Chapter 13

 

The sound of Brett's voice was the sweetest sound in the world to Sabrina, and her body sagged with relief. Carlos jerked away from her and with angry movements pulled the calzoneras back up around his waist. His face a vicious mask, he stared across the gazebo at Brett.

Sabrina struggled into a sitting position, her trembling hands trying to make some semblance of order of her ripped and torn clothing. Thank God Brett had come! Another second, another moment, and she would have been utterly ruined!

Shame and gratitude warred in the timid glance she flashed to Brett, but at the expression of disgust and contempt revealed by the hard, set features of his lean face, she was flooded with mortification so intense that her entire body ached with it. Surely he didn't think... He couldn't think...

It appeared he did. The dark green eyes flickered over her disheveled state, and in, he drawled, "You'll forgive my interruption, I hope. I didn't realize that the gazebo was... occupied. If you'll let me know what hours you use it for your assignations, I'll arrange my swim for a later time."

Sabrina's face flamed with both humiliation and fury. Smothering a gasp of outrage, she gathered her tattered clothing to her, and after throwing a look of utter loathing at the two men, she fled the gazebo.

There was a dangerous silence after she left. Carlos straightened his clothes, a complacent smile on his lips. "You gringos," he said lightly. "Always so impetuous and impolite. Surely you knew the gazebo was occupied—and what we were doing. Sabrina is never quiet in her lovemaking, and you must have heard her begging for me to take her." Shaking his head, he added with good humor, "Ah, well. It is too bad you arrived when you did. But in the future you will take more care not to disturb us, si?"

Brett had heard Sabrina pleading, "Please, please." But he hadn't believed his own ears. He had come down to take his usual afternoon swim, and upon catching a glimpse of the writhing bodies through the lattice of the gazebo, had started to turn away, assuming a pair of servants were using the small building for a lovers' rendezvous. The sound of Sabrina's voice had stopped him dead in his tracks, before, like a frozen zombie, he had walked up the stairs of the gazebo and looked in. The sight that met his eyes was seared agonizingly in his brain. Sabrina's nearly naked body thrusting lustfully beneath Carlos's as they kissed hungrily, her arms flailing about wildly as passion consumed her.

Coldly he said, "You'll understand if I don't care to discuss the situation with you. What you and Sabrina do is your business. But I'd be damned careful not to let Alejandro be subject to a scene such as the one that I just interrupted. I don't think he could handle it as unemotionally."

Carlos shrugged. "It wouldn't matter. He would demand that Sabrina and I marry at once, which would suit us admirably."

"Which makes me wonder," Brett mused, "why you're waiting? What do you hope to gain?"

Carlos shrugged again. Malice gleaming in the black eyes, he said softly, "I do not want to wait. I haven't since Sabrina first gave herself to me—but then you appeared!" With loathing he spat, "You with your great fortune. And now she delays, unwilling to commit herself fully to me, until she knows that there is no hope of a marriage with you."

His face unrevealing, the dark green eyes shuttered and empty, Brett turned away. Over his shoulder, he said curtly, "Rest assured, amigo, that you have nothing to fear from me. I wouldn't marry Sabrina del Torres if she were offered to me wrapped in diamonds and lying on a golden platter!"

A pleased smile on his mouth, Carlos watched Brett stride away. Things hadn't worked out too badly, he thought smugly, catching up the reins of his tethered horse and preparing to ride away from the gazebo. The plan to dishonor Sabrina and force their marriage had been hasty and ill-conceived. This was much better. Dangermond was disgusted by her and would not ever, now, consider her for a wife. It was true he was going to have to mend his fences with Sabrina, but with patience and charm, Carlos was positive, he could re-establish himself in her affections. It would be difficult, but he had all the happy years of their childhood to help him.

The passion that Sabrina aroused gnawed at him, and cruelly he dug his spurs into the silken hide of the fine animal he rode. Constanza. He would go to Constanza.

A short while later, he pulled his lathered horse to a stop in the pine forest behind Constanza's small house and rapidly crossed the empty courtyard at the rear of the house. He rapped on the wooden door, and when a servant opened it, he roughly brushed past her, demanding curtly, "Your mistress, where is she?"

"In the sala, señor."

Swiftly he found his way to the salon, and he breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Constanza alone.

She looked up expectantly when he entered the room, but when she saw who it was, something died out of the fine, dark eyes. "Buenos dias, Carlos," she said coolly. "What have I done to deserve your visit?" Petulantly, she added, "You have not been by to visit me for some time now."

Carlos smiled sarcastically. "Six weeks ago, you would not have been pleased to see me—then you had the gringo."

Her eyes traveled over him, noting with a slumberous glow the slight swelling near the crotch of his calzoneras. Her mouth curving sensuously, she murmured, "But you did not have your Sabrina... or did you?"

With a low growl, he crossed the room and jerked her off the elegant silk-covered sofa. His mouth plundered hers, Constanza's body melting against his, her lips opening under the demand of his. "Querido," she breathed a moment later, "I have missed you."

"Especially these past weeks," he taunted, his hands exploring her ripe curves.

Huskily, she agreed. "Especially these past weeks." Reaching down she freed his throbbing manhood from the calzoneras, her fingers sliding warmly around it.

Carlos groaned low in his throat and buried his mouth on hers. In the grip of blind, animal passion, he pushed her down to the floor. He shoved her skirts up, and grunting his pleasure he entered her.

They mated like animals, Constanza driven wild by the fierceness with which he took her, and the delicious fear of discovery made the act more exciting. If a servant should enter... Carlos's teeth closed over the breast he had just freed, and Constanza thought of nothing else but the ecstasy of having a man once more.

Ten minutes later, she rang for a servant, and the heavyset Indian woman who entered the room would never have imagined that only minutes before her mistress and Señor de la Vega had been writhing on the floor in a paroxysm of passion. Stony-faced, Maria, the servant, listened as her mistress demanded refreshments for the guest.

Alone again, Carlos sprawled in a high-backed chair of brown leather. Constanza sat demurely across from him, her skirts discreetly arranged.

They said nothing until after Maria returned with Madeira for Carlos and hot chocolate for Constanza. When the servant departed, Constanza said, "The suit with Sabrina must be prospering if she sends you to me in such a condition."

Carlos made a disgruntled sound. "Yes and no. Today I would have forced her into a position in which it would have been imperative that we marry—but that cursed gringo interfered!" His hand closed into a fist, his face twisting. "I should kill him!"

"No!" Constanza blurted out before she could stop herself. To her mortification, she felt a blush rush into her cheeks at the knowing look Carlos sent her.

"Ah," Carlos purred, his black eyes unkind. "This gringo means something to you."

Constanza bit her lip and for something to do, took a sip of the hot chocolate. "Not exactly," she said a second later. A queer look flashed across her face. Her voice full of bewilderment, almost as if she didn't understand her own emotions, she muttered, "He was very different from what I expected. And with his wealth and..." She shrugged her shoulders. "It was a foolish notion of mine, one he never encouraged or guessed. Besides, I'd make him a wretched wife."

"You actually considered marriage?" Carlos said, his expression incredulous. "He must have been wonderfully proficient," he sneered. "And magnificently endowed."

"He was," Constanza snapped, her dark eyes sparkling with anger. "He would split your sweet Sabrina in two—and leave her moaning for him to do it again."

Carlos sucked in his breath with rage. Sitting up in the chair, he snarled, "He will never have Sabrina! I saw to that this afternoon."

Realizing how near they were to a falling out, with an obvious effort, Carlos brought his temper under control. Throwing himself back against the chair, he said, "Come now, querida, don't let us fight. It is Sabrina and Brett who must be kept in dissension."

Constanza gave him a rueful smile. "You are right, amigo. I do not know what came over me." She shook her head and said teasingly, "Perhaps I needed you more than I knew." They smiled at each other.

"What did you mean about seeing to that this afternoon?" she asked.

Carlos took a long swallow of his Madeira. Satisfaction written across his dark features, he said, "He caught Sabrina and me in a very compromising situation—I let him think that we were lovers and that we made love often. He will not touch her now. He would not want what he thinks is my leavings."

An odd note in her voice, she asked, "Do you think there was any danger of him wanting her in the first place?"

"I don't know. I only know that these past few days, Sabrina has changed. She speaks highly of him, and there is something that comes into her eyes that I do not like. A marriage between them would be intolerable."

Constanza blenched. "Do you think that is likely?"

"Would it bother you?"

"A little," Constanza answered untruthfully.

Carlos smiled, recognizing the lie. Dropping his eyes to the glass in his hand, he murmured, "Then I suppose that if, by chance, the improbable happened and a marriage between them was imminent..." He glanced across at her. "You would do anything to stop it, wouldn't you?"

Her mouth thinned, the dark eyes blank and shuttered. "Yes," she replied. "Yes, I would. Anything!"

It was a satisfactory answer, Carlos thought, taking another swallow of Madeira.

Brett was also swallowing Madeira at that time, but he had no feeling of satisfaction as he did so. He was seated in a chair also, but the person across from him wasn't female—it was Alejandro, and Carlos would have been extremely displeased to discover that he, himself, was the topic, of their conversation. The two men were seated on the patio, resting from the heat of the day.

Brett's thick black hair still showed damp traces of his swim in the lake, and his long legs were stretched out in front of him. He looked relaxed, the glass of Madeira held loosely in one lean, tanned hand, his head thrown back against the chair as if he were contemplating the rough bark of the tree overhead, and yet... There was a curious stillness about that lounging, elegant form that bothered Alejandro.

Covertly he eyed Brett's face, noting that the features had a fine-drawn appearance to them. His face was thinner than it had been when he had first arrived, and the weeks in the hot, blistering Texas sun had darkened it until he had the swarthiness of a Spaniard—or a gypsy, Alejandro thought with a smile.

The smile faded from his lips when Brett asked, "Did you know that Sabrina is meeting Carlos alone at the gazebo?"

Taken aback, dismay obvious in his voice, Alejandro replied, "Still? I had hoped that those assignations had stopped."

"You know about them?" Brett demanded. "And have done nothing to stop it?"

Alejandro moved restlessly in his chair. "They are cousins, amigo! They have known each other since birth. Why, Carlos is like a brother to Sabrina. I could not forbid her to meet him. I have been perturbed about it, but you do not have to fear that it will in any way besmirch Sabrina's reputation. Everyone knows how it is between them. They are like two young puppies—it is harmless." On a lighter note, he added, "I have not tried to stop it, because to do so would make my headstrong daughter all the more determined to meet with her cousin."

"Harmless!" Brett snarled with an ugly laugh, and then caught himself. He'd debated mentioning the meeting to Alejandro, but his conscience demanded that he do so, if only to forewarn a man he admired and respected that dishonor could come from an unexpected source. But his conscience would not allow him to reveal what had really been happening. That would smack too much of tale-bearing. No. Not even with Alejandro's best interests at heart could he reveal what an angel-faced little slut his daughter was. "Forgive me," he said. "You know your daughter best." Floundering an excuse for his outburst, he muttered, "I was surprised that a gently reared young girl of her station would meet alone with a man other than a brother or a father."

Alejandro leaned forward to reassure him. "But don't you see, amigo, Carlos is a brother to her."

The jade-green eyes were expressionless. "As you say," Brett agreed, images of Sabrina's long golden legs as she thrashed beneath Carlos snaking torturously through his brain. Deliberately, he shattered the images that tormented him. No woman, no matter how lovely and desirable, was worth pain. Hadn't he learned that lesson at his mother's knee?

Alejandro was elated at Brett's concern. Surely there had been a note in his voice that had been jealous? Alejandro prayed so, but he was disturbed to hear that the meetings with Carlos had not ceased. His handsome face troubled, he said, "I do not fear that Sabrina will come to any harm with her cousin, but under the circumstances, if it is your wish, I will see if I can persuade her not to act so indiscreetly."

Stiffening, catching an inflection that rang like a warning bell through his mind, Brett questioned, "Under the circumstances?"

Embarrassment crept across Alejandro's features. How vexatious of him to have said that. Searching for an excuse to cover up his lapse, he said hastily, "The bandits! You haven't forgotten about them?"

Brett relaxed. What a fool he was—and arrogant, he admitted wryly. Until then his host had never given an inkling that he had ever considered Brett in the light of a son-in-law. Brett smiled mirthlessly. To have read even a hint of matrimony into Alejandro's simple phrase had been lunacy. "The bandits," he said. "I had forgotten them." Keenly he glanced back to Alejandro. "Have you heard some new word of them? I thought that since the Rios attack there has been nothing more heard of them."

"Yes, that's true," Alejandro agreed. "But though they seem to have disappeared from the district, one can never be too safe. I must impress upon Sabrina the danger of going alone to the gazebo—even if it is only to visit with her cousin."

Brett remained silent, his eyes fixed intently on the shining toes of his black boots. He took a long swallow of his Madeira.

The silence spun out, a companionable quiet between the two men. But eventually Alejandro was moved to break it. Pushing his glass back and forth across the table in front of him, he said, "I must confess that those meetings with Carlos do weigh on my mind."

"Oh? In what way?"

Alejandro looked at him and grimaced. "I do not like to discuss other people's business affairs, but I know you will say nothing, and perhaps it will do me good to get it off my mind."

Brett nodded. A lopsided grin curving his mouth, he murmured, "Sometimes the only manner in which I can see my way clear is to discuss a problem with my friend Morgan Slade."

Nodding, much like Brett, Alejandro murmured, "Yes, I can understand that." He took a sip of Madeira and admitted reluctantly, "The de la Vega family is in great financial trouble. Just a short while ago, I lent Luis a large sum of money. The money doesn't concern me—Luis will repay me when he can. What does concern me is Carlos. I cannot understand what that young fool is thinking. His family is as close to ruin as a family can be, and yet he spends his time at some low cantina in Nacogdoches, gaming and wenching."

At Brett's expression of surprise, Alejandro continued uncomfortably, "Several of the vaqueros from our rancho have seen him in there. And they talk. When the family had the money, I could understand Carlos's wasteful habits, but now..." Alejandro shook his head. "Now he continues just as he always did, and instead of helping his father, he lazes the days away visiting with Sabrina."

A bleak slant to his mouth, Brett muttered, "Perhaps he comes to her for compassion. Or in the hope that she can find a way to solve his dilemma—you said that they are close."

"That's not the point. The point is that Carlos should be working like the devil to save his home, his inheritance. He acts as if it means nothing to him. Luis is showing the strain; even my sister, who would rather die than let me know she is disturbed, has begun to bear the marks of worry." Glumly Alejandro confessed, "She hated it when Luis asked me for the money. She has such pride, and worse, she never wanted to leave the de la Vega rancho in Mexico and make Nacogdoches her home." Alejandro sighed. "How she pleaded with Luis not to come with me when I wanted to settle here. Even my own father wasn't pleased about it, but at least he understood a young man's yearning for adventure. I tried to explain to Francisca at the time that Luis, being the youngest son, would never be more than merely a cipher next to his older brother, that here he could be his own man, forge his own fortune." He smiled. "But Nacogdoches cannot compare to the splendor and delights to be found in Mexico City, and though she hides it well, I know she still resents the fact that Luis listened to my stories of the beauty and grandeur of this country, of the opportunity for a man to gain a fortune, and decided to come with me when I left Mexico." He shook his head. "She always feared that they would come to ruin, and now..."

"But how did it come about?" Brett asked. "This land is rich, so very fertile, that I cannot believe a man could fail so dismally. It is obvious that they prospered for some time."

Alejandro grimaced. "It is always a battle out here, amigo. Floods can drown your herds, Indians can steal them, and crops can fail. Then there are bandits and four-legged predators like bear and puma that can devastate an area. But in Luis's case, I think it has been mismanagement of his money. A rancher, like many plantation owners, lives from season to season, from one year of plenty to the next of famine, and Luis has not always been wise with his funds." Alejandro's patrician features hardened. "I fear that his indulgences with Carlos have eaten deeply into his actual monies—he cannot, or will not, deny his only son." Alejandro shook his head again. "I never suspected how unworthy Carlos is. I knew he was spoiled and perhaps a little wild, but I never dreamed he would be so indifferent in the face of adversity. These past few months have left me disappointed in Carlos."

A little smile of embarrassment tugged at the corners of Alejandro's mouth. "And now," he said apologetically, "I have disappointed myself, by boring you with such a maudlin tale." He glanced at his glass. "It must be the Madeira that has made me such a poor host."

Brett hastened to assure him that he was a fine host, and a few minutes later they were talking of other, more interesting things. It was only when the shadows were lengthening into the duskiness of early evening that Alejandro looked up with surprise and murmured, "It just occurred to me that Sabrina should be here with us. I wonder what has delayed her."

Brett remained silent, not trusting himself to speak, his eyes fixed on his glass. But then there was no need for him to speak. As if waiting for her father's words, Sabrina suddenly walked out from under the overhanging eaves of the house and joined them at the table.

It had taken a great deal of bravery for her to do so. Outwardly she looked quite composed—no sign of the angry, disheveled young woman who had raced away from the gazebo in shame was apparent in her appearance. The red-gold curls were demurely caught in a chignon at the base of her neck, and her gown was a delightful concoction of embroidered yellow muslin. The color enhanced her own golden-toned skin and deepened the intensity of the amber-gold eyes; a profusion of lace edging the modest neckline formed a charming frame for her lovely features, and around her neck was an emerald-green velvet ribbon; topaz earrings gleamed in her ears. But if outwardly Sabrina showed no signs of agitation, inwardly she was a quaking mass of jangled emotions. She was furious with Brett, and the hours since their parting had done nothing to soothe her ire. How dare he think her capable of welcoming Carlos's attack! And yet, a more rational part of her admitted that the scene had looked compromising. She didn't want to think about that, for her humiliation was too deep.

Her attitude toward Carlos was a mixture of disbelief, anger, bewilderment, and hurt. How could he have acted so despicably? In a state of shock when she gained the safety of her bedroom, for several moments she stood in the center of the room staring blindly at nothing. Fortunately, no one had seen her arrival back at the house, and she shuddered thinking about the questions and the unpleasantness there would have been if her father or Bonita had chanced to see her as she fled up the stairs. Would they have believed that she had welcomed Carlos's assault?

Thinking of Carlos sent a wave of nausea coursing through her body. Even love, she thought painfully, did not excuse him. He had meant to dishonor her, and she had little doubt that if Brett had not arrived when he did, Carlos would have raped her. And it would have been rape. Carlos's touch, his hot kisses, his caresses aroused no feeling within her but repulsion, and remembering his seeking hands upon her thighs, the touch of his hardened male flesh against her, she shivered as she tore off the tattered gown and threw it violently on the floor of her bedroom. What had possessed him? Had he gone mad?

She couldn't believe what had transpired, and yet, staring at the ruined heap that had been her pretty lavender gown, she was forced to face the fact that her friend, the cousin she had known all her life, the playmate of her childhood, had tried to rape her.

Numbly she gathered up the evidence of his attack and hid it in the bottom of a pine chest near her bed. She couldn't think clearly right now, but she didn't dare let anyone, especially Bonita, see that ripped and torn gown and ask questions.

Reaction made her teeth chatter, and with a low moan, she sought out her bed, burrowing deeply down into the covers, seeking to drive out the chill that permeated her very bones. She shut her eyes and Brett's contemptuous face floated behind her lids. Shivering then almost uncontrollably, she felt rage rising up through her body. How dare they! Carlos to try such a trick and Brett to blame her!

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 began 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 twisted distastefully. What an ugly, tortuous mind he must have, she thought angrily.

Carlos had betrayed a trust, but Brett's betrayal went deeper. He should have understood, she repeated 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 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 gave a funny little jerk 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. Puzzled and a little worried, he looked from one set face to the other. What in the world, he wondered, 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 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 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 stared at her in astonishment. "Chica, what is this? Why—"

Sabrina sprang to her feet, and interrupting Alejandro, she said, "If you will excuse me, I must leave." Slinging a venomous look at Brett, she added, "The air in here is 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 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 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 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. "What was it you thought you saw?"

The tanned face full of 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 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 I shouldn't have another sample."

His lips came down on hers, his arms crushing her to him. It was a shockingly carnal kiss, his tongue ravishing her 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 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.

Groaning, 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 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 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!"