My Angel (53 page)

She was his prey.

"Hmmm." Ivan paused in the attack, running his hand through his already disheveled locks. "Furious Feodora--it does have a nice ring to it. I do enjoy a fast, furious tussle with a lady who has a wounded heart. The passion and the heat can melt the very core of a man. Of course, you are no lady, and that fact will make this even more enjoyable. Although, Feodora, I'm not quite sure you have a heart to wound. In any case, it is not for me to mend the wound or feed the blazing passion inside you. The task is for Najjar; he waits for his submissive bride and the child in her womb."

"He can wait until hell freezes over," she said in a patronizing tone, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

"My lady, what language. I'm sure Najjar will be willing to cure your impetuous behavior."

She edged around the bed, her gaze riveted on Ivan, anticipating his every move. "You can't force me," she whispered, breathless, her chest heaving, pulling in great lungfuls of air in anticipation.

At any time Ivan was impossible to read: the broad smile, the imperious set of his lips, the knowing sparkle in his eyes when he happened to glance her way, as if he would like to kiss her senseless.

No wonder she could never get the upper hand with him. Feodora supposed she ought to take him more seriously, but she'd never in her life done that--taken a man seriously. Perhaps that had been her mistake, her downfall. Despite Ivan's irresistible and rakish nature, she had just learned the hard way that he was a very dangerous man.

God, but she still wanted him, longed to feel the weight of him on top of her, his shaft deep inside her.

"Never, milady. I wouldn't dream of such a thing. If I wanted you, which I don't, you'd fall into my arms quite willingly." Ivan undid the buttons on his shirt, still watching her, waiting for what, she wasn't sure.

"Then what are you doing?'' She licked her lips, one hand resting provocatively against her breast. He was wrong. She wouldn't fall into his arms if he asked. She'd leap.

"I'm not going to ravish you now that you're promised to another man, a friend of mine."

"I was promised to another before. And that fact never stopped you," she challenged.

He paused, absorbing the new angle she'd tossed his way, "That man knew nothing about you. There was no promise, only a hope on his grandmother's part for an heir. We both agreed the match was wrong."

Ivan shook the shirt out, droplets of water evaporating into the sun-drenched room. "You'd like to call out
rape
now, wouldn't you? Even though we both know how untrue the cry
would be." Bare-chested, Ivan sat down on a chair by the window, his long legs propped on a footstool, and poured two cups of tea. He munched on an almond cake, then offered one to Feodora.

"They're quite good. Eat up. Najjar likes his women plump, with a little something to hold on to and caress in the middle of the night."

"What do you want from me?" She stepped cautiously to Ivan's side, accepting the cake and the tea, her hands trembling with desire for him.

"Only your cooperation. I want Najjar to be happy with you, and in return I'll see that Alexi does not deal harshly with you when he returns." Ivan bit off another piece of cake, licking the icing upon his lips then added, "Although you deserve a good flogging." He leaned back, one leg now resting across the other, a man totally in control.

Fury replaced lust. "In return I find myself dragged off to the most barren land on this earth. To live in a tent." She knelt by his side, her hand wandering the length of his leg, resting almost intimately against him. It would do her no good to resort to arguments when seduction always worked to her advantage.

One eyebrow quirked upward. "In return"--Ivan leaned forward, taking her hand in his, his arms braced against the armrests of the chair--"you live to breathe another day." Slowly Ivan raised her trembling fingers to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. "Life, even in the desert, is much more gratifying than death."

"Surely you jest." Feo did pray that he toyed with her emotions, baiting her, perhaps. She did not want to be banished to the desert, nor did she want to die.

The words were no more cruel than Feodora's actions against Angela had been. Where Feodora was going, life was often harsh, and no one would withhold punishment if it was deserved. Najjar would never hold back his hand if she caused grief to any member of the tribe. Feodora needed to be taught a lesson--and quickly, or she would not live a year in Najjar's world.

"Hardly." Ivan sipped his tea, once more leaning back in
the chair. For a moment longer, he held her hand in his, enjoying the softness. "I could give you to Angela's father--or worse, I could encourage Alexi to give you to Angela herself. I'm sure she could devise a fitting punishment." He purposely let the words hang on the air. "I've heard tales of torture that might turn even your stomach."

She paled, her skin changing to ashen. The shallow breaths she inhaled no longer came from the need to entice and seduce; her pulse beneath his fingers beat rapidly in fear. He'd scared her. That had been his purpose.

"Now as to the babe. I suggest you either confirm the pregnancy or let me." His gaze drifted to her womb.

Her eyes widened. "Ivan?" If he lifted her skirts, he might make love to her.

"The truth, Feo, just the truth." His eyes were cold and hard. In that instant she saw the truth: he hated her. Everything between them had been a calculated lie.

She flashed him a defiant look. "Yes, I'm still with child. Does that please you?" she asked, snatching her hand from his, her glare hot enough to melt stone.

"Immensely." Satisfaction did indeed feel good. He'd achieved everything he'd set out to do.

~ * ~

Alexi pushed his hat back with his forearm, a fine sheen of sweat beading his forehead. The tracks in front of him were only a day old, but it was obvious the horse making them no longer bore two riders. They'd been duped. He admired the skill of the man who'd tricked them even while he cursed him under his breath. The need to see Angela safe was a seething tempest within him.

"What now?" Sam asked, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"We go back. She's at the village."

"You know who has her."

Sam's calm assessment infuriated Alexi. It was frustrating to know how close they'd been to her, that they could have
stolen her away without a fight if they'd only been smart enough to read the signs sooner.

"I do now," Alexi said, a grim smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and dread weighing down his heart. "I haven't seen him for long time. I suppose the two of us are overdue for a meeting. I would have preferred an encounter because of something different from an argument over a woman, however."

Alexi felt the intensity of Sam's gaze on the back of his neck. The man was curious.
Let him wonder.
If Sam Chamberlain were not Angela's father, there would have been more than a few heated words between them by now. More than likely their anger would have erupted in bloodshed.

Stephan was a bastard son of Alexi's father, Karim. Only Allah knew how many bastards the man had sired, sowing his seed over most of
Europe
. But Stephan he had known very well. Stephan's mother had been a favorite of Karim and she'd spent a great deal of time at their mansion, Stephan at her side. Natasha had loved Stephan with all her heart, had treated him as a beloved grandchild.

As little boys they had spent fun time together. There was a fondness in his heart for Stephan. Not enough to let him have his woman, though.

Alexi had asked Stephan to come to
America
with him, encouraged him. Stephan had adamantly refused. The young man had had a purpose even then. Stephan was a born leader, a rebel, a man whom others looked up to--and Stephan was in the middle of the revolution sweeping across
Russia
and
Europe
.

Agreeing with Stephan and his ideals had always been easy for Alexi, but the hothead was going to get himself killed if he continued on the path he'd chosen. Alexi wanted to yank Stephan off his high horse. He wanted to take him to
America
, where one didn't have to fight for his freedom, something every man deserved.

That was all Stephan really wanted: his freedom. Stephan didn't want war, didn't want to fight.

The country was coming to that, though. Fighting would erupt soon, and everyone would lose. His friends would die.

"Are we going to ride in shooting, or are more peaceful means acceptable?" Sam asked, his hand on the butt of his gun, obviously ready for whatever Alexi decided.

"We will negotiate her release. Stephan wants money to further his cause." Alexi rose from his position and balanced on the balls of his feet. "He'll give her over for the right amount of coin."

"You're sure?"

Alexi nodded. "Positive."

~ * ~

The downpour started when Alexi and Sam were a mile from the village. Sheets of rain slanted against a broodingly dark sky. Alexi pulled his hooded poncho from his saddlebag, as did Sam, both slipping the capes over their heads for protection.

Riding between the huts on a mud-soggy trail, Alexi knew these people had never seen two men look so desperate or so mean. Children peered from cracked doorways then shrieked with fear, darting inside when they caught sight of the two men.

The children watched two of the American West's meanest desperadoes ride through their village. With his dark, brooding eyes and two days' growth of beard, Alexi knew he looked to be the very devil incarnate.