On the Prowl (7 page)

That was the million-dollar question, right there. If she had grown up knowing what sort of marriage she would eventually have, if she had accepted that when she was eight or twelve or sixteen years old, where were these feelings of disappointment coming from? Was she really going to bother getting upset because her new fiancé hadn’t shared the nature of what was clearly an emergency with her before he headed out to deal with it? There was no point to it. Tiguri men lived by actions, not words. They preferred to tackle problems head-on instead of talking about them, and they possessed fiercely rigid beliefs about the role of women in their lives. Tiguri females were meant to be protected, showered with gifts, shown off to the world, and set aside when the time for mating was past. They didn’t participate in the family decision-making process, or suggest new ways of doing things, or question their mates’ choices. “Seen and not heard” would describe the ideal Tiguri female in the minds of most of the males. Pretty as a picture and half as useful.

Saskia had known what she had agreed to, so why did it sting when that was exactly what she got?

“Maybe my mother was right,” she muttered to the ceiling, the sound of her voice all but echoing in the huge, empty bedroom. “What was that Alcott quote she was always spouting? ‘She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain.’ Maybe that’s my problem.”

Whatever she chose to blame it on, Saskia had to face facts—the mating she had agreed to was no longer one she could live with. But what were the alternatives?

Did she tell Nicolas she had changed her mind? Technically, until they actually had sex—the real thing, not just mind-blowing foreplay—their engagement wasn’t considered binding under Tiguri law. She could still back out.

She snorted. Yeah, she could really see Nicolas reacting well to that. He might not have any feelings for her in particular, but he had chosen her as his mate and publically declared his intention to keep her. If nothing else, his pride would never allow him to release her from their agreement. Plus, he had seemed to view the whole formal betrothal process the Tiguri still used as a huge pain in the behind. She doubted he’d be very eager to repeat it all with someone new when his current fiancée had no rational reason to back out of their engagement. Disappointment with their first night together would
not
qualify in his mind as a rational reason. Or in the minds of any other of their kind.

So if she couldn’t back out, what other choices did she have? She supposed she could try to just live with it, to like it or lump it, as her grandmother would have said. After all, if she’d been prepared before to accept a relationship more akin to the one she had with her banker than the one she’d hoped to have with her mate, she should be able to find that resolve inside herself again. It had to be in there somewhere, right? Maybe tucked behind the frustrated lust, or covered up by the growing piles of self-pity. If she’d felt it before, she could feel it again.

Couldn’t she?

Sighing, Saskia twisted onto her side and clutched a pillow to her chest. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she could. She couldn’t figure out what had changed between the moment she signed the betrothal contract—yes, the Tiguri were the only living beings on earth who still used the antiquated things—and the moment Nicolas had strode out of their bedroom, leaving her alone and frustrated on their engagement night. She thought it had to be more than just the unfulfilled desire that had left her with this restless, hollow feeling. The one in her chest, that is—she knew the one between her legs had everything to do with the desire to feel her mate’s body joined with hers in the elemental celebration of their union. But the ache below her breasts felt like more than that. It felt like the insistent drive she felt to put her pencil to paper and draw the images that flitted past her mind’s eye, a sort of itching need that could only be assuaged by taking action.

Now she just had to decide what action to take.

She needed to do something. The idea of just sitting back and letting her mate dictate the future of their relationship no longer seemed remotely acceptable, not if it meant she could find herself abandoned at a moment’s notice without so much as a word of explanation. It wasn’t like she expected her mate to report his every move to her; she had no desire to track his footsteps like some sort of jail warden. But when he stopped in the middle of making love to her and got a phone call about something so important that he climbed out of her bed and into the damned elevators she thought she had every right to ask him what was going on. And she did not want to be told, “I don’t have time for you.”

Ooh, that statement just chapped her ass. She had the feeling, though, that if she didn’t want to hear it again, she needed to start as she meant to go on. She had to set a whole new tone to this relationship, one in which she demonstrated to him clearly the fact that she intended to be a whole lot more than an accessory for him to wear when it suited. Saskia would make herself a partner in this relationship, or die trying.

She just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

*   *   *

Sleep didn’t come easily that night, and by the time she finally drifted off Saskia felt as if she’d gone around the world in eighty days. On foot. As a consequence, she woke at her accustomed time shortly after seven feeling about as cheerful as a mortician. When she dragged herself out of bed—still empty except for herself—and stumbled into the bathroom, a quick glance in the mirror told her she looked more like the corpse. Exhaustion had turned her skin even paler than usual, until her freckles stood out in sharp relief, and had painted purple bruises beneath bloodshot eyes.

Oh, yeah, if her mate saw her now, he wouldn’t just walk out the door; he’d run straight through it to get away from her.

A scalding shower managed to steam away the worst of her mental fog, but it took twice as long as usual with her makeup to temper the ravages of her restless night. Saskia tried every trick she knew, but in the end she was forced to settle for “not completely pathetic.” So much for using her looks to bring her mate in line.

She pulled her hair back into a neat chignon and dressed casually, for her, in tailored gray slacks and a cashmere sweater the color of ripe plums. The cowl-neck drooped just low enough to hint at her cleavage, allowing her to go with the old standby of relying on the power of the breasts to distract a man from the flaws on the face. In defiance of the rules, she ignored the rows of shoes neatly arranged in her new closet and padded out of the bedroom in her stocking feet.

Yup, she’d already turned into such a rebel. The way her hems, cut to allow for the elegant heels she customarily wore, bunched and trailed on the ground would have appalled her mother and every deportment teacher she’d ever had. Take that, rules!

The huge apartment seemed to echo around her, the feeling of emptiness convincing her that her erstwhile fiancé still hadn’t returned from his middle-of-the-night mystery task. Still, a niggling touch of hope had her poking her head into each room as she passed until by the time she left his silent office she had to remind herself that anything worth accomplishing took time and dedication. She just didn’t like the fact that she couldn’t get started convincing her mate how much he needed her until he actually came back to see her.

She found the kitchen easily. After years of training her memory to never forget a name or a face, a simple floor plan offered no challenge at all. Like every other room, this one sat empty and a little cold, the huge expanses of granite counter gleaming in the light that streamed in through the large window.

Saskia might have grown up in a world of privilege, but she prided herself on her ability to take care of herself in any situation. Nicolas had told her he hadn’t yet hired any staff for their new home, and she felt glad of it as she located the expensive and complicated coffee machine at one end of the counter. Dealing with her own disappointment at waking up alone the night after her engagement was hard enough; she would have hated to face the pitying looks of strangers if servants had popped out of the woodwork and offered to cater to her every whim. Keeping her hands busy and her mind occupied with mundane tasks might actually keep her sane until she could corner her new mate for a serious talk.

It took a few minutes to locate beans and filters in the massive kitchen, but soon enough Saskia was cradling an elegant porcelain cup in her hands and sipping from the heavily creamed brew. She had contemplated and rejected the idea of a more substantial breakfast while she rooted through a refrigerator the size of some New York apartments looking for the half-and-half. Her stomach hadn’t settled enough for her to eat. The coffee would do for now.

Her stocking feet made no sound on the tiled and hardwood floors as she made her way toward the front of the apartment. The enormous and deserted living room felt like a museum gallery or a corporate function room at the moment, when there was no one around to fill it. It made Saskia feel even more uncertain and isolated to perch there on the edge of a taupe chenille sofa with nothing to do but sip her coffee and wait. She thought about retreating to the cozy den at the other end of the hall, but it felt somehow cowardly, and if she sat back there she might miss the moment when her mate finally returned. No, she’d tough it out here. It might make her feel like a little girl at the principal’s office, but at least here she’d be able to hear the click of the front door opening and to see her mate as soon as he walked in. For that she would suffer a little awkwardness.

Saskia finished her coffee in silence, then sat there with the empty cup cradled in her hands for longer than she cared to think about. She tried to keep her mind blank and not speculate on where her mate might have gone and what he might be doing, but she was only mostly human. How could she not wonder about the message that had torn him from her bed—practically from her body—almost six hours ago and still not allowed him to return? Had he been hurt? Had someone else? Was it a business problem, or something more personal? Was he still even dealing with the issue he’d left for, or had he already moved on to something else? Or to some
one
else?

Not for the first time in her life, Saskia felt a twinge of envy for Lupine females. She might be more physically powerful than a she-wolf, but everyone knew that wolves mated for life. Once a Lupine male found his mate, that was it; he was done, no more bachelor ways. Tigers? Not so much. The expression “catting around” hadn’t come into being without reason. Tiguri males tended to be infamous womanizers, and judging by the stories she’d heard about her fiancé, she had little reason to hope her mate would turn out to be any different. She’d hoped for the traditional honeymoon period where Nicolas would be so enthralled by her newness and the newness of their mate bond that he would stay close to home and take advantage of having a woman available to him whenever he pleased. She admitted a part of her had even hoped that she could use that time to convince him he didn’t need any other women, that she would be more than happy to see to his needs, all of his needs, if he was willing to make an effort to remain faithful. She had known it would be a long shot, but she had wanted to try. Now it looked like she had failed before she’d even gotten a change to make her argument. How was that fair?

Her dark thoughts had drawn her into a good sulk by the time the phone rang. She jumped at the sound, almost as startled as she had been last night when she’d heard the same sound. She hoped this call wouldn’t cause the same kind of havoc. Maybe it was even Nicolas. After all, who else would call her on the morning after her engagement? Everyone who knew her would expect her to be spending the day in bed with her new mate. No one else would even think to disturb a newly engaged couple.

Lifting the receiver, Saskia felt a surge of nervous hope. “Hello?”

“Saskia?”

The sound of a woman’s voice dashed Saskia’s hopes, but the fact that the woman had asked for her rather than Nicolas was some consolation. “Yes, can I help you?”

“You can if you remember me. This is Corinne D’Alessandro. We met at your party last night?”

The picture of the friendly, dark-haired woman popped immediately to Saskia’s mind. She never forgot a face. “Of course I remember you, Corinne. I hope you enjoyed the party.”

The woman laughed. “More than you, I think. At least no one was staring at me all night. I tell you, being the guest of honor at one of those things is highly overrated.”

Saskia agreed, but she couldn’t decide how to react. Why was the reporter calling her the morning after her engagement? She made a noncommittal sound and hoped Corinne would continue.

“Anyway. I’m sorry to call so early, but I decided to take a chance that with your man still sitting with the Council, you might be looking for a little company.”

Saskia absorbed that information and felt the room tilt around her. “The Council?” she repeated hoarsely.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

“Uh-oh,” Corinne finally said, her voice full of discomfort. “Did I just totally step in it? Am I not supposed to talk about it? I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I’m such an idiot. I’m probably the worst person in the world to have an inside line on what the Council gets up to. You’d think Missy and Reggie would know better than to tell me anything. Just forget I said anything. And accept my apology. And forget I called.”

“No, wait!” Saskia said, afraid the other woman would hang up and leave her as much in the dark as she’d been since last night. “Don’t apologize. You’re fine. I just—”

She paused, reluctant to confess over the phone such embarrassing details as the state of her engagement and the closemouthed arrogance of her fiancé. She needed to be able to see the other woman’s face if she wanted to be able to tell how her story was perceived. That way, if the reporter gave any indication of being shocked by the truth or of digging for a story in Saskia’s and Nicolas’s private lives, Saskia would be able to cut things off and repair any potential damage.