Hot Winds From Bombay (4 page)

Suddenly she frowned. Why had he mentioned seeing her at a window? Had he been watching her from the street before Europa snatched the curtains closed? One hand went to her breast as she thought of the thin camisole she’d been wearing. No! That was silly. He’d simply made the whole thing up.

“I’m sorry my sister was rude to you, Zack.”

“Sister? Rude? I didn’t notice anyone but you when we met a while ago.”

He was handling himself well—breathing normally now, remembering his manners, making small talk as if he’d never had a thought in the world of forcing himself upon her.

She laughed softly, a sound like gentle raindrops kissing a meadow of wild flowers on a summer afternoon.

“Why, Miss Persia, how could I have eyes for anyone else with you before me?” His tone was slightly mocking, but his words amused her.

Oh, he was a charmer! Imagine telling such a wonderful lie to impress her. There wasn’t a man alive who could help but notice the exquisite Europa Whiddington.

She leaned close, putting a gloved hand beside her mouth, and whispered, her breath teasing his beard, “Whatever you do, Zack, don’t let on to Europa that you didn’t notice her. She’s not used to being ignored. She’d pout for days.”

Persia watched an intense, smoldering mist descend over the seaman’s eyes. Suddenly, realizing that they were alone on the path, she felt a nervous shiver pass through her. She took a step back, but he caught her wrist.

“Don’t go!”

He had tried his best, but a man had his limits. Her warm, mint-scented breath on his cheek had put all his senses into action once more. A man deserved
something
in the way of a welcome on his return from sea. And this red-haired beauty seemed just right for the welcoming-home ceremonies.

Seizing Persia about the waist in a strong grip, Zack propelled her off the path into the deep woods.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. And he didn’t allow Persia to ask any more questions. When they were behind a large fir tree, he swept her into his arms, pulling her fast against him. Her struggle was instinctive, but it lasted only moments.

Zack felt her body give in to his demands. He poised over her—eager for her touch, hungry for her lips, thirsty for the taste of a woman after so long. But not just any woman…
this woman.

Persia was stunned. Never had she dreamed of finding herself in such circumstances. What was she supposed to do? What would Europa do if she found herself in such a position? Faint, in all likelihood.

But Persia was not one to take shelter in such feminine weakness. Her curiosity, her sense of adventure, and her budding womanhood were too strong. The man’s breath on her cheek was too caressing. The heat at the junction where his hips pressed hers was too tantalizing. And the feeling of his hard muscles even through the heavy clothing he wore brought back visions of him as he had appeared through her spyglass—almost naked, sweating even in the cold, teasing her senses to play tricks upon her ripe, virgin body.

She felt the moist, demanding pressure of his stranger’s lips, urging her to submit. She was conscious of him, totally—the odors of salt and tar just as she had imagined earlier and the heat and rigidity surging from his loins. His hands were hard on her back, kneading the soft cashmere and fur even as his lips and tongue caressed her mouth. Soon her arms stole around him and she clung to him, wondering what in life had ever given her this much pleasure.

She had never been kissed before, and her head went light and muddled. Confusion took possession of her brain. She should fight him, of course. After all, he was a stranger and a brash one at that. Europa, she knew, would swoon under these circumstances. But Persia was not like her sister.

When he released her at last, Persia stood very still, staring at the serious lines of his face. She had half expected that he was making fun of her, taking advantage of a “silly child,” as her sister called her. But there was no mockery in Zachariah Hazzard’s expression, only an intense, burning look of desire. An expression that made her body tense and pulse with a mingling of dread and wanton longing.

“You shouldn’t be here with me.” His voice was hard, edged with contained rage.

Her own answer was little more than a whisper of breath from her swollen lips. “I know, Zack.”

“Then why don’t you run away? I won’t stop you.”

Persia hung her head for a moment, trying to sort out her confused feelings. She should go… yes! It was the only proper thing to do. But she didn’t want to go. She had enjoyed his kiss. Even now, she was experiencing the most delicious fires torching her whole body. She had never felt so alive… so much a woman.

Why must everything wonderful be forbidden? she raged silently.

“Last chance,” he said darkly. “Go now or…”

Persia’s confusion fled. She looked up, gazing directly into the smoldering eyes trained on her face. Slowly, her hand came up and she twined for fingertips through the wrought-gold beard.

“I don’t want to go, Zack.”

So this was the secret wonder of being a woman. This was what it was all about. How marvelous!

Persia’s head was still spinning and her blood pounding, but her mind was made up. She wanted to know
everything
! Until tonight, she had known almost nothing of life and love. But she had always been a bright pupil, and Zack was an extraordinary teacher.

His hands were on her shoulders now, tightening and relaxing his hold rhythmically as he took deep, steadying breaths. All the while, his eyes searched hers, seeming to probe the very depths of her soul. His gaze made her wonderfully weak. She felt as if she were standing naked and defenseless before him. There was something utterly alluring about being so totally under this man’s spell. She wanted him to kiss her again.
Desperately!

“Zack, please…” she began, not knowing exactly what she meant to say.

“Sh-h-h. Don’t break the spell. I’ve been a long time waiting for this moment.”

He leaned down toward her, and his warm breath singed her flesh. She quivered. She sighed. She closed her eyes and waited.

He touched her cheeks with gentle fingers, letting his thumbs brush over the trembling line of her mouth. Then, slowly, his hands slid inside her hood, forcing it to fall away. His fingers twined through her thick red hair—tugging, massaging, sending fire to her brain before it surged through the rest of her.

Tenderly this time, he took her lips. Although he had been almost brutal in his hunger before, now he soothed her burning flesh, gliding the moist tip of his tongue over her full lips until she quaked and shuddered in his arms. She felt as if her body were melting where she stood. In the morning, the citizens of the village would come looking for her, but they would find nothing more than a smoldering pool of bright blue liquid here behind the fir tree where Zack had kissed her. She was sure of it!

His tongue grew bolder, urging her to imitate his actions. Persia felt as if some other being held control over her body. Surely she was not the one allowing her fingers to steal through the coarse hair at the nape of his neck. And no proper New England lady would press her breasts so firmly to a stranger’s chest or feel such pleasure from the sweetly aching contact. Nor could Persia Whiddington’s delicate pink tongue be boldly gliding between his lips, searching the mysterious cavern of his mouth for its delicious hidden treasures. But he urged her on with his kiss, his touch, his very masculine nearness.

When Zack released her from their second kiss, Persia felt the glowing night spinning around her. Her emotions seemed as bright and swirling as the aurora borealis still draping the night sky. She stared down at her body, amazed to find that it appeared exactly the same as before. She was sure she had changed in some way.

He smiled suddenly and cupped her chin with one big hand. “We’d better join the others. I’m not sure these woods are safe, Persia.”

Not understanding what he meant, she replied, “There’s no danger. There hasn’t been a panther seen in these parts in some years.”

He took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes, unsmiling. “It’s not panthers
you
need to fear, my love. As for me, I’m sure the man in your life would dispatch me in short order, if he found me with you here.”

Without another word, Zack took her arm in a gentlemanly fashion and guided her toward the skating pond.

As much as she enjoyed skating, Persia had no desire now to join the others. She wanted more time with Zack. Hoping to slow his progress, she said, “There’s no other man in my life, Zack.”

He stopped dead still and looked down at her. “You mean such a beauty isn’t spoken for?”

She shook her head.

“Are all men in York County blind, or has your family kept you locked in the attic your entire life?”

“Neither,” she answered, suppressing a giggle. “I simply haven’t received any proposals.”

“Well, we’ll soon fix that,” he replied in a voice half-teasing, half-serious. Persia couldn’t decide which, but she hoped he meant it. “There’s a man in your life now, Miss Persia. You can consider yourself spoken for. I won’t rush you, of course. I know that certain amenities are required. I must meet your parents, flatter your sister, and bide my time until I’m accepted by one and all. I plan to court you good and proper.” He seemed to be talking to himself as much as to her.

She looked up but couldn’t read his expression in the darkness. Now she was more confused than ever. Was he mocking her or proposing to her?

Seeing her staring up at him, Zack broke into a broad smile, his teeth even and startlingly white against his dark skin.

“Aye, it’s a lucky man who comes home from the sea to find a good wife waiting for him, so I’ve been told. When I marry, my bride will have treasures from around the world. And during the lonely years away, I’ll write to her faithfully—long love letters to make her weep with wanting me. I’ll make her a scrimshaw pie crimper out of a whale’s tooth. Mrs. Zachariah Hazzard will never want for fine silks or surprises.”

Persia believed him totally. He seemed to be a man much like her own father—thoughtful, loving, born to the sea. He would make a wonderful, exciting husband. As for the surprises he promised, she had known him scarcely an hour and he had given her the greatest surprise of her life—first his kisses, and then his promise to court her. She could hardly wait to experience all the others he promised. If marriage followed, that was fine, too.

Suddenly, she was frightened. What would her parents say? How would she explain to them that she was perfectly willing to marry a stranger who had literally accosted her on the front stoop and swept her off her feet and into the woods, where he had stolen her heart with a kiss?

Never mind, she thought. He had promised to court her. Obviously Zack was a man of the world who knew the right way to go about things. She would trust him to win her parents over just as he had won her—instantly, totally, and forevermore.

They reached the log near the bonfire where Persia had left her skates. She sat down, and Zack knelt before her in the hard-packed snow.

“Here, let me help you,” he offered.

Gently, he took her foot in his hand. Even through the leather of her boot, she could feel the warmth of his touch. He caressed her ankle, toe, and instep before carefully fitting the metal footplate with its wooden runner to the sole. Still holding her, he tied the leather thongs tightly in place.

She would have blushed had she known what Zachariah Hazzard was thinking at the moment. He was trying to imagine how her bare foot would feel in his ungloved hand… how she would react if he suddenly stripped off her boots and stockings and ran his hot tongue between the toes and over the sensitive arch. The thought pumped new desire through his body. But the desire this time was not for his own pleasure. Suddenly, he wanted desperately to please this lovely, trusting woman.

“Aye, you’re a dainty one, Persia love.”

She covered a pleased smile with her hand. He was a gallant liar!
Never
had anyone called her
dainty.
But the way he said it and the look he gave her made her feel as if she were exactly that. And compared to Zachariah’s height and breadth, she was a mere feminine slip of a being.

Zack borrowed skates from a young man just coming off the ice and quickly strapped them on. Then, offering his hand to Persia, he said, “Shall we have a turn at it?”

She stumbled slightly as they plowed through the deep snow to the edge of the pond. But once she put blade to ice, it was as if she had wings. Her strong ankles held her erect, and she moved with speed and grace. Zack matched her expertise, all the while holding her in the skaters’ embrace, his left arm about her waist and his right clasping hers.

Persia experienced new thrills tingling through her. Never before had she skated with a male partner. Until tonight, she had spent her time at the pond racing the boys or taking her place on one of the teams for a raucuous game of ice ball, to her mother’s extreme horror. Persia had always felt competent on skates. Tonight she felt graceful and feminine for the first time. She leaned on Zack’s strong, supporting arm and let him guide her as if they were on a ballroom floor.

“Are you up to a bit of show for the folks?” he said close to her ear over the whisper of their skates scoring the ice.

She nodded and a gleam caught in her bright eyes from the lights overhead.

Immediately, Zack whipped her away from him with a quick tug on her waist. Still holding her other hand, he skated in position while she zoomed backward, making a circle around him. Figure eights, spirals, and sweeps. They covered the pond, forcing the less accomplished skaters out of their path. Persia felt breathless, and her cheeks glowed with cold and delight. She thought she could skate all night and well past the dawn with Zack beside her.

She stared up at him, hardly able to believe her good fortune. Always, Europa was the one who attracted male attention; Persia was only tossed the crumbs reserved for younger sisters. But here was a man who seemed to feel differently, who looked at her as if she were the only woman in the world, who kissed her with unmistakable passion.

Where had he come from? And how had she managed to attract him so quickly and surely? Trying to find answers seemed a fruitless task at this point. All she knew was that this was a man she could love and belong to for the rest of her life. And wonder of wonders, he seemed every bit as attracted to her as she was to him.

They skated on, oblivious to all the others about them, caught up in a crystal world inhabited only by the two of them and their sudden, unfathomable attachment for each other.

There were few at the pond who failed to take note of the charming and graceful pair. But some watched more closely than others.

Victoria Whiddington, seated next to her husband in their sleigh, set aside her cup of steaming tea laced strongly with lemon and honey to keep the cold from her throat. A frown marred her exquisite features.

“Who is that man with Persia?” she demanded.

Captain Whiddington cleared his throat, aware of feeling a curious hostility toward the young man who skated every bit as well as the pretty girl in his arms, and who stared at her with undisguised desire etched into the hard planes of his bearded face.

“I can’t make him out from here, Victoria. I’m sure he’s one of the boys she used to beat when they raced. He has undoubtedly noticed tonight for the first time that she’s quite an attractive creature.”

“Well, I’d rather she were still racing him!”

The captain took his wife’s hand and patted it under- standingly. “We can’t keep her a little girl forever, my dear. She’s a beautiful, spirited young woman.”

“Young
is what bothers me, Captain. Our Persia is
too
young to be in a man’s arms that way. And he’s
no
boy!”

“They’re only skating, Victoria.”

“For now, at least,” she replied in a weary voice. “But so it begins, and where will it lead?”

Just then Europa hurried up, interrupting their conversation. Her face was flushed with fury as much as with the cold. How dare Persia upstage her this way?

“Mother, she’s making a spectacle of herself again. I’m so embarrassed I could die,” Europa wailed. “Everyone is staring! Do make her come off the ice.”

Asa Whiddington said exactly the wrong thing. “They’re staring in admiration, Europa. Your sister and her young man cut a fine figure together.”

Ignoring her father, Europa once again pleaded with her mother. “Do you know that man is a sailor fresh home from sea? He tried to impose his attentions on
me
earlier this evening, but I could see he was no fit escort, much less a skating partner. He couldn’t have me, so he went after poor naive Persia instead. And now there she is—even after I warned her to keep her distance from him—languishing in the man’s arms as if they were sweethearts.”

“Europa!” her mother cried. “That will be quite enough! Do you want everyone to hear you? I won’t survive this evening if both my daughters forget they are ladies.”

Europa sank down into the chair she had been using on the ice to keep her balance, her lovely face a mask of misery. She had managed to fall eight times this evening. But all she had to show for it were bruises. Not once had anyone interesting come to her aid. And now her little sister was taking the spotlight with a devastatingly mysterious stranger. Granted, she had tossed him off earlier, but she certainly hadn’t meant for him to land in Persia’s waiting arms.

The night was nearing disaster proportions. It was almost more than a body could endure! Europa’s mind turned to scheming. Surely there was some way she could salvage the evening and turn it to her advantage.

“Captain and Mrs. Whiddington!” A voice cracked with age and dripping with accusation announced the arrival of Quoddy Cove’s self-appointed moralizer and purveyor of gossip.

“Oh, God, preserve us!” Asa moaned under his breath before his wife could shush him.

“Birdie, dear, what are you doing out on such a cold night?” said Victoria. “Do come and have a cup of tea with us before you’re chilled through.”

An ancient crone all swathed in black motioned the two servants carrying her chair to set her down. She snarled at one and cracked the other across his shoulders with her cane when one leg of the chair sank into a soft patch of snow, nearly tipping her over. Then she clutched at her heart, feigning the fatal attack half the town would have welcomed.

“Ah, Victoria, decent help these days is impossible to find. Get away from me, the both of you!” she screeched at her pair of menservants.

“I believe that was entirely an accident, Miss Blackwell,” Asa said in defense of the men.

“Ayah,” she replied sarcastically. “And I suppose it was an accident, too, the last time they tipped my chair and I nearly tumbled down the stairwell to my death!” She stabbed the air with a bony finger, squinting hard at Asa. “Nay! They’re out to do me in, I tell you. If only my dear brother were here to protect me. But, alas, he feels it his due to serve God even at the expense of being here to take care of this poor, ailing wretch who gave up her whole life to raise him. Mind you, I’m not faulting Cyrus. A fine man!” Her wrinkled features contorted into a self-satisfied smile, threatening to crack her face like old plaster. “A missionary, you know.”