustfully with her tight, damp nipples. Her allegiance was to her parents, not to this virtuoso playing her body like a rare and costly violin.

  Archer wanted to make love to her until the end of time. Her perfumed skin, the way her breast filled his hand, the soft sounds she made when he circled his tongue around her nipple all set him ablaze. Even if he did have an eternity, he knew it would not be enough to bind her to him, or make her stay, so he planned to brand her with his loving; that way she’d never forget the feel of his hands, the taste of his kisses, or the passion fueling them both.

  He undressed her then; slowly, lustily, and completely, until she was left standing with her back to the fire, wearing only her garters, stockings, and low-heeled mules. He began again; kissing, teasing, fondling. Working his way down her body like an acolyte making love to his priestess, his touches between her thighs caused her to widen her stance in wanton welcome. When the first long-boned finger went in, she sucked in a shuddering breath, and her head fell back bonelessly. He worked her marvelously, erotically, making her hips circle with a rhythm as ancient as Adam and Eve. While she preened, he added another finger to the impaling, and her answering gasp was loud, strangled. He plied her with lusty, languid thrusts that made her raise herself to him shamelessly. Lowering himself to his knees, his fingers still moving, he spread the fingers wide, and, groaning, she spread her legs in response. Only then did he bend and taste and give her his tongue. His expertise was so staggering that Zahra screamed a joyful completion only moments later. Shattering, the orgasm rolling through her, his fingers still pleasuring, she came again, to his great delight, and he picked her up and carried her to his room.

  Snatching off his clothes, Archer feasted his eyes on the voluptuous picture she made lying on his bed, still in the throes of her fading pleasure. Nude now and unable to resist, he kissed her soft mouth and eased his rampant manhood into the tight, warm channel that was love’s delight. Feeling her close around him so completely, his groan broke the silence. Grabbing one of the bed pillows, he placed it strategically beneath her hips, then began his strokes.

  Because of the pillow, Zahra could feel him so much better than last time, something she hadn’t dreamed possible. She never knew a man could worship her this way, nor that passion could be so wild. She ceased to be Zahra, or Butterfly or Domino, and became Archer Le Veq’s lover, and for the moment that’s the only woman she wanted to be, because he was kissing her mouth, using love-gentled teeth on her nipples, the edge of her throat and the lobe of her ear. The strokes intensified in pace and in power, so she was again in the winds of the storm, matching him measure for measure. He filled his hands with her hips, and the glory of his increasing thrusts made her arch her waist and let him love her with as much fervor and force as he craved.

  Soon, she was screaming and he was roaring, and la petite mort was consuming them like kindling before wildfire. Then they collapsed; breathing, throbbing, content.

  In the quiet aftermath, Zahra lay against him while he held her close. Her disguise had been breached, collapsing Madame Domino’s house of cards, but at the mome
nt she didn’t care. Only her sated body and the feel of his heated skin against her own mattered.

  He kissed the top of her hair, then softly asked, “Shall we talk now?”

  She knew he was referring to the reason she’d come to New Orleans, and there was no way she could deny him, not now, not after what they’d shared. She also trusted him to keep his word. He’d been involved in reconnaissance and knew the dangers involved. More importantly, he’d deciphered the riddle of Domino and had earned the right to the truth. So she turned over on her stomach to better see his face in the dark and told him the story.

  Archer found the tale fascinating, almost as fascinating as its narrator. He yearned to make love to her again, but they both needed to regain their strength, so he listened instead. It didn’t surprise him that Harriet Tubman was involved. He knew how passionate she was about the race’s survival and that her flair for planning secret missions during slavery and the war was legendary. “Do your girls know your secrets?”

  “No. Only Alfred and the servants.”

  Unable to keep from touching her, Archer trailed a finger over her silky cheek. “Would you have ever told me the truth?”

  “No.”

  Archer smiled, admiring her strength. “Then it’s good I figured it out.”

  Zahra still didn’t know if it was good or not, but it was done and she was never one to cry over spilled milk. “Have you ever met her?”

  “Mrs. Tubman? No. My brother Rai worked with her during abolition and in the Sea Islands. He has a lot of respect for her.” He traced a worshipping finger over a nipple. “Speaking of the islands, where’d you learn Gullah?”

  Once again he made her freeze.

  He smiled softly. “You’ve spoken it twice since we’ve met.”

  “When?”

  When he told her, she hung her head, then shook it with a sigh. “Dammit!” she whispered fiercely again.

  He grinned. “We really need to expand your cursing vocabulary.”

  “No we don’t. It’s extensive enough. I’m attempting to be nice.”

  Studying him then, she said, “I suppose I should be grateful you were the one to figure me out and not someone like Barber or Mitchell Isenbaum.”

  “Isenbaum the Leaguer? What do you know about him?”

  She then told him about the Death Books.

  “My Lord,” he whispered. “Are there any in New Orleans?”

  Without revealing Henry Adams as her source of information, Zahra told Archer all she knew. “So I have a few of my men shadowing Isenbaum. If I could place a book in the president’s hand, it might make a difference.”

  Deep in thought, he replied, “You’re right.” Then, thinking back on something else, he said, “I wish I’d known about these books earlier.”

  “Why?”

  “We would have searched those houses before torching them.”

  She studied him for a long moment. “You’re responsible for all the fires in the newspapers?”

  “Not all of them, but friends and I have done our share.”

  Zahra knew she couldn’t judge him. Times being what they were, someone had to take up the sword and fight back to counter the supremacists bent on annihilation, because that truly was their goal, and they were proclaiming it proudly, and without shame, to anyone who’d listen.

  “I want to talk to my friends about these Death Books. Is that all right with you?”

  “Yes, if they are trustworthy.”

  “Good, then that’s what I shall do.” He pulled her back against him and said, “With men of color in the Congress and numerous others serving in state Houses, it’s imperative that we get a look at those lists and see who the supremacists have in their sights.”

  Zahra agreed. Was Fred Douglass on the list? What about the Mississippian Hiram Revels, the first Black man to serve as a United States senator? Had he been targeted? All over the South, Black men were in state legislatures, were elected sheriffs, and acted as spokesmen for communities large and small. The race couldn’t afford to lose even one of them, because they represented the hopes and dreams of their people. She said, “How about we meet at the house this evening, bring whoever you think might aid us, and we’ll talk about it. With the house being closed tonight as it is on Monday and Tuesday. We shouldn’t be disturbed.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’m sure my brothers would want to attend.”

  “Good. Shall we say around eight?”

  He nodded, then said to her, “Now that we have discussed business, will you answer one more question for me?”

  “I’ll try.”

  His hands were moving over her with a slow intent that let her know what would be coming next. “What’s your true given name?”

  “Can’t tell you.”

  He rolled over and lowered his mouth to her nipple. “Why not?”

  She whispered in the midst of rising desire, “It’s a secret.”

  He slipped a hand between her thighs and began to play. “Why?”

  “Because when we part we shouldn’t see each other again.”

  Archer raised up and looked down into her eyes. His voice concerned, he asked, “Suppose I wish to?”

  She shook her head. “That’s your lust talking. We’re from two different worlds, Archer. You’re wealthy, well bred. I’m not. I’m also not cut from mistress cloth. If you were the man of my heart, I’d be your wife, not mistress. I don’t share well.”

  If you were the man of my heart. The words echoed inside Archer with a force that shouldn’t have surprised him but did. He was discovering that he had rather deep feelings for this fierce, mysterious woman. Letting her walk out of his life wouldn’t be easy when the time came, so it became his plan to delay that parting for as long as possible. “Well, if you won’t tell me your name, what shall I call you?”

  The jokester inside herself took over. “Zahra is a name I’ve always cottoned to.”

  “Zahra,” he said, weighing the name on his tongue. “I like that too, but I will learn the truth, eventually.”

  “There will be no razors to help you this time.”

  “I’ll find a way, don’t worry.”

  That decided, the loving resumed.

  The sun was just waking up when he drove her home. The pink sky and the clear morning breeze signaled a new day, and it was a new day for Zahra. Archer had unmasked Domino, and she and Juliana’s third son were entering a new relationship; one linked by their concern for the race and their need to make love to each other until they couldn’t move. Zahra had never had the attention of such a glorious man before, and she planned to enjoy it until it became time for her to vanish from his world and, ultimately, his life. The thought saddened her, but she set it aside. Sentiment could play no part in her plans.

  At the house, Archer stopped the carriage and feasted his eyes on her. She looked tired—and for good reason, he thought with pleasure. Had he ever met a woman more determined, more beautiful? He couldn’t say that he had. She was more than he was accustomed to handling, but therein lay the challenge. Most men would attempt to cage such a beautiful papillon, but he sensed that would not work with her. “I’m going to wire some friends I met during the war to help with the search for the Death Books. I know they’ll want to help.”

  “That’s fine. If we combine forces, it may hasten the process.”

  “And if we combine forces, I’ll see more of you.”

  “As I recall, you’ve already seen all of me,” she tossed back.

  He laughed at that. “What a woman you are.”

  “Astounding, aren’t I?”

  He leaned over and kissed her sassy mouth until she saw stars. “You’re all that and more. Now go inside before I see how astounding you really are.”

  They shared one more long kiss, then she got out. “See you this evening?” she asked.

  “Yes, and no drawers allowed,” he told her.

  She was still standing there, stunned, when he let out a laugh and drove away. br />
  That afternoon, Wilma brought over a set of petticoats she’d done for the twins, then she and Zahra sat in Zahra’s office to talk and catch up. When Zahra confessed that Archer knew she’d been the Butterfly, Wilma was surprised. “How did he find out?”

  ”My daddy’s razor.”

  “The one with the beautiful pearl handle? Are you still carrying that thing after all this time?”

  “Yes. Apparently I used it to free him from General Crete’s barn.”

  Wilma shook her head. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

  “I’m holding him to his word that he’ll keep my secret.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I am.”

  Then Wilma asked, “Any progress on the Death Books?”

  “Not so far. My people are still trailing him. Le Veq has pledged to help with the search. I’m going to meet with him and some of his associates here tonight.”

  “You’ve taken him into your confidence quite a bit.”

  There was no mistaking her censuring tone. “Yes, Wilma, I have. This is such a serious matter I’d take help from Satan himself if it would help me get my hands on one of those books.”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  “No.”

  “Are you lying to me or to yourself?”

  Zahra met her old friend’s blue eyes and said truthfully, “I have feelings for him, I can’t deny that, but love? I don’t know.”

  Wilma nodded at the logic and offered a smile. “Well, try and keep head and heart separate. There’s much at stake.”

  “I will. Don’t worry.”

  “Should I relay this news to Araminta?”

  “Yes, and if she disagrees with my decision to add Archer to the game, she’ll let me know in no uncertain terms, but she worked with his brother in the Sea Islands. I’m sure she’ll see the advantage in including him.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “And if I’m not, it’s too late. As you said, the cat’s out of the bag. We have no choice but to play the hand we’ve been given.”

  “Okay. I’m going back to the shop. I’ll send the wire to Araminta this evening. I’d come to the meeting tonight, but I have a wedding party scheduled for a fitting at seven-thirty. I will probably be there for hours. Is there anything else you need assistance with?”