Brit brought the lathered, snorting Captain to an abrupt halt directly in front of the mansion. He dismounted and turned the big stallion loose. He knew that Captain would dutifully circle the immense manicured lawns, pick his way down the path to the outbuildings far behind the house and go directly to his private stable, where a sleepy groom would unsaddle him and give him a rubdown.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Go on,” Brit said to the big iron gray, which had not yet moved. He pointed a finger in Captain’s face and warned, “And don’t go tromping through LaDextra’s flower beds or we’ll both be in big trouble.”
The stallion whinnied, nudged Brit’s shoulder, turned and pranced away.
Brit inhaled slowly and automatically looked up at Anna’s room. It was dark. She was asleep.
Quixotically, he wished that she was awake and standing on the balcony in the moonlight, eagerly awaiting his arrival. He envisioned her there. And he envisioned himself anxiously scaling a vine trellis to her, taking her in his arms and whisking her off to his room, where he could make love to her through the long, hot night.
Brit exhaled heavily and scolded himself for being a fool.
His hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets, he went up the front walk, circled the huge mansion and quietly let himself in the back door. In the shadows cast by the dim wall sconces, he climbed the back stairs to his room.
Inside, a lone lamp burned low on the bedside table. The rest of the room was in shadow.
Brit sat wearily down on the bed, but was up immediately. He crossed to the drink trolley, poured himself a bourbon. He took one small swallow and set the glass aside. From a silver box on a marble-topped drum table, he snagged a cigar. He lit it, took a couple of drags, then impatiently snuffed it out in a crystal ashtray.
He started to undress. He took off his open blue shirt, tossed it aside. His hands went to the waistband of his soiled and torn beige trousers, but fell away before he unbuttoned them. He wasn’t sleepy. He was edgy, restless, haunted by the bedeviling vision of an angelic face with enormous blue eyes framed by spun-gold hair.
And a tall, willowy body that had fit so perfectly against his own.
Brooding, Brit shook his head as once again he relived that terrible moment on the morning after he had made love to Anna in the stable. There had been at least a dozen people in the dining room enjoying a late breakfast when she had stepped inside, silently commanding everyone’s attention.
Including his.
Especially his.
She had been so appealingly fresh faced and glowing. Her long hair had been pulled back on one side, and she’d worn a girlish pink dress with puffed sleeves and full skirts. She might have been sixteen years old, so pure and guileless she’d appeared. The sight of her looking so young and innocent, coupled with the fresh memory of all the intimate things they had done just hours before, had taken his breath away.
Her cheeks flushed, her beautiful eyes sparkling, she had looked at him shyly, expectantly. And he had pointedly glanced at her, then quickly dismissed her.
Brit swallowed hard now, remembering.
He knew what his indifference had done to her. She had been crushed by his coldness. Bewildered and badly hurt. She had immediately assumed exactly what he had wanted her to assume—that he was already bored with her. That their night together had been a mindless diversion, nothing more. That he’d had all he wanted of her, was no longer interested in her.
Oh, God, was she wrong.
He hoped she’d never learn that the reason he had been so pointedly cold to her that morning, and ever since, was because the lovemaking had meant something to him. It had meant too much to him. It had meant as much to him as it had to her, and that had angered and frightened him.
Scared him half to death.
The last thing he wanted was to fall in love with a beautiful imposter who intended to steal his inheritance. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let it happen. So he had purposely let her believe that he was a callous cad who had taken what he wanted from her and then promptly lost interest.
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
She was on his mind constantly, and it was driving him crazy. He could think of little else. Since that sweltering Fourth of July night when exploding fireworks intermittently illuminated her beautiful face as he made love to her, she’d been on his mind and in his blood and under his skin. Jesus, he couldn’t even get it up with Beverly because he wanted Anna.
Only Anna.
No one but Anna.
Brit shook his head, disgusted with himself. There was little he could do about the fever in his blood. This beautiful blond thief had a definite hold on his body. But he’d be damned if he’d let her get her hands on his heart.
Or on his inheritance.
He had to remember at all times that no matter how sweet her kisses or how pliant her body, she was a cunning imposter with but one goal in mind. To swindle LaDextra out of The Regent and leave him holding the bag. He knew it as well as he knew his own name.
But he had to have proof. God, why were the Pinkertons dragging their heels? Why was it taking so much time to learn the woman’s true identity? When was he going to hear something?
Brit shook his dark head, determined to dismiss her from his troubled thoughts. He was tired and he was finally getting sleepy. He finished undressing, turned off the bedside lamp and crawled between the silky white sheets.
He lay perfectly still in the darkness for several long minutes, then turned his head on the pillow. And saw, lying on the bedside table, the leather-bound book of poetry that Anna had left at the springs that day she’d come upon him naked. Brit raised up onto an elbow, reached for the book. He laid the book on the mattress and opened it to where a brittle flower lay pressed between the pages.
The rose.
The bloodred rose that Anna had worn in her hair the night they’d made love. Brit’s hooded eyes darkened and a muscle danced in his lean jaw as he carefully lifted the fragile flower and touched it to his lips. He shuddered, recalling how he had plucked the fragrant rose from Anna’s golden hair and brushed its delicate petals over her face and shoulders and breasts.
Brit scowled darkly and stuck the dried rose back between the book’s pages as anger overcame sentimentality. He slammed the book closed and threw it forcefully across the room.
It hit the wall with a thud and fell to the plush carpet below.
At first he couldn’t believe it.
He blinked, rubbed his eyes, looked again.
She was still there.
Brit anxiously sat up, thrusting a pillow behind his back, never taking his eyes off her.
His beautiful Anna had swept in through his open balcony doors and was floating gracefully toward him, as if she were walking on clouds. Her long golden hair was unbound, its shiny silkiness framing her exquisite face and flowing down her back. Her white nightgown with its long sleeves and high yoke covered her from throat to bare feet, but to his delight it was totally transparent.
His eyes wide, he could see her tall, slender body through the filmy fabric as if she were wearing nothing at all. Her full, creamy breasts were clearly visible, the pale pink nipples unthreateningly beautiful in their soft, sleepy state. Her delicate ribs were outlined beneath the flawless, pearlized skin, as were her flat belly and prominent hipbones.
Brit’s mouth watered as he gazed at the tempting triangle of golden curls between her pale, perfect thighs. When he could bring himself to tear his eyes from those springy blond coils so effectively concealing and protecting her most feminine flesh, he noted that her knees were cutely dimpled, her ankles slender.
He was speechless as she drifted ever closer to his bed. When she stood directly beside it, she smiled at him and asked, “You won’t send me away, will you? You did want me to come, didn’t you, Brit?”
“God, yes,” he managed to reply, his heart now thundering in his bare chest.
Anna reached down, cupped his dark jaw in her hand, skimmed the pad of her thumb over his bottom lip and said, “Do you know why I’m here?”
“I hope I do,” he said.
She smiled. “You made love to me once. Now I will make love to you.”
He playfully bit her thumb and murmured, “Anything you want, baby, anything.”
She slid her hand around the back of his neck, urged his head back, bent and kissed his lips. She thrust her tongue deeply into his mouth, and Brit sighed with pleasure and eagerly reached for her.
“No,” she warned, abruptly tearing her lips from his and stepping back. “I told you, I am going to make love to you.”
“I’m sorry.”
She smiled at him again and said enigmatically, “Soon you won’t be sorry, you’ll be glad.”
“May I get up and—”
“No. You’re to stay where you are. I will join you.”
Brit said foolishly, “Anna, I’m…naked.”
“I would hope so,” she said. “Let’s see.” And she reached for the covering sheet, pulled it free of him and the bed, and tossed it to the floor. “Yes, you are naked. Would you like me to be as naked as you?”
“Oh, yes, yes I would.”
Brit almost lost his breath when Anna, standing directly before him, leisurely lifted the sheer night-gown up over her head and dropped it to the floor.
Gloriously naked, she sat down on the bed facing him. She placed her hands lightly on his shoulders. “There is,” she whispered throatily, “something I’ve wanted to do to you.”
“There is?” Brit’s hands tentatively lifted to clasp her narrow waist as he said, “Tell me, sweetheart.”
“No,” she said, “I will show you.”
With that, she bent her head, flipping her long blond hair forward. For the next few, pleasurable minutes she expertly teased and tormented him with just her hair. Slowly, seductively, she moved down his body, her face never touching him, only her heavy hair pleasantly tickling him, arousing him.
Brit, overwhelmed, raised a hand, heard her warn, “No. Don’t.”
His heart raced in his chest and he felt as if he had never known such excitement. Her heavy hair was spilling over him, tantalizing him, the wispy ends tickling his belly and groin. And rising swiftly to thrust through those silky golden locks was his fully formed erection.
It was a sight to behold, one he would never forget—his own hard, heavy flesh piercing the covering blanket of shimmering blond hair. He was almost sorry when Anna abruptly lifted her head and looked into his eyes.
“Kiss me, Brit,” she said.
“Baby,” he murmured, and reached for her as she slid up to meet him.
His lips closed over hers in a fiery, penetrating kiss that lasted for several long seconds. When finally Anna tore her kiss-swollen lips from his, she said, “I know why you never came to me again after that night in the stables.”
“No, you don’t, I—”
“I didn’t please you enough. I’ll please you now. I’ll make you happy.”
Before Brit could reply, Anna wrapped her small, soft hands around his thrusting masculinity and gently stroked him.
“Oh, God, God, God,” Brit breathed.
“Feel good?”
“You know it does.”
Toying with him, Anna looked into his dark eyes and asked, “How much do you want me, Brit?”
“More than I could ever tell you,” he said hoarsely, his hand lifting to gently cup a soft, pale breast. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone.”
She brushed his hand away. She asked, “How can I believe you?”
“I’ll make you believe me. I’ll show you how much I want you.”
She laughed softly. “No, I told you, you made love to me, now I will make love to you.”
“I can think of nothing I’d like better.”
Anna took her hand from him, put her arms around his neck and kissed him long and lovingly, licking at his lips, biting him playfully. Then she slipped out of his arms and rose from the bed. She put her hands on her hips.
“Lie down on your back,” she commanded, and he obeyed.
Impatiently he waited as she danced provocatively around the bed, moving in and out of shadow, lifting her heavy hair atop her head, turning her back on him, then pivoting about.
By the time she climbed back onto the bed with him, Brit was so excited his breath was coming in loud gasps. She stretched out close beside him and pressed her soft, slender body to his.
“Baby, let me—” he began, but she stopped him.
“No. Not yet. Don’t touch me just yet. Let me arouse you.”
“God, I am aroused, can’t you see that?”
“I can,” she whispered. “But you must want me even more. And you will. You’ll want me so much that you’ll give up everything for me.” She leaned over to kiss him, her hair cascading down around his face, enclosing him in a curtain of gold.
She kissed him passionately and pressed her soft curves against his hard body until he felt as if he couldn’t wait one more second to make love to her.
But she made him wait.
And she didn’t allow him to touch her. She scolded him each time he tried to caress her. She did all the touching, all the kissing, all the exciting.
It was exquisite agony for Brit. He lay there on his back in the hot darkness, more aroused than he’d ever been in his life. He wanted her so much he physically hurt. He had never known a woman more adept at titillation, more gifted at tantalizing him beyond endurance.
“Please,” he begged huskily, “sweetheart, please.”
When finally she agilely climbed astride him, Brit murmured his deep gratitude and relief.
Holding his breath, he watched, enraptured, as she rose up onto her knees and wrapped her hand around his throbbing erection. But just as she bent her knees and began lowering her spread thighs to impale herself upon him, she asked, “How much do you want me, Brit?”
“God, don’t do this to me. I want you, I want you, what more can I say? How can I make you believe me?”
Anna lowered herself another couple of inches, and Brit’s lean hips involuntarily surged upward, anticipating that much-longed-for meeting of hard flesh in soft flesh. She gave him just a taste. She skillfully placed the throbbing tip into her wet warmth, no more than an inch inside.
And then, to Brit’s horror, her sensual smile became scarily evil and her eyes shone like shards of blue glass as she whispered, “You can’t have it.”
“Jesus,” he rasped, grabbing her pale thighs and attempting to pull her down onto him.
But she was too quick.
Anna cast his hands away, shot to her feet, stepped over him and leaped down off the bed. “I must go.”
“No!” Brit protested, beside himself with desire. “God, no, don’t leave me like this. Have pity, baby.”
She had no pity.
She laughed maniacally, and from behind her bare back she suddenly produced a legal-looking document. She waved it at him as she backed away and she said, “Know what this is? It’s LaDextra’s last will and testament.” She laughed and added, “Guess what, Caruth? The Regent is now mine, not yours! You can’t have it. And you can’t have me.”
“I don’t care about The Regent. I just want you. Please, please…”
“Please, please!” Brit muttering, bolted upright, waking abruptly from the dark, disturbing dream. Sweating profusely, a full-blown erection bobbing on his bare belly, he foolishly looked around, as if expecting the cruel blond beauty who had so exquisitely tortured him to be there in his room.
His breath labored, his heart hammering, he was greatly distressed by the erotic dream that had turned into a horrible nightmare. He trembled in the darkness.
“God, I must get her off The Regent,” he said through clenched teeth, “whoever she is.”