Kathleen Creighton - The Rebel King

Was that why, instead of taking the piece of bread from him. she opened her mouth and let him feed her the first succulent bite, knowing what a seductive and dangerous thing it was? Or was she simply caught in the golden web of that magical afternoon, and unable-or unwilling-to claw her way out?

So she laughed self-consciously when bits of the vegetable topping escaped and fell onto her shirtfront. and the seasoned oil oozed onto her lips and down her chin. And when Nik flicked away the crumbs, she let herself wallow shamelessly in the pleasure of that casual touch. When his finger deftly caught the riverlet of oil. before she even thought about it, she licked it from his fingers.

His touch was like some sort of magic wand that turned her skin to shimmering fire in an instant. Something thumped in the bottom of her stomach, and her eyes opened wide and looked straight into his. And she wondered if the soft haze of confusion she saw there was only a reflection of what he saw in her eyes. She licked her lips and waited, tense and heavy with wanting, for him to kiss her again, and was bitterly disappointed when he leaned away from her instead, and picked up the loaf of bread, whittled off a slice and handed it to her with a smile, then cut another for himself.

And so they ate, sitting at angles across from each other, almost but not quite facing, almost but not quite touching, making little in the way of conversation beyond murmurs of pleasure and muttered requests to pass something or other. A pair of doves fluttered down and waddled shyly about on the fringes of the picnic, hoping for handouts which both Rhia and Nikolas readily provided. The sun came and went, burning hot on their faces sometimes, playing peekaboo with the waving branches of the willows on its slow descent into evening.

When she had eaten all she could hold, Rhia brushed off her hands, picked up her wineglass and gave herself up to the sheer pleasure of watching the man beside her…and wondered how and when it had come to this, that just the sight of him could make her ache with that terrible combination of joy and sadness.

He was sitting relaxed now. one leg outstretched, one arm propped on a drawn-up knee, lips curved in a little half smile as he tossed bits of bread crusts to the doves. As if he'd felt her eyes on him. he spoke for the first time in a while. "This was one of my favorite places when I was growing up. I'm sure you've guessed. Still is, I suppose."

"I never would've guessed that," Rhia said drily, not letting him hear a trace of softness in her voice.

He gave a short, gentle laugh that reminded her of the chuckling sound of the river. "I always felt good here, you see-didn't seem to matter what I was doing or who I was with-fishing with Phillipe, canoeing with a bunch of his friends, or…"

"Necking with a girl?"

"Once or twice." He flicked her a glance, then shrugged. "First time I've been here with a woman, though."

"Oh, my," Rhia murmured, "should I be honored?"

"Oh, definitely," he said, and his smile grew in a slow and sensual way. "After all, I've brought you to my special place."

She studied him for a long, simmering moment before asking, with solemn curiosity. "Why did you, Nikolas?"

His forehead crinkled in that puzzled little frown that told her he was about to tease her again, which she was beginning to realize was his way of easing back when things threatened to become too intense.

"I'm not quite sure, actually. I suppose there's something primitive involved-caveman-ish, you know? Some sort of male imperative where I show you, the female of my choice…" he trailed a finger lightly down her bare thigh as his eyes drifted over her face "…that I am capable of providing you with a safe, secure and lovely place in which to consummate-what?" She was laughing and shaking her head.

What else could she do?

His eyes slipped downward to study the movement of his finger on her thigh, as if fascinated by the goose bumps its stroking had raised there. When they lifted again to hers there was a softness in them, like the sky before it rains. "We are going to be lovers," he said softly. "I know it, and so do you."

She turned her head quickly to hide the tears that had sprung unexpectedly to her eyes. Her throat ached.

"The idea doesn't appear to make you happy. Why is that, Rhee?"

She swallowed…shook her head, tried to laugh. Then, instead of answering him. heard herself say in a husky Cajun accent. "I had a place like this when I was growing up. A place where I always felt good, no matter what I was doing or who I was with."

He didn't speak, and his hand lay quiet on her thigh, waiting…as if he knew there was more to what she was telling him than reminiscence.

My cousins-well, they were my mama's cousins, actually-had this place down in the bayous." He wondered if she even realized she'd lapsed into the cadences of her childhood. "We used to go down there and visit, now and again…sit and fish, play music, eat…just generally have fun, you know? We Cajuns are good at havin' fun." She flashed him a smile, and the wave of tenderness that rose inside him when he saw the pain in it stunned him to utter silence.

"It was the nighttime I loved best," she went on after a moment. "When the darkness came down, you couldn't see the squalor, the poverty, all you could see was the moonlight dancin' on the water, and lightnin' bugs twinklin' out in the trees, and the soft yellow light from the porch where the grown-ups were sittin'. playin' music. One of the cousins- or maybe his daddy-played the mouth organ-harmonica, you know? Played it so it would just about make you cry without you even knowing you were sad. Mama, she could play just about anything, but she liked alto sax best. And there was always a fiddle and a banjo, and maybe some spoons…I don't know what all else, but together they made a beautiful sound. It just sort of filled in the spaces between the frog and cricket sounds and the slap of the water against the pilings, and the 'gators bellowin' off in the swamps. And the air was so soft and wet it seemed like it got inside your skin…made you feel gentle all over, like nothing could ever rile or upset you and you'd just stay this happy for always and forever."

"But you didn't stay that way, did you?" Nikolas said softly when she paused. "Because your father came and took you away."

Her head jerked around and she stared at him with wide startled eyes. "How did you-"

"You told me-in Phillipe's kitchen, in Paris-remember?" For no other reason except that he desperately needed to touch her. he reached out and with one finger guided a stray lock of her hair away from her cheek and nudged it behind her ear. Her skin felt like warm satin against his fingertip, and he ached to feel its softness on his palms…his lips…with every part of him.

His fingers, trailing wistfully down the side of her neck, snagged on the thin silver chain he'd noticed the day she'd arrived in Phillipe's Paris flat. He hooked it and drew the tiny silver charm from its nest between her breasts. He watched it swing from his extended finger for a moment, then lifted his eyes to hers. "A saxophone," he said softly. "I get it now."

He relinquished the charm as her fingers closed protectively around it. "My mother gave it to me," she said in a thickened voice. "For my twelfth birthday. She told me it was to remind me that no matter what happened, I'd always have music. That was right before my father came for me. That's why-" She stopped, shook her head and looked away.

"I didn't ask you to tell me about that in Paris." Nikolas said, watching his fingers skim lightly over her shoulder. "I barely knew you, then. I thought I hadn't the right. But now that we know we're going to be lovers…" He took his gaze from the place where his finger touched her skin to meet her somber green eyes…and smiled.

Her eyes darkened as he watched. "I'll tell you," she said gravely, not returning his smile, "so maybe you'll understand why that notion doesn't make me happy. But-" her lashes quivered and fell and she caught a quick breath "-it would be a whole lot easier to talk about this if you wouldn't touch me."

He felt a surprising stab of pain, but lightly said. "I'll give it a try." He lifted his hand from her shoulder and stretched out sideways, propped himself on one elbow and gave her a go-ahead nod.

She looked at him warily along her shoulder as she drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, and it seemed to him she was building a fortress around herself-a fortress meant for one puipose: to keep him out.

"Mama was working in a jazz joint on Bourbon Street when she met my father-playing music, mostly, but between sets she'd serve drinks…tend bar. My…father-" her mouth and even the tone of her voice changed shape when she said that word "-was in the real estate business-in a big way. Like-think Donald Trump, okay? Only Southern-style- based in Miami. He was in New Orleans for a couple of months getting some new project going, and one night he happened to walk into the place where my mama worked." She paused to give him a sideways look, lifted a shoulder and tried to smile. "I guess he liked her looks and her music-she for sure liked his looks and his money… Anyway, sparks flew. By the time he was ready to leave New Orleans I was well on the way. He did marry her-I'll give him credit for that. And he took her home with him to Miami. That's where I was born."

She was silent for a while, but he didn't prompt her. just listened to the river sounds and watched the setting sun paint her hair with reddish light. The wistfulness in her face as she gazed into her past made his own throat tighten with a sadness he didn't quite understand. Nostalgia, maybe? Thinking of- and lonesome for-a past he'd never had?

She let go a soft, sighing breath. "She was miserable in Miami-wasn't happy with him. No big mystery why-she was warm-hearted and a free spirit, and he was a cold-hearted control freak. Anyway, when I was about two, she took me and ran off-went back home to her folks in New Orleans. Naturally, he followed her, not because he loved her-or me- so much. I'm sure. He's not capable of that. It was because he just couldn't stand that she'd left him. And worse, because she'd taken something that belonged to him, he thought. Me."

She lifted her head and shook her hair back and glared at him. and there was an angry fire in her eyes. "He was rich and powerful. In a custody fight you'd think my mama wouldn't have stood a chance, right? But you'd be wrong. She was no dummy, she filed for divorce in Louisiana, and a Louisiana judge-a Cajun judge-gave her full custody of me. My father had to go back to Miami empty-handed, and for ten years, Mama and I were as happy as could be."

She fell silent again, and this time Nikolas didn't wait for her to pick up the thread. He shifted restlessly and sat up. "Ten years…and then he came and got you? What did he do, take your mother back to court? Why did he wait so long to do it?"

In the golden light he could see a bitter little half smile, her only answer-then-to his second question. "Nope, just showed up one day in his Mercedes and took me."

"Took you? As in…kidnapped? My God. What did your mother do? Didn't she-"

"Mama wasn't home at the time, I think-" Her voice went high and then broke, startling them both. She waited a moment, fingering the little gold saxophone. "I think she knew he was coming. I think she made sure she wasn't there when he showed up."

Nikolas just stared at her. The question-Why?-in his mind so deafening he couldn't even say it.

She stared defiantly back at him and answered it anyway. "Hey, I was twelve. And growing up fast, if you know what I mean." She hunched one shoulder in a shrug that reminded him of a wounded bird. "Maybe she felt like she wouldn't be able to handle me. Maybe she decided she wanted her freedom-who knows? I don't know if she contacted him or he contacted her, but I'm positive they made some kind of deal. Anyway-" her lips spasmed briefly, then firmed "-he came and got me, and I went to live with him in Miami. I wasn't given a choice. End of story."

He cleared his throat and said harshly, "Oh, I seriously doubt that. More like the end of a single chapter, and I can't wait to hear the rest. But I'm already beginning to get the gist, I think. You said you were telling me this now to explain why you aren't happy about the otherwise delightful prospect of making love with me, so I must assume it's because of this complete jackass of a father, right? He's turned you against men, or some such bilge?"