Читать книгу The Shadowed Heart - Nina Beaumont - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Chiara shuddered as she heard the hideous slap of his palms against the wall on either side of her head.

For a moment she almost gave in to the terror. Almost gave in to the desire to close her eyes, slide down the wall and curl up like an animal playing dead. God, she prayed, don’t let him touch me. Please don’t let him touch me.

A breath away from surrender, hatred and pride, those old twin friends that had been with her for so long, came to her aid, slowly pushing back the terror. She turned her head and met his eyes.

The soothing darkness of a star-studded night, which she had seen there before, had disappeared. Instead, the opaque blackness of a sky roiling with storm clouds stared back at her. But the very violence in his eyes gave her something to focus on and she felt the fear recede further.

Luca saw that fear was still lurking in the depths of her eyes, but the hatred that he had seen there before was back in full force now. Hatred that, had it been a knife, would have been sharp enough to kill. Strangely enough it was that hatred, so real and basic, that soothed the wild fury riding him to a controllable anger. And when he spoke, his voice carried more puzzlement than anything else.

“Why do you hate me so?”

“You know,” she spat. “Or, if you do not, you should.”

Baffled, Luca stared at her, digging into the recesses of his mind. Had they met before? Had he done something to cause her enmity? He shook his head. What could he have done to inspire hatred so deep? He could not imagine it. Besides, he knew that if he had ever seen this woman before, he would not have forgotten her.

“For a woman with the sight, you have remarkably poor judgment.”

She said nothing but stared back at him, her eyes like blue flames, provoking him with their fire.

“Manelli would have sold your body to the first comer,” he snapped. “Don’t you understand that?”

She had known that she was taking a risk, Chiara thought. But she had thought she could protect herself. And she had needed the money to pay for her sister’s care.

“He did sell me to the first comer,” she said tonelessly. She let her head fall back to the side so that her cheek lay against the wall, and she closed her eyes.

Luca’s fingers curled as he fought the need to touch her, to cup her head and make her look at him again.

“I paid him, with every intention of letting you go.” He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was apologizing. “I have never owned a slave in my life.”

Slowly she turned back to face him fully. “But now you own one,” she said. “And you have no intention of letting me go, do you?”

Some of the fire had returned to her low, smoky voice. The fire drew him, aroused him, and Luca shifted forward until his body was pressed against hers.

Chiara sucked in her breath as he pressed against her, pushing herself back further against the wall, but he moved closer still—so close that it seemed as if their bodies were one. He was pressed against her so tightly that she could feel the rise of his aroused sex against her belly. He was crushing her. She wanted to cry out, but she knew there would be no help for her here. And she had never been one to waste her energy on useless gestures.

He would move any second now, she though Every muscle turned to ice as she stiffened in expectation of his rough touch. He would push up her skirt. He would penetrate her body with his.

But he did none of those things. Instead he remained still, his eyes on hers, as if he thought to find her secrets there.

The dagger! How could she have forgotten it? Relief rushed through her. Chiara lifted her hand, but she could not reach for it without alerting him. Her mind raced. Before he tried to rape her, he would have to step away from her to free his body. Then she would be able to reach the dagger, she thought. Then she would kill him.

She felt a little flicker of regret that she would have to do it quickly, and not be able to tell him why she was planting her knife in his heart. But perhaps it was better to do it swiftly, before she had time to think about the light she had seen when she had looked inside him. Before she had time to question why her sight was showing her what her eyes knew was false.

The decision made, a small part of the tension seeped out of her even as she braced for his attack.

Luca felt the slight relaxing of her body against his and smiled. She had been hurt by some rough, careless man, he thought. He would show her what it could be like.

His hands still propped against the wall framing her head, he lowered his head toward her.

Chiara stilled when he touched his mouth to hers. Because she’d been expecting a brutal assault, the light, gentle touch took her breath away. She found herself incapable of movement as he rubbed his mouth back and forth over hers. When he slid the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, she trembled but still could not move.

With infinite patience he traced her lips again and again. When they parted, his mouth curved against hers.

“Sì,” he murmured, “così. Yes, like this.”

Desire was urgent in his blood, but even now he did not take what she offered. Instead, he leisurely dipped his tongue inside.

Chiara could see them together. They lay on a couch, surrounded by bright-colored cushions. Her shoulders were bare and pale against the coverlet of crimson silk. Somewhere there was the sound of water lapping against wood. The smell of sweet incense drifted through the room and mingled with the scent of arousal—his and hers. Then he moved over her so that she could see only her eyes—wide-open, smiling with welcome.

“No.” The single word was directed at the vision, not at the kiss.

Luca withdrew far enough so that he could see her face. “No?” He smiled, his anger forgotten in the sensual pleasure of the moment. “Are you sure? That certainly felt like a yes.” Without giving her time to reply, he took her mouth again.

Chiara wanted to fight him, but she found herself unable to move, as if her limbs had suddenly turned to water. He filled her mouth with his tongue, tasting her.

There was an answering heat within her, but she told herself that it was the heat of hatred. Desperate, she tried to hold on to that, but the heat merged and melded with the light, blinding her as if she were standing in the full sunlight.

His taste filled her. In a reflexive curiosity, she touched her tongue to his.

Luca felt that first tentative touch of her tongue go through him as if it were a bolt of lightning. Grasping her head, he gave in to the consuming need to plunder.

As he plunged into her mouth, possessing her with all the fever of a virile man’s passion, Chiara jolted, as if shaken awake from a dream. Rational thought returned, reminding her of just who this man was. She began to struggle to free herself from his voracious kiss, just as she struggled against that unfamiliar ache in her belly.

Luca felt her move against him. Pleased, he slid his hands into her hair and delved more deeply into the pleasures of her mouth. Only gradually did he realize that her movements had nothing to do with passion.

Luca pulled back, trying to ignore the desire that was making his blood race, his body throb. The moment he freed her mouth, she went still.

Realizing that he had twisted his hands in her hair, Luca loosened his fingers and began to rub her scalp lightly.

“I did not mean to hurt you.” He let his hands drift down slowly, caressingly until they lay on her shoulders. He brushed his mouth against hers and felt her stiffen.

“What’s the matter?” Leaving his hands on her shoulders, he took a step away.

She waited for the malevolence to come into his eyes, but it did not. Traces of passion were there and questions, but none of the evil she had been waiting to see there ever since she had first laid eyes on him an hour ago. How long could he pretend? How long could he keep up this facade? Where did he get his power? Why could she not see? It was the last question that frightened her most of all.

“Did I frighten you?” He slid his thumbs beyond the neckline of her coarse linen blouse to stroke her skin. “Was I too rough?”

“I am not easily frightened.” She swallowed and fought—unsuccessfully—to suppress the involuntary shiver of pleasure.

“Perhaps not.” He smiled at both her evasive answer and the shudder of response that went through her. “Have you ever lain with a man before?”

His words reminded her of who he was. Reminded her of what she needed to do.

“What difference does it make to you?” As she spoke, her hand crept upward, then across her middle. Her fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger, and she slid it out of the sheath.

Strike! Strike! The command thundered through her head, but her hand remained still, as if she could not force it to do her bidding.

“None.” He laughed softly. “None at all.” His fingers continued to stroke her skin. “I want you. That is all that matters.”

The soft, lightly mocking laughter struck a chord in her memory and she lifted her hand and plunged it down toward his heart.

Ensnared in his arousal, Luca did not give heed to her movement. By the time the realization hit him that what she held was a weapon and he had flung his hand upward to ward off the blow, the momentum of her downward stroke was too strong, too fast to stop completely.

He felt—and ignored—the hot flash of pain as the tip of the dagger pierced his skin and sliced through his flesh a moment before he struck her hand.

The dagger clattered to the floor. His hands captured hers. For a moment, they remained still, as if frozen in a dance of violent beauty.

Luca’s fury exploded like a volcano spewing forth hot lava. His fingers tightened around her wrists and he bore her back so brutally that her head hit the wall with a sharp crack.

“Damn you. I have killed men for less.”

“I’m not afraid to die.”

“Perhaps not.” He ground his hips against hers. “But you are afraid of this.”

Chiara could feel the cry growing in her throat, but she battled the weakness, clamping her mouth shut until her teeth ground against each other.

Luca saw her fear, saw how she fought it, saw how she still defied him. And her desperate courage seemed to feed his fury.

“Why did you try to kill me?” he demanded. “Is it such a terrible fate to lie with me?” He gave a short laugh. “Some women might even envy you.”

Chiara thought of her sister’s blank eyes. She thought of the pitiful whimpering sounds Donata sometimes made in her sleep, and felt the fear recede before the hatred of this man.

“I hate you. And I despise you.”

“Why?”

“I told you. If you do not know it, you should.”

“My patience with your riddles is at an end,” he snarled. “Tell me.”

For a moment Chiara was tempted to tell him who she was. But only for a moment. He would find a way to use that knowledge against her. The less he knew about her the better it was. She would bide her time and someday she would tell him, right before she killed him.

She shook her head.

“Tell me.” He tightened his grip on her wrist.

“No,” she whispered.

“Do you know how easy it is to make someone talk?” The wildness was roiling within him like a storm-swept sea. He grappled for control, but it slipped away like water. “With just a small movement I could snap your wrist.”

She could feel his hot breath on her face. “What good would a slave with a broken wrist be?”

His mouth curved in a hard smile. “You don’t need your hands for what I want from you.”

“And you will take what you want no matter what I do or say.”

“Perhaps.” He shifted his fingers a fraction of an inch to increase the pressure on her wrist. “Try me.”

Chiara understood then that she had exhausted all her possibilities.

“You are a Venetian patrician,” she said, trying desperately to keep her voice steady. “That is why I hate you.”

It was surprise more than anything else that had him easing his hold on her wrist. The wildness within him eased as well, as if it had been a seizure that was now passing.

“Why?”

She hesitated, but feeling his hand tighten again, she decided to give him part of the truth. “Because my father is one.”

“Your father?” His eyes narrowed, but he did not dismiss her words. “What is his name?”

“I don’t know,” she lied. “I came to Venice to find out.”

Luca caught the tiny flicker in her eyes that told him she was lying, but he kept the knowledge to himself.

“So...” His voice held a touch of humor. “Did you come here planning to kill all Venetian aristocrats?”

Chiara gave a shake of her head. Understanding that the greatest danger had passed for the moment, she allowed disdain to color her words. “Only those who try to rape me.”

“I don’t intend to rape you.”

She said nothing, but the contempt that darkened her eyes made it quite clear to Luca that she thought he was lying.

“You don’t believe me, I see.” He did not release her hands, but he moved a step back.

Chiara flinched at his movement and despised herself for it. When she saw that he was stepping back, relief and a new wave of bravado flowed through her.

“I have no reason to lie,” he said.

“And I have no reason to believe you.”

He stared at her for a moment. Then he laughed richly. “It’s a pity that you’re not a man. With audacity like yours we could whip the Barbary pirates in a few weeks.” He paused. “And then again—” his gaze drifted down to her breasts “—I’m very glad that you are not a man.”

A whisper of hope drifted through her. “If it is true that you do not intend to rape me, will you let me go then?”

His smile died and his gaze returned to her face. “No.”

Hope grew cold. “Why not?”

“I want you. But then I told you that, didn’t I?”

The accusation returned to her eyes, stronger than before. “So, rape after all.”

“No, not rape.” His grip loosened and his thumbs began to rub the inside of her wrists. “I trust that I shall be able to persuade you that it is not such an ugly fate to lie with me.”

“Persuade a slave?” She made a sound that might have been a harsh laugh. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“Believe what you wish. But you can believe me when I tell you that I do not find the thought of rape arousing. I, for my part, have always preferred persuasion.”

Chiara’s eyes narrowed at his lie, yet just the fact that he had gone to the trouble to tell it had her relaxing a little.

“And when you have persuaded me,” she asked, “will you let me go then?”

“Let you go?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I think that is a question for another day.”

Chiara was used to taking risks. After all, she had been living on the edge for so long that she had almost forgotten what it was like to know what the next hour would bring. Perhaps, she calculated quickly, perhaps it would be worth it to give him her body. He would be careless in the throes of passion and then she would k—

“Enough talk now.” He released one of her hands but, keeping the other firmly in his, he turned. “Come.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Home.” He moved toward the door.

Tears, unexpected, unwanted, shot into Chiara’s eyes as the single word struck a long-forgotten chord deep within her soul. Once, long ago, she had thought to have a home. She almost lost her balance as he pulled her along. Swallowing the tears, she stumbled after him.