Chapter 23

 

Surprisingly, Sabrina slept soundly that night and woke the next morning in unaccountably high spirits. The bed had been delightfully comfortable, especially since she hadn't slept on a proper mattress for days; the sun was shining brightly through the French doors that led to the balcony; and a smiling Lupe greeted her with a pot of rich, fragrant coffee and a plate of hot, buttery pastry. It was impossible to be gloomy or downcast.

A long, luxurious bath, the red-gold hair washed and washed again, and Sabrina began to feel that last night hadn't really been so momentous after all. Brett had kissed her, and she had liked it—liked it immensely. But what did that prove? That he was an attractive man and that she was a normal young woman? Of course. It was all very simple when one viewed it from the proper perspective. She'd been tired last night, excited and apprehensive, and when he kissed her she overreacted, and that was all—nothing to alarm one, nothing to depress one, or make one downcast.

Satisfied with her reading of the incident, clad in a silk wrapper of brilliant blue, she wandered out onto the balcony and standing in the warm spring sunlight, slowly brushed the long flame-colored hair. The heat from the sun rapidly dried the thick, wavy mass of hair, small tendrils curling softly about her temples and forehead, and like a child seeking a kiss, she lifted her face to the yellow sunlight.

From his balcony on the third floor directly across from Sabrina's, Brett watched her with something akin to aching pleasure. Thinking herself unobserved, she let down all her barriers. She laughed at the antics of a hummingbird, and Brett smiled in instinctive response to that happy sound. When she turned her face again to the sun's kiss, he envied those shining rays that wandered at will over that slim, lissome body.... With an effort he turned his mind to other things, and unwilling to let her intrude into his thoughts, he walked back into his own rooms.

Ollie was busy laying out his clothes for the day, and sending Brett a cheeky grin, he said, "She's a pretty sight, ain't she?" Adding slyly, "And with that fortune of hers, I don't imagine you'll be saddled with being her guardian for long... once the local beaux get a glimpse of her, the house will be full of them. You'll just have to take your pick of her suitors, and fast as Jack-be-Quick, you'll be rid of her."

A muscle throbbed in Brett's jaw, and he sent his interested valet a decidedly black look. "I see," he began, "that marriage hasn't taught you the wisdom of holding your tongue... yet."

"There are no secrets between Lupe and me," Ollie returned. "And she doesn't care what I say as long as I say I love her." His almost handsome face serious, he said, "Lupe and me want to thank you for the fine quarters you assigned us and for giving us that tract of land near Fox's Lair."

Brett grinned at him. "Now that you are a staid married man, you must think of your future and not be such a harum-scarum scamp as your disreputable employer. Besides, what else could I do if I intend to keep you in my service, which I most certainly hope to do."

Ollie looked thoroughly scandalized. "Guvnor! Damn my eyes! You don't think... Why I would never!"

Brett ruffled Ollie's dark hair. "No, I don't suppose you would, and I apologize for even suggesting such a thing." His eyes softening, he added, "I'm pleased that you and your bride are happy with the gift."

Lupe had been ecstatic with the rooms she would call home and the gift of land, and a few minutes after the conversation between Brett and Ollie, her dark eyes sparkling, she told Sabrina, "Oh, señorita! Senor Brett is the kindest man. He is so good to my Ollie and me! We have three whole rooms to ourselves—it is almost like having our own home. And"—her eyes getting bigger—"he gave Ollie a hundred acres of fine land near his plantation. JMy husband is a landowner!" Sending her mistress a fond glance, she added, "You are so lucky that he is your guardian—he is such a kind man!"

Sabrina nearly strangled on the reply that sprang to her lips, but hastily she turned away. In the days that followed, there were many adjectives Sabrina could have used to describe Brett, but the word kind was never among them. Mocking, arrogant, infuriating, and derisive, but definitely not kind!

For reasons known only to herself, Sabrina decided upon a waiting game—she did not, as she originally planned, ately launch an all-out battle to escape from the galling authority of Brett's guardianship. Instead, she convinced herself that there was no reason to begin hostilities instantly. Besides, she needed time to orientate herself to this new situation. She needed time to decide upon a lawyer and seek his advice. Time to prove that she was perfectly capable of handling her own affairs and that she certainly did not need or want Brett Dangermond to have any say in her life!

Having come to these conclusions, she was ready to treat Brett with cool politeness during the first difficult days. Unfortunately, a curt request that she meet him in the library before lunch unsettled her and had her approaching that room at the appointed time in a mixture of trepidation and aggression.

Shoulders squared, chin held high, and gowned in a plain, practical black muslin frock, she entered the library. Reaching the area where Brett lounged carelessly on one corner of his desk, she glanced dismissingly at him, and fixing her eyes somewhere above his dark head, she inquired haughtily, "You wanted to see me, señor?"

A faint smile curved Brett's mouth and he drawled, "Infant, I have no intention of talking to someone who won't even look at me."

Her gaze flew to his, a flush staining her cheeks, and the amused mockery in the jade-green eyes made her palm itch to smack his dark face.

"Now that I have your attention," he murmured, "I thought we should discuss some of the, shall we say, more mundane aspects of our regrettable relationship."

Aware of him in ways that she wished she weren't, Sabrina refrained from objecting to his choice of words and replied stiffly, "Whatever you desire, señor." And could have bitten her tongue at the derisive smile that flicked at the corners of his mobile mouth.

"Desire, my dear, has nothing to do with this conversation," he said, and before Sabrina could think of a suitable reply, he added, "I have arranged for a sum of money to be at your disposal at a bank here in New Orleans. That same amount will be deposited quarterly until such time as I decide it is inadequate for your needs"—his voice grew silky—"or you marry."

Wisely Sabrina kept her mouth shut. After a second Brett continued, naming a generous sum of money, explaining carelessly that it would be her allowance for any feminine trifles that she required. Naturally she would not be expected to pay for her room and board; he, as her guardian, would see to all her household expenses—servants, horses, and equipage were, of course, included. He had also set up accounts at some of the best-known modistes and millineries in the city, and as long as—said with a sarcastic inflection—she didn't attempt to bankrupt him, those bills would be sent directly to him.

Sabrina hated every moment of this humiliating interview. Brett's terms were generous, but there was something in the way he looked at her, something in his tone of voice, that made her writhe with embarrassment. What he was proposing was little different from the way her father had seen to things, but she bitterly resented Brett's authority over her, and his insolent manner did nothing to still her sense of injustice. It was an offensive situation, all the more so, she reminded herself viciously, because the money he was so lavishly doling out was hers!

He had no right to dictate to her—no matter what Alejandro's wretched will stated!

She had a very expressive face, and watching the angry flash of her eyes and the way her soft mouth tightened, Brett almost felt sorry for her. Almost. It was time she learned a little humility, he thought cynically. Learned that possessing great wealth gave her no divine right to play with a man's emotions, to play with his heart....

Annoyed that he had allowed his attention to wander, he said crisply, "I have no objections, at least at the present time, if Señora de la Vega acts as your duenna, and as for your amusements and friends—as long as I meet them and approve and your social engagements are appropriate, I shall not interfere unduly... unless, of course, I deem your activities unsuitable."

That was too much for Sabrina. Forgetting that she was not to lose her temper, forgetting that she was determined not to let him disturb or ruffle her, she glared at him and spat, "How dare you! Since when have you become such an arbiter of fashion? Since when does a black-hearted rogue like you decide what is proper or improper?"

His face hard, the jade-green eyes dark with fury, he snarled, "Since your father so unwisely named me guardian of you in that blasted will!" Unaccountably enraged by the situation, he said thickly, "Believe me, I have no wish to have you on my hands—and the sooner you find some poor, besotted fool to marry you, the happier I shall be."

Hurt and not certain why—after all, she wanted to be free of him, didn't she?—Sabrina stared angrily at him. Her magnificent bosom heaving, the amber-gold eyes glittering brightly, she retorted, "Have no fear—I'll marry the first eligible man who crosses my path. Marriage to anyone would be better than having to suffer your guardianship a day longer than necessary!"

Skirts swirling behind her, she wheeled about and marched toward the door. Her hand on the knob, she stopped, something that had been bothering her coming to mind. Turning to look at him, she frowned and asked, "How is it that you have all these arrangements made? I only arrived yesterday afternoon. You told me to stay in Nacogdoches—you can't have known that I was coming to New Orleans against your express orders."

Once again lounging on the corner of his desk, his arms folded over his chest, Brett smiled. "Wrong, my dear. Being somewhat acquainted with the tortuous mazes of the feminine mind, I knew that if I requested that you come to New Orleans, nothing short of an army would pry you loose from Nacogdoches." His smile widened. "Ah, but if I demanded, and in the most rude manner possible, that you stay where you were—then, of course, being female, you would race to New Orleans with all possible speed."

Sabrina stared at him, chagrin and fury churning in her breast. Dios! He was diabolical! Her anger suddenly fled and amusement glimmered in her eyes as she realized how correctly he had judged the effect of that contemptuous letter upon her. Rueful appreciation of his tactics caused a wry smile to curve her full mouth, and without rancor she said simply, "It is indeed your win, señor."

The door shut softly behind her, and Brett gazed transfixed at the spot where she had stood only a second before. From fury to amusement in an instant, he thought with bafflement, the memory of her smile making his hard features soften. Shaking his head, he stared down at the rug. Women! Would he ever understand them?

After that clash in the library, the following weeks went by without incident, Sabrina and Francisca gradually settling into the routine of Brett's household. Acquaintances were made and renewed. From previous trips with Luis, Francisca knew many people. Alejandro, too, with his many business connections in the city, had known several families, and these, not unnaturally, presented themselves to his sister and daughter. Some of the people Sabrina had met as a child when she had traveled with her parents; others she knew of from her father's letters and conversation. At any rate, she and Francisca, despite the definite stigma of living with an americano, were soon absorbed into Creole and Spanish society.

It puzzled Sabrina as the days passed that her aunt seemed content with the present situation. Francisca made few complaints about their circumstances, and regardless of the venom that flickered occasionally in the black eyes, she managed to rub shoulders with the hated gringo without breaking into open warfare.

Perhaps, her niece thought slowly on a warm, muggy day in mid-May, Tia is waiting for Carlos to arrive. Or else, Sabrina decided with an impish smile, Tia is so pleased with all the lovely new things Brett is so generously paying for that she has thought it prudent to hold her tongue in his presence.

And Brett was being generous to Francisca. Without a murmur he accepted and paid the older woman's bills when they were sent to him along with Sabrina's purchases. Francisca's bills were considerable, for as she exclaimed to Sabrina, she needed some compensation for having to put up with him.

Sabrina, too, was ordering new gowns, shawls, shoes, bonnets, and all manner of delightful fripperies. It was such a pleasure to shop for colors after nearly two years of wearing black that she threw herself into an orgy of buying, telling herself she didn't really need to worry about expenses—it was her own money. Yet there were times when she was uncomfortable knowing that her bills were sent directly to Brett. Buying clothing was such a personal task, and she blushed when she thought of all of the delicate, intimate bits of silk and frothy lace that she purchased, imagining the sardonic lift of those black brows when he read the descriptions on the bills.

Brett's manner bewildered Sabrina. She'd been braced for him to extract a measure of vengeance from the situation, but beyond the first evening when he had kissed her, his manner had been precisely that of a guardian... well, not exactly, she thought with a slight frown. There was a look in his eyes, something about the way his gaze sometimes travel over her, that made Sabrina remember vividly what it felt like to be held in his arms. Yet at other times, times when he was being his most sarcastic and provoking, she would find it hard to believe that once his derisively curved mouth had plundered hers, that once those strong arms had been locked passionately around her, his big, hard body joined with hers.

It was peculiar, Sabrina reflected with wonder, how quickly she and Francisca settled down to living with Brett. They had come here determined to fight him to the bitter end, but here it was already the middle of May and they were comfortably, if not ecstatically, established in his home. A smile crossed her lips as it occurred to her that one of the reasons for the apparent tranquility was the fact that Brett was seldom at home—occasionally he joined them for breakfast, and a few times he dined with them, but for the most part, they went about their daily life as if he didn't exist.

Sabrina grimaced. Francisca might be able to pretend he didn't exist, but she was always very aware of him, even when he wasn't around, very aware that once he had been her love—her lover. At the strangest times—brushing her hair in the morning or absorbed in the selection of material for a new gown—she found herself thinking of him, visualizing the way his thick black lashes hid the expression in those jade-green eyes, the way his mouth quirked with sardonic amusement, and regrettably, the way her heart plummeted to her toes every time she glanced up and found his eyes upon her.

She stirred on the stone bench where she was sitting beneath one of the magnolia trees in the courtyard. She didn't want to think about Brett, didn't want to acknowledge that the idea of challenging his guardianship was growing less and less desirable, becoming less important....

She brought herself up short. Of course she was going to fight for what was hers... eventually. Naturally this situation couldn't be allowed to continue. After all, he was a blackguard. A conniving, scheming scoundrel who had utterly hoodwinked her father!

The truth of the matter was that Sabrina found it harder and harder to whip up the righteous indignation she had once felt so deeply. She forgot nothing, not the terrible pain she experienced when she faced Constanza and realized the full extent of Brett's villainy, nor the fury she'd known when Alejandro's will was read. It all seemed so long ago, so removed from now, that entire days would go by without her ever thinking of the guardianship or what had happened six years ago.

She sighed, conscious that she no longer held her father's will against Brett. She might have ranted furiously at first, too stunned to think clearly, but her own sense of fairness reasserted itself, and she was willing to admit that Alejandro's will wasn't Brett's fault—he'd made it abundantly clear that being her guardian was the last thing in the world that he wished. No, she couldn't blame him for her father's stubborn determination to bring them together again, and she more than Brett, was aware of precisely what Alejandro hoped would happen if they were forced into each other's company.

A sad smile flitted across her lips. How wrong could her father have been? But then, he hadn't known the truth, hadn't known the real reason Brett had wanted to marry her, hadn't known of Constanza. Miserably, Sabrina admitted, it wasn't that Constanza and Brett had been lovers that caused her to reject him. That she could have forgiven him, if he loved her, if his affair with the other woman had been over with before he asked her to marry him. She knew that he was no monk, knew that there were bound to have been other women in his life; she'd been aware of the affair between him and Constanza—Carlos so very kindly pointed it out—but Brett's past hadn't mattered to her—provided it was his past. To discover that after making love to her, after asking for her hand in marriage, he continued to see Constanza, continued to make promises to the other woman, in fact seduced and ruined Constanza—that type of reprehensible conduct could not be borne.

And yet... and yet, while she could and did, for the most part, bury the past, bury her pain and disillusionment, the memory of the love she had once felt for him would not be banished along with the other ugly memories. She was shamefully aware that time may have blunted her anguish and rage, but it had done nothing to lessen the shattering impact his very nearness had upon her.

Her expression bleak, Sabrina stared down at her clenched hands. How could she possibly feel anything for such a man? How dare her heart continue to long for such a wicked creature! She was no fool, no silly, naive child falling in love for the first time. She was nearly twenty-four years old, a woman who should know better. Yet she felt as foolish and deluded as any female who had ever yearned for a handsome, unscrupulous rogue, knowing full well that if she persisted upon this mad course, the future would only bring pain and humiliation.

Which was why she could not allow herself to drift any longer, she thought painfully. Coming here, seeing him again, was the most ridiculous and unwise thing she could have done. She would have been far better off if she had never seen him again, never subjected herself to his powerful lure. For a second tears stung her eyes. What a weak, maudlin creature she was. Surely she had more control over her actions than did the poor besotted moth, fascinated by fire? Or was she doomed, like the moth, to be consumed by the beckoning flame?

Her chin lifted. She must speak with Brett. Must make her escape while there was still time. While she could still think clearly, still see the pitfalls in front of her. Things must be settled between them before her treacherous emotions betrayed her, before they blinded her to everything but the craving need to accept him on any terms.

She started to rise, to go in search of Brett, but with a sigh, half-impatient, half-relieved, she sank back down, remembering that he had left five days ago on business and that he wouldn't be back until evening. That would be soon enough, she reflected. She would leave word she wished to speak to him, and she would carefully plan what she would say. And pray God that she could convince Brett, the guardianship aside, that it would be best for all of them, if she returned to Nacogdoches.

It was unusual for Sabrina to find herself with this much time all her own, but today there had been nothing planned. No fittings. No shopping trips in town. No visiting with Tia Francisca's friends—her aunt was currently nursing a mild indisposition and was resting in her rooms. Tonight, too, was free—no amusements, no soiree, no opera or theater to attend. Nothing.

It was actually her first opportunity since she arrived in New Orleans to sit down and think, to examine her own emotions and to realize how effortlessly she was falling under Brett's spell once again.

He was an enigma to her. He could have made things unpleasant, and she had every reason to believe that he would do so, but he hadn't. Of course, he hadn't made them precisely pleasant either, she thought with a twist to her mouth. He treated her with an infuriating, friendly contempt that she found difficult to accept or understand. But there were times, precious few, when for long moments she would catch dizzying glimpses of the Brett who had so fascinated her, moments when he would completely disarm her. Yet, a second later, as if realizing that he had lowered his guard, his face would close up, his smile fade, and she would be left with the caustic indifference that he usually accorded her. He did well at keeping her confused and unsettled, at never letting her totally relax in his presence. But more perturbing than anything else, she had the uncomfortable sensation that behind the detachment, behind the sardonic manners, he was biding his time, playing with her, waiting for something....

For what? she wondered uneasily. For her to lose her temper and lash out at him? Was that why he acted so provokingly at times? Because he was deliberately driving her in a direction of his own devising?

Well, what did it matter now? she thought wearily. She would see him tonight and convince him, somehow, that she no longer wished to remain in New Orleans. That she belonged in Nacogdoches and that, as soon as was practical, she should return to her home. It was the wisest thing to do.

What her servants and Francisca were going to think, she didn't even want to speculate on. First she dragged them willy-nilly to New Orleans, and now, with almost as little warning, she was preparing to drag them back to Nacogdoches. She shook her head at her own folly. What a fool I am! But at least, she told herself grimly, fool or not, I know when to retreat.

Her mind made up, Sabrina would have liked to have proceeded instantly with her plans, but the arrival of a note from Brett informing his household that he would not return until well after midnight this evening delayed her meeting with him. It also gave her a long and restless night in which to struggle with her thoughts, to question her own wisdom, to speculate on what his reaction to her request would be, and to mentally rehearse again and again, the cool, mature way she would counter any arguments he might put her way.

She left word with Ollie that she wished to see Brett at the first possible time the following day, but she was considerably surprised when Ollie knocked on her door at eight o'clock the next morning and said gaily, "The guvnor says that if you must see him today, now's the time. Otherwise it will have to wait indefinitely."

Sabrina muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath. She wasn't prepared to see him this early in the morning—her hair just brushed, tumbled about her shoulders, and she was gowned only in a simple frock of apple-green muslin. She looked very young and innocent, certainly not the cool, collected woman she planned to present to him. For a second she hesitated, torn between the desire to have the meeting behind her and the equally strong desire not to give him any advantage. But if it meant waiting indefinitely...

Swallowing her dismay, trying to gather her flying thoughts, she walked beside Ollie as they made their way to the wing where Brett's rooms were located.

Brett's voice came muffled through the doors in response to Ollie's knock. Stepping aside, he motioned her to enter. An impish grin on his face, he said, "I expect you and the guvnor want to talk private-like."

Sabrina nodded, and then, her heart thumping uncomfortably, she pushed open the door and entered Brett's bedchamber. She had never been in this wing of the house, much less his personal rooms, and curiously she glanced around.

She was in a spacious antechamber. A brilliant green carpet lay upon the floor, several comfortable chairs covered in rich brown leather were attractively arranged throughout the room, heavy marble-topped tables sat here and there, and at one end a massive, intricately carved sideboard of Spanish design caught her eye. The polished top had several neatly arranged objects on it—crystal decanters and glasses and various leather-covered boxes. A huge gilt mirror hung above the sideboard.

A wide archway separated the antechamber from Brett's sleeping quarters, and through it Sabrina glimpsed a large satinwood armoire and a balloon-backed chair covered in velvet. Unwilling to move farther into an area she considered dangerous, she stood uncertainly just inside the double doors. Clearing her throat, she called out, "Are you there?"

Even expecting his answer, she was startled by his sudden appearance in the archway. He was clad in flesh-clinging nankeen breeches and calf-hugging boots of umber leather, and was in the process of slipping on a white cotton shirt. His state of undress didn't concern him in the least, but it increased Sabrina's agitation. His black hair was ruffled and damp, and she guessed that he had just come from his bath. He made no move to finish fastening his shirt, and hastily she averted her eyes from the bronzed, muscled chest.

Embarrassed and uneasy, she muttered, "I can come back later if I have arrived at an inconvenient time."

Brett shrugged. Walking into the room and approaching the sideboard, he lifted the lid of one of the boxes and reached for a cheroot. Lighting it, he looked at her. "Your message was that you had to talk to me right away. 'Right away' is either now or next week—take your choice."

It wasn't an auspicious beginning. Sabrina wished that she weren't so aware of his potent masculinity. Her mouth dry, trying not to let her eyes stray in his disturbing direction, she stated baldly, "I want to return to Nacogdoches."

Dead silence greeted her words. She waited tensely for some reply, and when none was forthcoming, she risked a glance at him.

He regarded her thoughtfully, the cheroot clamped between his teeth. He inhaled deeply, and then with a maddening slowness gently blew out a stream of smoke. Almost idly he asked, "Why?"

Sabrina had been dreading that question, unable to simply say, because I'm afraid of you, afraid you'll destroy my own self-respect, afraid you'll reduce me to pleading for whatever of yourself you could give me. Helplessly she stammered, "B... because it's m... m... my h... home."

Brett shook his head. "Not anymore."

"I beg your pardon?" she replied breathlessly, a little spurt of angry fear shooting up through her.

"Your home is where I decide. And I've decided it is here."

Determined not to lose her temper, Sabrina strangled back the hot retort that sprang to her lips. Clasping her hands tightly in front of her, she said distractedly, "I am unhappy here. I... I... I think it would be best, for both of us, if I returned to Nacogdoches."

A mocking smile on his lips, Brett cocked an eyebrow. "Best for both of us?" he drawled, "Why, my dear ward, whatever do you mean?"

The beast was enjoying this, she thought furiously, and unable to resist his baiting manner, she burst out, "Oh, stop it, damn you! This is ridiculous. You never wanted to be my guardian, and I don't wish to be your ward. The only solution is for us to have as little as possible to do with each other." When he remained unmoved, his eyes fixed on her flushed features, she said tiredly, "I don't want to fight with you, Brett—and while we've managed to brush through the last few weeks without any clashes, it is only a matter of time until..." She stopped, the words dying in her throat as he walked toward her.

The cheroot tossed into a brass spittoon nearby, he stopped inches from her. His smoky breath caressing her face, he prompted, "Until?"

Sabrina swallowed convulsively, his tantalizing nearness driving coherent thought from her mind. All she could think of was the warmth that emanated from that powerful form, the pleasure she had found in his arms, the sweet ache that spread through her own body. Humiliated by the betrayal that was going on inside her, and unable to bear the intense scrutiny of his eyes, she said huskily, "Until you push me too far."

He gave a harsh laugh. "Until I push you? Sweetheart, you are far more likely to push me."

Too aware of him for her own good and unwilling to speculate on what he meant by that statement, she said with far more calmness than she felt, "Which only proves my point—it would be better if I were not here in New Orleans, if we didn't see each other very often."

As if bored of the game, Brett turned around and flung himself into one of the leather chairs. The expression in his eyes hard to define, he asked, "How badly does this guardianship bother you?"

Surprised by the question, Sabrina stared at him. "A... a... a... great d... deal," she got out almost on a whisper, wishing frantically that she knew what he was thinking.

"Only a great deal? It doesn't chafe at you? Infuriate you? Madden you to know that I have complete control over you—and your much-prized fortune?"

There was a note in his voice when he mentioned her fortune that made her frown. A note of contempt and distaste. Now why...?

Brett's voice broke into her thoughts. "Doesn't it?" he demanded grimly.

A little angry at the whole conversation, Sabrina replied fiercely, "Yes, yes, it does. Sometimes it is intolerable!"

"Only sometimes?" he jeered.

"All the time!" Sabrina snapped, and carried away by frustration and the heat of the moment, she said rashly, "I would give anything to be free of you!"

Something unpleasantly like satisfaction crossed his lean features, but he only said, "You always surprise me, Sabrina."

Her puzzlement showing on her face, she demanded, "What do you mean? Surely you knew that sooner or later I would fight against your restrictions."

"But what restrictions have I put in your way?"

"None! But that doesn't change anything—I don't want to live here in your home, and if you force me to, I shall seek to have my father's will thrown out in a court of law."

"Ah, I see," Brett murmured. "I can remain your guardian as long as I let you do as you wish." His voice hard, he added, "And that's been your trouble from the beginning—your father indulged you, spoiled you beyond belief, and made you into one of the most self-centered individuals I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

Deeply hurt and mortified, Sabrina turned her head, blinking back an unexpected sting of tears. It was unjust. She had been indulged, even she would admit it, but she had never taken advantage of that fact. Before she could betray how badly his words hurt, however, pride came to her rescue, and stiffly she said, "You have no right to sit in judgment upon me—you don't even know me!"

"Thank God for that!" he growled, and rising up, he walked over to where she stood with her back against the door. "But I can sit in judgment upon you—your father gave me that right, and in the future I intend to exercise it to the fullest."

Tears gone, her face set, she glared at him. "I hate you, Brett Dangermond! And I will do anything to overset this despicable guardianship."

He smiled cynically. "You know, sweetheart, I thought it would take us months to reach this state." His hand sliding possessively down her throat, he continued carelessly, "Of course, I was certain I would have to play the heavy guardian a few times first—really enrage you and make you so angry by my actions that anything I suggested would find instant favor with you." Mockery in his eyes, his voice a velvet purr, he asked, "You did say anything, didn't you?"

Suffocatingly aware of his tall body so near hers, the heat of his hand upon her throat scorching her flesh, and feeling as if some just-noticed deadly trap was opening up beneath her feet, Sabrina nodded. Driven to hide any weakening on her part, she declared, "Yes! Anything!"

The jade-green eyes moved over her, deliberately lingering on the full mouth and then sliding appreciatively down her slender form. Huskily he muttered. "Then I think we can come to a satisfactory arrangement."

His mouth touched the corner of hers, and helplessly Sabrina responded. She couldn't think sensibly with him this close, with his hand caressing her shoulder, his mouth tantalizingly brushing hers, and on a shamed whisper she got out, "What sort of arrangement?"

He lifted his head, and she was chilled by what she saw in his face. "A simple arrangement, tiger lily," he said thickly. "You become my mistress for six months, and at the end of that time, I sign all rights to your damned fortune over to you." Cynically he added, "I think that's a fair enough price to pay for six months' use of that delectable body of yours, don't you?"