Chapter 17
The clouds hovered gray and heavy over the mountain. Just the sight of them made Jane feel as if they were pressing down, smothering her in a sluggish languor. No, it wasn't the weather. The day had only just turned threatening and yet she had been experiencing this heaviness since she had opened her eyes that morning.
"I'd like to ride over and see James Medford later this afternoon," she said over her shoulder to Ruel. "I need to talk to him about the schedule for joining the rails."
"Restless already?" Ruel's lips tightened. "It's been only two days. I'll have to apply myself to keep you more interested."
He was angry. Jane had been aware of Ruel's growing edginess for the entire day. He had been prowling around the summerhouse like a caged lion for the past few hours. "You're restless yourself. Neither of us is accustomed to being cooped up with no work to do."
"This is your work for the time being."
She whirled away from the window, holding tight to the sheet she had draped around herself. "Good heavens, we cannot fornicate every hour of the day. It's only making you bad-tempered."
"I'm not bad-tempered!”
"You most certainly are."
He scowled. "Then it's your job to distract and soothe me."
"You shouldn't need soothing. I told you that you'd be disappointed."
"I'm not disappointed. I've done exactly what I said I'd do." His smile was a mere baring of teeth. "And enjoyed every minute of it."
"No, you haven't." She frowned, trying to put together the pieces of his behavior. "For some reason . . . oh, I think you've enjoyed my body but not the other."
"What other?"
"You didn't like hurting me."
He stiffened. "I've not noticed any bruises."
She did have a few bruises on her body but not by his intent. It would have been impossible not to have gone through the orgy of sexual indulgences of the past forty-eight hours without showing any signs. "You know the kind of wounds you inflicted. It gave you no satisfaction."
"I regret you're reading me wrong. I'm very satisfied with every aspect of our time together and, if you'd admit to it, I believe you received an equal satisfaction."
"Because you gave me pleasure?" She shook her head. "Every time you gave me that pleasure it hurt me. It stripped my pride and made me feel less than myself, just as you intended it to do."
"I'm surprised you're telling me this."
"I wouldn't have admitted it when I came here." She shrugged. "It's different now. I don't mind giving you small victories. You need them more than I do. It must be terrible to live with such a passion for revenge."
"How condescending of you." His lips thinned. "You might consider how you would feel if it were Li Sung instead of Ian who was going through torment before blaming me for wanting to settle accounts."
She shook her head wearily. "I don't know how I would feel. It's too horrible to imagine." She met his gaze. "And I've never blamed you. I don't blame you now. I'm just glad it's over."
A multitude of expressions crossed his face, but she could single out only shock, frustration, anger, and desire. "Oh, it's not over yet." He smiled recklessly. "And I believe you'd best prepare to give me another victory." His gaze wandered over her. "If you must cover yourself, it won't be with that sheet. I believe it's time for you to don more appropriate apparel. Put on the cloth-of-gold gown in the armoire."
At first she didn't understand, but her eyes widened as she recalled his words that first night she had arrived on Cinnidar. "You actually had it made?"
"Of course. I always keep my promises. Put it on."
"Don't you think this promise could be—" She broke off as she saw his face. His eyes were shimmering recklessly and she could sense the core of violence and frustration just below the surface ready to explode. She shrugged. "If you insist. It's not worth arguing about." She walked toward the armoire across the room.
A few moments later the three mirrors on the wall reflected her image gowned in a loose garment that was still blatantly sexual. It draped only one shoulder in the Greek fashion and then dipped across her body to bare one breast. The skirt was slit to the waist to show her limbs with every movement. She could feel the color sting her cheeks as she looked at herself. She felt more naked in this gown than she had totally nude.
"Lovely." Ruel's arms slid around her from behind, one hand cupping her breast. "Just as I imagined you."
She met his gaze in the mirror. "As a whore?"
"What else?" he asked mockingly, his thumb and forefinger pulling at her nipple.
A hot shiver went through her. The muscles of her stomach contracted. "This gown doesn't make me a whore any more than your treating me like one."
"But it bothers you."
"Yes, it bothers me. Does that please you?"
"Of course it pleases me. Why shouldn't it—" He stopped and again his expression reflected that mixture of frustration and discontent. "Kneel down on the carpet, dammit."
"The bed is only a few feet away."
"The floor."
She shrugged and fell to her knees.
"Now get up on your hands and knees."
It was beginning again—dark excitement, domination, and . . . anticipation. She moistened her lips. "Why?"
"I believe it's time we tried something new." He lifted her gown above her waist and the next moment she felt his warm palms caressing her buttocks. "The painting in the maharajah's railroad car . . ."
He plunged deep, taking her breath. He stopped, his hardness sealed within her while his hands went around to cup and fondle her breasts. "We have to faithfully reproduce the painting, don't we?" He began to move slowly, making her feel every inch. She involuntarily tightened around him as a spasm of heat tore through her. "Ah, that's what I want. Now look back at me. I want to see your expression."
She turned her head to stare at him. She knew what he was seeing—heat, lust, anger at herself for not being able to resist the passion he ignited so easily. His own face was flushed, his lips heavy with sensuality, set in an expression of painful pleasure, and yet once more she discerned that odd torment. "It's not the same," she gasped. "Don't you see? It ... can never be the same no matter what you see in my face. It's your expression that's wrong. I told you the painting was false. Men aren't gentle. Never gentle . . ."
He went still. "Damn you," he said hoarsely. "Damn you." He exploded, plunging in a fury of movement.
Her fingers dug into the carpet as the storm rose, each stroke whipping her into a mindless frenzy. She wasn't sure how long it lasted until she felt the burst of wild sensation that signaled both their release.
She collapsed on the floor and a moment later felt him leave her. She was completely enervated, unable to move. She became vaguely aware he was picking her up, depositing her on the bed.
"Are you all right?" he asked stiltedly.
The heaviness she had felt all day seemed to be pressing down on her, crushing the breath from her body. "Tired . . ."
He pulled the covers up to her chin and then lay down beside her. He gazed straight ahead, not touching her. "I lost my temper."