Calypso Magic (Magic Trilogy 2)

"Well, I do prefer to make love when my partner is clean and sweet as fresh summer grass. Is that lavender? Very nice." Her eyebrows were lowered, but he merely looked amused. "You see, I fully intend to kiss every inch of you. I should prefer it, of course, if your hair were dry, but I shall make do. Now, isn't the water growing a bit chilly? Aren't you becoming a bit wrinkled from your overlong stay?"

She was becoming shriveled --- hang the temperature of the water. She had to get control of this ridiculous situation. She calmly began cupping water in her hands and pour it on her hair. Then she gathered up her hair and began wringing it out. From where he was sitting, she didn't think he could see her, at least not clearly. She wound her hair about her head, twisted it so it would stay in place for a little while, then with no warning, she hurled the sponge and the bar of lavender soap at him.

She didn't look to see how true her aim was, just leapt out of the tub and grabbed for the towel. She didn't turn to face him until she was well and thoroughly covered.

He was wiping his face, and he was frowning.

She laughed.

"No," he said quietly to her, "you won't ever bore me, Diana."

"Well, you bore me! Now will you leave, Lyon? Your sport is well over."

"I did see a flash of beautiful white," he said, and sighed dramatically. He picked up the sponge and wiped the soap from his face. "You are either an excellent shot or very lucky. Which is it?"

Luck, she thought, but said, "I am good at many things."

"Tonight, I will test your claim."

She stood in the middle of the cabin, a thick towel wrapped securely about her, regarding him in stony silence. What to do? He looked in complete control. Worse, he looked determined.

Suddenly, her eyes glittered as she recalled his mocking conversation of the afternoon. Why not use it against him? She assumed what she thought to be a seductive pose. "You know, Lyon, I have always found you a lovely specimen of manhood." She slowly licked her tongue over her lower lip. Did he stiffen? "Perhaps I should let you give me lessons. You did offer, did you not? There are many men, you know, in the West Indies, lonely men who find me beautiful, who want me, who would give me great pleasure once I knew what it was all about. I think perhaps I should like to sample what they have to offer. What matter if you are the first? You certainly will not be the last."

She allowed the towel to slip, careful that it didn't fall below her breasts. Her lashes were lowered, but she was aware of his every expression. He looked uncertain. She wanted to laugh in his face, knowing that he was thinking of Charlotte and wondering. Yes, wondering. Distrustful bastard.

"Perhaps you could tell me also how not to conceive a child. If I ever did decide to be a mother, I should like to decide upon who to make the father. Did I tell you about Jonathan Crowley? Ah, what a handsome man he is; not good enough for me, of course, but I could certainly enjoy him without marriage, could I not?" She gave a delicate shudder and let the towel slip a bit lower. Thank goodness she was so well-endowed, else the wretched towel would have been at her waist three minutes ago. She saw that she had him well and fairly hooked now. He looked furious. He was pale. His hands were fisted. He looked rigid as a statue.

"Just think of all the comparisons I shall be able to make. I do promise to use you as the standard, Lyon. You tell me how virile you are. Perhaps in a year or two I can write and tell you just how well you compare to my other, er, partners. Come, you haven't moved. Cannot I have my first experience now? After all, the sooner I get rid of my virginity, the sooner I can move on to more elusive and perhaps more fascinating prey."

Lyon didn't move. He watched that tongue of hers glide over her lips. It aroused him, but he ignored it. He wanted to strangle her. Another Charlotte, that's what she was, and just when he was beginning to believe her different. She changed her stance slightly, beckoning him as would a seasoned harlot. Her wet hair streamed about her face, over her shoulders. It should have made her look less seductive, but it didn't.

"You know, Lyon, the thought of being some husband's faithful hound is most boring. No, I shouldn't like that at all."

That did it. He bounded from the chair, toppling it, and clutched the edges of the desk until his knuckles showed white. "You little slut! The devil, I wouldn't marry you; I wouldn't touch youYou are just like the others, aren't you? A bitch in heat! Take your virginity and peddle it elsewhere." He smacked his palm to his forehead. "How much does it take for me to learn? I must be the stupidest man alive."

He strode from the cabin, not looking back.

Diana grinned, then quivered at the loud slamming of the door. She'd won, hadn't she? He wouldn't bother her anymore. No.

She methodically dried herself and donned her nightgown. She sat on the bunk and began to comb through the snarls in her hair. She had won, it was all for the best. She'd given him a marvelous performance. And he'd believed it. Had she been that good? Or had he simply wanted to believe that she was like his precious Charlotte?

Well, it was done. He would leave her alone.

Why did she feel suddenly as if she'd ruined something very precious?

Why did she feel as though she'd lost rather than won?

He doesn't love you, idiot. It is for the best. Damn and blast his silly honor. Well, it was no longer a question of honor or sacrifice. It was no longer a question of anything.

She didn't fall asleep for a very long time.

Lyon didn't return to the cabin that night.

15

A hungry man is an angry man.

—J. HOWELL, PROVERBS