Tigress

Chapter One

The party was a mistake.

Jessica Meredith suspected it within seconds of walking into the ultramodern mansion built on the grounds of an old coffee plantation high above Rio. At the end of a half hour, she knew it beyond a doubt.

It was just a feeling however; there was no obvious cause for her unease. The host and hostess seemed pleasant enough, not exactly upper-echelon Rio society, but far from its dregs. Their house with its space-age roof angles and soaring ceilings was furnished with the sleek opulence that comes from professional talent and copious amounts of money. The champagne being circulated by white-coated waiters was vintage Veuve Clicquot. The alternative, the potent and ubiquitous caipirinhas, a Brazilian cocktail made with fermented cane juice, was being passed around in crystal goblets. Extravagant and splendidly grotesque fantasias of jewels and feathers masked the faces of guests who wore small fortunes in designer clothes and jewelry. The scent of expensive perfume competed with the fragrance of tropical floral arrangements. The gathering was expensive, exotic, and not at all threatening.

Yet something was not right. Tension hung above the crowd as thick and choking as the blue cloud of cigarette smoke that grazed the ceiling. Alcohol was being consumed at a frantic pace. The buzz of conversation was more than a little loud, while laughter came in reckless, out-of-control bursts. The band was strong on drums, bongos, and tambourines meshing in a samba that assaulted the eardrums and pounded against the walls in near-savage rhythm. The dancers gyrating to its exaggerated beat moved with each other in wild, barely contained sensuality.

It was the time of Carnaval, of course, the crazy-wild, sexually charged pre-Lenten "farewell to the flesh," which corresponded to Mardi Gras in Jessica's own New Orleans. Allowances had to be made for the license of the festival season. Regardless, she felt so jittery it was hard not to break and run for the door.

A part of her edginess could be called normal. Parties weren't high on her list of favorite things, and she really hadn't felt up to a night of drinking and dancing with strangers after the meeting this afternoon. She had planned an early dinner and a night curled up in her bed at the hotel with files and papers in neat stacks around her. That was before Keil appeared at her door.

Her cousin, who was also her business partner, had met a nice Brazilian couple in the hotel lounge. They were on their way to a party and had extended an invitation to come along. The chance was too good to pass up, Keil said; he and Jessica could see something of Rio other than a business office. She could relax for once and forget Sea Gull Transport & Charter, Inc., and the takeover bid looming over the company. Face flushed and blue eyes earnest, he had insisted that she needed to get out, needed to have a little fun for a change. She had done nothing except work and worry for weeks, even years. It was turning her into an old woman before her time.

Keil had a point and Jessica knew it, which was the reason she had finally agreed to attend the party. Now she wished she had sent him off alone with her blessing. She might as well have, since he had disappeared immediately after bringing her a drink. She suspected he was keeping out of sight because he knew the first words out of her mouth when she saw him again would be, "Are you ready to go?"

Raised voices caught Jessica's attention. Only a few steps from where she stood, a man and woman exchanged words with a vicious undertone in rapid-fire Portuguese. Abruptly the man snapped his fingers in the woman's face, then turned and walked away. The woman gazed after him with tears glazing her eyes and a miserable twist to her lips below her sequined mask.

Disturbed, reluctant to offend by staring, Jessica turned away. Her gaze was caught for an instant by that of a burly, barrel-chested man on the far side of the room. His eyes glittered behind a mask of brown and red feathers, which gave him the look of a lecherous turkey. Detaching himself from the group where he stood, the man moved purposefully in her direction.

Something in the man's swaggering stride and the curl of his moist, full lips made the skin at the back of Jessica's neck tingle in primitive alarm. She looked around hurriedly for Keil or escape, whichever presented itself first.

At that moment a tall man pushed away from where he had been propping up the wall with his broad shoulders. Dark-haired, wearing a silk-lined cape and a bandit's half mask of black velvet over his face, he stepped in smoothly to block the turkey's path. The bandit spoke to the big man behind the feathered turkey mask, a low and succinct suggestion. For an instant it appeared there would be a fight as the turkey balled a fist, but his protest was cut off by a swift, slicing gesture of dismissal from the man in black. The turkey lurched around and moved off, shouldering through the crowd in the direction of the bar.

The bandit turned his head to stare at Jessica. His gaze was intent, appraising. Beneath his mask the chiseled curves of his mouth were set in grim lines that might have indicated disapproval.

The heat of a flush rose to Jessica's cheekbones. She had not felt any need for a disguise until that moment. Keil had been told that it was not really a costume party. Now she felt naked with her face uncovered. She swung sharply to put her back to the room, facing the wide window just behind her.

Her head swam a little with the swift movement, and she put out her hand to touch the cool plate glass. She was so hot, the effect of too many people and an air-conditioning system not quite up to the tropical climate, not to mention alcohol well above 100 proof. With no one to talk to and no inclination to force herself into any of the groups, she must have drunk too much of her caipirinhas too fast. Something to eat from the hors d'oeuvre trays wouldn't hurt; breakfast that morning had consisted of coffee and a bite or two of roll, and she had skipped lunch, since she was too nervous to eat before the business meeting. The normal dinner hour in Rio being some time after ten o'clock, it had still been too early to expect a decent meal in the local restaurants when she and Keil left the hotel.

Leaving to find something to eat would make a good excuse to go when she saw Keil. In the meantime she was more thirsty than hungry. She drained the melted ice water that was left in the bottom of her goblet before setting it on the table beside her.

As she shifted her stance, the dark surface of the window reflected the pale oval of her face and pure lines of her features, the clear green of her eyes, the tawny gleam of her hair in its shoulder-length cut, and the gold tracery of embroidery on her evening suit of beige linen. She thought, suddenly, that she looked a little like a ghost set apart from dazzle and life shifting behind her. It was unsettling and even a little depressing. No matter where she went, it seemed, she was always a little out of her element, always isolated, solitary.

The view beyond the wide expanse of glass was one seen in a thousand travel magazines: the lights of Rio gleaming in a splendid crescent around the bay while Sugarloaf and its attendant hills rose beyond like great bombe desserts from the glazed black platter of the water. Beautiful Rio. Its reputation was rather like that of New Orleans, a city of sinful pleasures where the only moment that counted was the one in your hands. She had arrived here with such hope, such plans for seizing that moment. Precious little of either was left.

Down there in one of the glass-encased high-rises along the bay were the offices of CMARC, the Companhia Maritima Castelar, where she and Keil had kept their afternoon appointment. They had been ushered into the suite belonging to CMARC's president, Rafael Castelar y Torres. It had been an impressive space where stark expanses of glass let in the view of the sea, and modern, faintly erotic free-form sculptures were displayed on antique tables inlaid with old ivory and rare tropical woods. A Cezanne had shared a wall with an ancient map in a heavy gold frame, and silk cushions in rich colors brightened a sofa and chairs of cordovan leather.

The man who rose to greet them from behind a rosewood desk the size of a small island had been something of a surprise. Jessica had expected someone older, perhaps because the president and CEO of CMARC had been dealing with her grandfather for some time. Castelar, in his mid-thirties, had been darkly handsome with a personable smile and manners that bordered on courtly. He looked, in fact, as if he would be more at home on a polo field than in a business office; he had that air of sun-bronzed, upper-class privilege allied to a wide-shouldered, athletic form and a bearing with a dangerous competitive edge. In another age he might have been a conquistador rather than head of the largest shipping company in South America, one of the largest in the world. Astute, incisive, Castelar concealed his predatory instincts under layers of charm while he went all out for what he wanted, Jessica thought.

What he wanted now was Sea Gull Transport & Charter.

Castelar had been in no hurry to get down to business. While an elderly waiter served cafezinho, tiny cups of shudderingly strong, sweet coffee, he talked of a multitude of other things, sitting in easy relaxation as if he had no other appointments, nothing better to do than enjoy a cordial visit. Only when half an hour had passed did he lead the conversation to the subject Jessica and Keil had come so far to discuss.

Gaze intent and expression polite, he leaned back in his chair while Jessica marshaled the arguments that would convince him to give Sea Gull Transport more time to consider his takeover bid. At the same time, however, his attention wandered. His gaze rested for long, disconcerting moments on her hair, her mouth, her hands, and the smooth shape of her knee that was exposed as her suit skirt retreated from her crossed legs. There was nothing idle in the inspection, but rather a careful noting of information about her, everything from the clothing she wore to the shape of her body under it.

Jessica had been warned of the extreme appreciation for women of the Brazilian male, and also of their tendency toward close inspection that could feel like staring to those unaccustomed to it. Regardless, it was unnerving to be on the receiving end. It made her feel oddly vulnerable and far more aware of herself as a woman than was comfortable.

Once she came to a faltering halt as she noticed that Castelar's concentration was centered on a spot a few inches below her chin. Glancing down, she saw that a button of her blouse had slipped from its hole. The silk gaped open, revealing the curve of her breast above her lace-edged bra. Her fingers were not quite steady as she hastily fastened the errant button.

As she looked up at the Brazilian again, his gaze caught and held hers for what seemed like endless aeons of time. It weighed, measured, penetrating deep as though to discover who and what she was inside. With breath suspended in her throat, she sustained the invasion. She even returned it in a brief moment of curiosity and bravado.

His eyes, she discovered, were not just brown, but the clear amber of some jungle creature such as the fabled Mayan jaguar. And something she saw in their rich depths made her heart kick into a suffocating rhythm.

She lowered her thick lashes in concealment, compelled by an abrupt instinct for self-preservation. Still, she caught the instant when he finally looked away from her, and she thought there was a trace of color under the olive bronze of his skin.

That minor byplay had no effect whatever on the mission entrusted to her and Keil. Castelar was diplomatic in the extreme. He fully understood their reasons for requesting a delay in the ongoing negotiations. He regretted the stroke that had felled her grandfather, recognized Jessica's need to become familiar with her new position as acting CEO in the older man's place, saw the necessity of assessing the strength of the company now that Claude Frazier, its primary founder, was no longer at the helm. Nevertheless, he made no promises she and Keil could carry back to her grandfather or the other family members on the company's board of directors. For all the good the two of them had done, they might as well have stayed at home.

If she had done that, if she had not come to Rio, Jessica thought, she would have at least been spared this party. She would also have avoided the noise and excesses of carnival.

The acres of bare brown skin and the uninhibited flaunting of sexual attributes that was carnival madness had not left her unaffected, no matter how much she might pretend. She could not ignore the blatantly assessing stares or frank comments on her looks and abilities in bed that followed her on the streets. The music of the samba that played everywhere made her feel restless and far too aware of her body. The urge to move to it, to fling off her clothes and dance half-naked to its sensual rhythm was a half-acknowledged temptation. It was as if there was something missing from her life, something she wanted with a bone-deep yearning but could not quite grasp. At the same time, the uninhibited sexual awareness around her made her acutely embarrassed.

Sex. That part of her nature had been repressed for so long that the deprivation had become second nature. Being reminded of it now was the last thing she needed. Rio's relentless celebration of the physical aspect of love set her nerves on edge, especially in the midst of the pressure-cooker heat and tension of this party, where everyone wore disguises in order to hide their true selves, their true inclinations.

She felt as if she were suffocating. She wanted desperately to be outside in the night air, where she could breathe, where there was only darkness and silence, the stars in the night sky and the sea that whispered on the horizon. She needed these things far more than she needed people or loud music or the strained gaiety that she felt around her.

Glancing over her shoulder, she traced a path with her gaze toward the heavy double doors leading into the room. Beyond them lay the entrance hall where she and Keil had been admitted to the house. That way out was blocked by several dozen people, however, including more than one man who watched her with what appeared to be speculation.

To her right, just down from where she stood, was a pair of tall French doors set back in the wall. They led into a walled patio. It might have an exit from it. She swung in that direction with abrupt decision.

The lights began to blink before she had taken two steps. Flashing like lightning among the crystal stalactites that made up the enormous chandelier high overhead, they flickered once, twice, three times. A murmur of excitement swept through the room like a moaning wind. The glittering lightbulbs winked once more, then abruptly went out. Total darkness descended.

Jessica froze in place. For the space of a breath, there was silence around her. Even the band stopped playing.

Then a woman laughed, a high-pitched, nervous giggle. In a far corner a man gave a grunt with the sound of triumph and a female voice cried out in a protest that was abruptly cut off. Scuffling noises broke out in half a dozen places. There came the hissing slide, quiet but unmistakable, of a zipper being lowered.

The band began again, but with only the percussion of drums and bongos. The beat was primitive, driving, with a cadence as steady as a metronome and just as relentless. The darkness seemed to pulse with it as faint, moving shadows began to dance over the walls.

With the slow precision of a camera focusing, Jessica's eyes adjusted to the dimness. Her breath caught in her throat. Her gaze widened in horrified disbelief as she pressed back against the long window behind her.

In the faint radiance of the distant city lights coming through the window, men and women were moving together like dark brutish shadows. Kissing, groping indiscriminately, they stripped off their clothing as they leaned against the walls or settled down to lie, body against writhing body, on the thick carpet. Small smacking, sucking noises came from all directions, along with soft moans.

The party guests were making love--if it could be called that--coupling promiscuously there in the darkness.

She had to get out of here. She had to get out now.

Where was Keil? She strained her eyes, but could not make out his tall form anywhere around her. She opened her mouth to call out to him, then snapped it shut again. Attracting attention to herself seemed like a very bad idea.

It was impossible to thread her way to the front entrance through the seething couples. The darkness made it difficult to see who anyone was, or if they were reaching for her. She might be caught, pulled down, her clothes..."

No. She would not think of it. It was too incredible, too impossible.

If she could not get to Keil, she would have to find her way out of the house by herself. He would be all right. He was a man, after all.

Had he known this would happen? Could he have been told?

No, never. Surely her cousin would not have come anywhere near the place if he had guessed. He wasn't that kind of man. More than that, he was too well aware of how his uncle loathed such lack of self-control. Keil would be in just as much trouble as she with Claude Frazier if it ever came out he had been present at what amounted to an orgy. To Claude Frazier, immorality had no gender.

The patio. It could still be her best way out.

The doors should be just ahead of her. The lights must have been extinguished outside, too, for she could barely make out the rectangular glints of the panes in the French doors. She groped for a doorknob, found the cool metal of a curved brass handle. Pushing the door open with care, she slipped quietly from the room. As she breathed fresh air scented with sea salt, relief moved over her in a shivering wave.

The tall palms growing in the corners of the enclosed space blocked the little reflected light from the sky, making it even darker out here than inside the house. A wedge of black shadow marked the overhang of a balcony at the far end. She seemed to have the patio to herself, for nothing moved under the gently waving palm fronds.

She made a quick circuit of the walls that were cloaked in the white stars of night-blooming jasmine, skirting a trickling fountain that was inset into an alcove and flanked by cushioned stone benches. There was no exit that she could find. The only door other than the one she had used was one of sliding glass set in the window wall, which led from underneath the balcony into a different wing of the house.

The sliding-glass door was locked. She was trapped.

The French doors behind her opened again with a soft click. She whipped around toward the sound. One door panel stood ajar, and she thought she caught a slight movement, like a shadow in the darkness. Retreating swiftly beneath the balcony, she flattened herself against the rough brick of a square pillar. Eyes closed, breath suspended in her chest, she listened.

Nothing.

No, wait. Had that been the faint scrape of a footstep?

Long seconds passed. The space within the enclosing patio walls was silent, though faint, disquieting sounds still came from the room Jessica had left. A shudder rippled over her, and she began to take in air again in quick, shallow breaths. With clenched teeth she fought down the peculiar combination of dread and fascination that assailed her.

How could the party guests pair off in that way, stranger with stranger in the dark? What reckless abandon made it possible? What rules applied? Or were there any beyond the deep, primal instinct of the moment? How could they reach out to touch, hold..."

She wouldn't, couldn't, think about it.

The faint noise she had heard might have been a palm frond moving in the night wind, brushing against the wall. Or possibly a bird disturbed by her presence. A leaf drifting across the stone floor.

It could have been anything. Or nothing at all.

She could not stand there forever. Each passing moment made it more likely that she would have company, if only some couple seeking privacy. She had to retrace her steps, then find a way to run the gauntlet of moving bodies and snatching hands in order to get out of the house. Steeling her nerves, she stepped from behind the pillar.

She was grabbed from behind, snatched backward into a crushing hold. She tried to scream, but the sound was muffled in her throat as a hand clamped over her mouth. Kicking, struggling, she felt herself lifted against a hip and half carried, half dragged into the blackness farther back under the balcony.

Blind rage crashed through her brain. With the strength of pumping adrenaline, she jerked an elbow free and jabbed it backward as hard as she could into the man's ribs. The arm around her squeezed tighter.

She flailed behind her, clawing, but her blows lacked purchase and strength. Her chest burned. Dimness gathered at the edges of her vision. Her heartbeat sounded in her ears with a hard pounding like running footsteps.

Abruptly she was dropped. She caught herself on her hands and knees, breath whistling as she drew air back into her lungs. Above her came the thud of a hard fist on bone, followed by a rasping curse. Wrenching her head around, she saw the wrestling shadows of two men. Arms jerked and blows thudded. The pair broke apart as one went stumbling backward, sprawling to the stone floor. He heaved himself to a swaying crouch. The other man moved toward him again in a lithe glide with menace behind it.

The first man pushed upright, then staggered back before whirling into a broken run. A blast of drums and soft, grunting cries poured into the patio as he snatched the French doors open. The fleeing man plunged inside. The doors slammed shut behind him.

The tall man swung and came toward Jessica, looming over her. A low exclamation of concern sounded in his throat, then he swept the cape he wore aside and knelt with supple strength. His face was shadowed, the upper half covered by a velvety black mask. She flinched as he reached out to touch her shoulder.

The man drew back his hand. "Your pardon, senhorita. I mean you no harm."

The words were deep and quiet, hardly more than a whisper. In spite of the Portuguese form of address, she thought they carried very little accent. She could not be sure, however. She could hardly hear above her own labored breathing and the sickening beat of her heart. That her rescuer was unaffected by the fight he had been in seemed unfair.

"I--thank you," she managed finally. Pushing upward, she tried to stand, but swayed as her head swam with a sickening, disoriented sensation. Cane liquor and terror definitely did not mix.

The stranger caught her, steadying her with a firm arm around her shoulders. His manner was concerned yet a shade critical as he stared into the bloodless oval of her face there in the darkness. In tones of command he said, "You must sit down."

"No, really, I'll be all right."

He paid no attention, but swung to stare into the night shadows. His gaze fastened on the cushioned benches near the wall fountain. "Come."

She allowed herself to be led, since it was easier than protest, easier than finding her way alone. As she dropped down onto the padded softness, however, the trembling of reaction surged over her in a wave, abruptly becoming hard shudders. She wrapped her arms around her and held tight as she clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

With a soft curse the man sat down and drew her to him, closing her in the strong circle of his arms. Pressing her head to his shoulder with one hand, he held her while he rocked her as gently as a child.

For brief, confused seconds, Jessica sat rigid even as she jerked with the tremors tearing through her. But the arms that held her were warm and firm without being confining; they offered comfort, reassurance, infinite protection, all the things she needed so desperately. And touch--close, compelling human touch such as she had not known in long years. She allowed herself to relax by degrees until she was resting against the firm shoulder under her cheek. Though the shaking still rippled over her, she gave a soft sigh.

Her rescuer's hold tightened, while his warm exhalation feathered across the silk of her hair. She accepted the closer bodily contact as naturally as breathing. He was not quite as calm as he appeared, she discovered; she could feel his heartbeat pulsing against her breasts. The hard, steady throb matched that of her own heart, blending with it so the two seemed perfectly synchronized. Her trembling slowed, subsiding by degrees.

There grew upon her an odd sense that was very like recognition. Somewhere deep inside, she felt its slow unfurling, as if the imprint of his body, like the electronic identification of a handprint, had unlocked some inviolable recess of her being. She felt open, supersensitive, dangerously exposed, yet exhilarated at the same time.

She lifted her head and drew back in the circle of his arms to search the disguised planes of his face. He gazed down at her. The heat of his body surrounded her, enveloping her in the scents of clean male, warm silk from his shirt and suit, and the aromatic wood and musk of an expensive aftershave. They blended with her own linen and Parma violet fragrance plus that of the patio's night-blooming jasmine in mind-swimming combination.

The breeze sighed in that quiet, dark oasis. The night deepened. Male and female, they were perfectly still for long suspended seconds while between them rose an affinity of body, mind, and spirit so intense it had the feel of an ancient bond. Somewhere within herself, Jessica was aware of the defenses of years receding, dwindling to the vanishing point Finally they were gone, and all that was left was shattering impulse.

The man who held her made a quiet sound of wordless amazement. Lifting his hand, he cupped her cheek, then traced a tingling path with one knuckle over the smooth and delicate turn of her jaw to the center of her pointed chin. He brushed the tender molding of her lower lip, testing the pulse that fluttered beneath the warm and fragile surface.

Dipping his head toward her a fraction, he hesitated as if constrained by internal doubts, or perhaps to give her time to avoid his intention. She did not move, could find no cause or will for it. His hold tightened while the shadows of his lashes flickered. Then abruptly he lowered his mouth to seek blindly for her own.

The contact jolted through her with the force of an electrical linkage. Stunned by its power, she clenched her fingers on the silky material of his suit, clinging to him as her senses whirled. The last vestiges of her shivering faded, ceased.

Under the searching fire of his mouth, her chill lips grew warm. He tasted their moist and sweet surfaces, traced the fine texture and the sensitive line where they joined. Deliberate, unhurried, he molded them to the firm, sensual contours of his own, increasing the delicate friction and pressure until they adhered to follow his slightest movement.

With slow care, he smoothed his hand downward along the curve of her neck, leaving a vibrant stirring in its wake. Easing lower, he spread his fingers and closed them over the full globe of her breast in a definite yet careful gesture of possession.

Jessica's lips parted for a stunned intake of air. He took instant advantage to deepen the kiss, yet the incursion was a smooth and subtle glide, an incitement rather than an invasion. Like an invitation to dance, he touched her tongue with his, each swirling flick a movement of artful and sinuous persuasion. She followed his lead, twining, advancing, retreating, while her blood ran ever faster and more molten in her veins. At the same time she felt the rise of a rich, debilitating languor.

Turning his fingers, he slipped them under the low neckline of her embroidered jacket to caress the swell of her breast with his knuckles. As he brushed the nipple, the exquisite reaction from the touch rippled through her, spiraling downward to ignite sensations as compelling as they were incredible.

Alarm skittered across her mind. What was she doing? How had she come to be lying in the arms of a stranger behind a mask? It was scandalous. It was depraved. More than that, it was deadly dangerous. A low protest sounded in her throat.

"Don't be afraid," he said softly against her lips. "I won't hurt you. I would never hurt you."

"Let me go." The words were a plea instead of a demand.

For long seconds he was quiet, then he tilted his head. "Are you sure that is what you want? The moment for love is in our hands. Once gone, it may never come again. All you have to do is take it."

Her eyes were wide and unseeing as she hesitated. She should push away from him and run for her life. It was unthinkable that she should do otherwise, unbelievable that she could even dream of descending to the same lewd coupling that was taking place inside the house.

Yet the feel of his arms around her was so right. The touch of his mouth was searing magic. The distant samba throbbed in her blood with an insistence that would not be denied. The need to be generous in her gratitude for his intervention was vital and reinforced by the steady rise of something far beyond mere lust.

It had been so long since she had felt any emotion other than family affection, so long since she had allowed herself to feel at all. She had not known she was capable of such wild inclinations, of such heedless, wanton rapture. She had not dreamed that her skin could hunger to be stroked, that she could ache to be touched as a man dying of thirst aches for life-giving water.

This was not New Orleans but Brazil. No one knew who or what she was, not a soul cared what was happening to her. There was only this stranger and herself, and she was not Jessica Meredith to him but only some faceless woman in the dark. If she took the love he was offering and made a memory of it to add joy and gladness to her barren days, who would ever know?

"It's insanity," she whispered.

"Yes, God guard us. It's also carnival, which may be the same thing. Yet it makes a fine excuse for following where the heart leads."

Her lips trembled into a smile. "I'm not sure the heart has anything to do with it."

"No? Then follow the sweet craving of the flesh. Afterward you can say farewell. If you must."

Had there been an accent to his words, after all? Or was it just the sequence of them, their deep intonation, that made her think so? She didn't know, and it didn't matter while her body pulsed with unimaginable need, while the warm wind stirred the palms overhead and the rich and haunting perfume of jasmine drifted in the air like a natural aphrodisiac.

She didn't intend to lean toward him; the impulse was never there in her conscious mind. In fact, a part of it hovered, astonished and aghast, as she swayed closer. Then such constraints were banished as her lashes drifted shut. She accepted the warm possession of his kiss as it came, allowing her lips to part under his in mute, helpless acquiescence.

His chest swelled with the depth of his breath, then he drew her down with him upon the bench. Settling her against the stone wall, he faced her on his side, shielding her from any possible view with his broad shoulders. His warm lips grazed her forehead, the space between her dark winged brows, the tip of her nose, her cheekbones. Then he took her mouth again as he carefully released the buttons of brushed gold circled with brilliants that closed the front of her suit jacket.

There was nothing hurried about his explorations, no sense of urgency in his touch. It was as if time had no meaning, or else he meant to drain the moments of their last breath of pleasure. Spreading the edges of her jacket, he pressed his palm between her breasts, smoothing in slow circles as he felt the gentle thunder of her heart. Stroking her tongue with his in time to its steady throb, he sought her nipples under their covering of lace with his fingertips, caressing them with the care he might use with warm, sun-ripened berries. As they budded under his close attention, he transferred the heat of his mouth to the tight sweetness of one, wetting the webbing of lace that covered it. Then pushing the lace aside, he drew the nipple into his mouth with painstakingly gentle suction.

His care and courtesy breached the last fastness of Jessica's self-protection. Freed of it, she arched toward him in giving surrender. Purest sensation ran rampant in her veins. Her skin seemed to expand under it, while its bright glory shone behind her closed eyelids.

The front closure of her bra parted to his sure manipulation. Pressing his lips to the valley he had uncovered, he spread his hand over her abdomen, then shifted it lower to smooth his palm over the tender mound at the juncture of her thighs. Through the heavy, lined linen of her skirt, she could feel the tensile strength of his fingers and their sure probing. He touched the tiny, ultrasensitive peak of flesh that nestled there. Centering his ministrations on it, he swept his middle finger around it in small concentric circles that closed to a smooth, delicate friction upon the exact core of her being.

With a soft gasp she convulsed against him, burying her face in the turn of his neck. She pressed her mouth to his skin, inhaling his scent, letting it fill her brain while she took it into deepest memory. With a low sound he caught her hips, dragging her against him. In place of his touch, she felt his hard, scorching arousal. He moved against her, a slow stroking of his full length, as if he could not help himself.

With trembling fingers she reached for the black tie at his throat, pulling the bow of his formal wear free before she began to unfasten the studs holding his tucked dress shirt. Beneath it, the muscles of his chest were firm and precisely sculpted. Her questing fingertips threaded through soft, curling hair, found a flat gold disk suspended from a heavy chain, and moved on. She touched the nub of his pap, which was already taut with anticipation and passion. Bending her head, she tasted it, laving it with her tongue for the pleasure of the abrasion, applying suction to return some small semblance of the piercing delight he had given her.

Intent on her own explorations, she barely noticed the movement as he slipped off her shoes, then gathered her skirt in his hand to draw it upward. His touch at the turn of her knee, as he lifted it and placed it over his own taut thigh, went almost unheeded. It was his hand upon her once more, the slide of his fingers over the edges of her garter belt and under the scrap of lace she wore for panties that stopped her breath. At his probing invasion she squeezed her eyes shut and was still, half in sheer enthrallment, half in fear of his discovery and what he would do about it.

But he sensed the clamp of internal muscles upon his knuckle, and the incursion of his finger was shallow as he diverted his attention to her moist and tender folds. Tracing them, separating them, he untangled the soft and silky curls around them, easing them aside for freer access, giving her more positive sensation. Returning to her tightness then, he centered his attention upon relaxing the ring of inner constriction.

Such searing magic seemed almost unendurable. Emboldened by his example and his instant response to her touch, she brushed her hand over the tautness of his abdomen, following the kite string of chest hair down and under the edge of his cummerbund. She smoothed around the wrapped cloth to its Velcro fastening and pulled it loose with a ripping sound. As it fell away, she released the clips of his suspenders and let them dangle, then unfastened his pants. The zipper was more difficult, impeded by his tumescence beneath his silk underwear. Her knuckles brushing against him as she followed the metal slide downward made the muscles of his belly ripple in reaction, even as hard ridges of goose flesh bristled over his skin.

Instinct and a shading of embarrassment made her draw her hand away. Feverishly she slid her palm over his arm to his shoulder, smoothing the roughness there, before she pressed her fingertips into his flesh until they were numb.

She was on fire. There was not enough air in her lungs. Her breasts were swollen, her flesh engorged. A haze filled her mind to obliterate all thought. Her heartbeat made a soft pounding in her ears. She felt a deep internal suspension, like a clock spring wound so tight it might well stop movement, freeze time.

Release was an abrupt, silent clamor, an unwinding so swift and violent her every muscle clenched with it. He expected it, was waiting for it, and so took her mouth to stifle and taste her cry of shocked joy. Immediately he guided his manhood to her and entered, pressing deep in a hot, liquid glide.

He came up against the internal barrier. His own shock stiffened him, while the cold sweat of sudden, desperate control broke over his skin. His curse was unrecognizable, but virulent. Shuddering, he began to draw back, away from her.

Through waves of surging desire and burning discomfort, Jessica felt his withdrawal. Desolation gripped her. She could not bear to be left as she was, left alone. Her arm and leg muscles tensed. "No," she whispered in frantic protest. "Please, no."

He paused. It was all she needed. Driven by exacting desire and years of denial, she caught her breath against the stinging pain and lunged against him. His heated force broke through the agony, sounded her, came up against the warm satin wall of her depths. He filled her emptiness, routed her loneliness, made her whole. Tears pressed behind her nose and crowded her lashes. She felt their hot slide as they escaped to track backward into her hair.

From somewhere in the distance, yet not too far away, there was a red glow followed by a click and whir. The noise intruded, bringing a flicker of unease. Then the man in her arms was moving, a cautious advance and retreat that brought a surge of white-hot ecstasy. Her mind and her lungs expanded with it. With her breath caught in her chest, she matched his tentative rhythm, encouraged it as best she could by opening herself further to it, moving against it.

He needed no more. With a ragged whisper that might have been an apology or an endearment, he let go of his restraint.

Wondrous. It was a divine plundering, an amazing attrition, a stunning upheaval of the senses. Locked together, they strove to its demanding cadence.

His muscles flexed and hardened, bunched and stretched with effort. The feel of them under her hands fueled her own exertion. His hand at the narrow turn of her waist assisted her, compelled her. Supple in his strength, he held her so that the tight nipples of her breasts drove into his chest. Pressing upon him, receding to plunge again, she was transfigured by exquisite stimulation and the effortless glory of it.

She wanted him infinitely deep inside her. She craved the utmost limit of his power and skill and endurance. As if sensing her need, he heaved over and drew her beneath him. Pressing her knees wide, he settled between them, then began again.

"Yes," she whispered. With his every sounding stroke, he propelled her away from her narrow existence and into a wider world than any she had ever known. She felt her spirit expanding, felt the constriction of long years tearing free. The deliverance of it vibrated through her in an endless, throbbing refrain. Her heart felt full, expanding with aching and passionate joy.

Abruptly every atom of her being coalesced around the man who held her. Pressing close, she offered him everything that was in her while inside she caressed him with deep internal contractions. He gave a last, wrenching lunge, then was still while his own body pulsed to the same eternal cadence.

Long moments later, he subsided upon her and, holding her in a firm embrace, turned to his side once more. Locked together, they struggled for breath. And also for the composure necessary to look each other in the eyes if and when the lights came on again.