Page 13 of Forbidden Fire

M arissa would remember little that was precise about that afternoon. Rather she would remember the sensations. There had been sweet comfort in the quiet between them when ecstasy faded to gentle bliss and she lay beside him, her hair a tangle upon his shoulders and chest. There was the sound and the cadence of his words as he spoke to her. He never said he loved her. She wouldn’t have expected him to do so. It didn’t matter. She had more than she had dreamed, for he wove a future for them. He spoke of the opera, of the ballet, of the waterfront. Of sunsets and sunrises, trips to Sausalito and Carmel, of riding along the coast to see the majestic sights.

Then the quiet and the comfort faded as passion was rekindled. And in the next sweeping wave of fire, she began to learn to explore herself. She began to dare new things, to discover the man. To run her fingers through the soft, dark hair upon his chest, to touch and stroke … to tempt. She was amazed at the laughter between them, at the breathlessness, at the closeness that blanketed them as her inhibitions were shed.

Twilight came, and a soft fog wafted over the city. It seemed to enter the windows, to wrap them in something mystical. Marissa could almost feel it, cool and caressing against her naked flesh. Within its embrace she rose over Ian, smiled and met the curious fire in his eyes. Then leaning low against him she sensually swept the soft length of her hair slowly over his chest, following each silken sweep with the damp heat of a lazy, luxurious kiss. And so she made her way down his body, delighting that he could tremble so beneath her, until he caught his breath in amazement and excitement, going rigid beneath her bold touch. He swore softly, then lifted her above him to impale her swiftly and surely.

The gentle fog tempered her cries and whispers, and caressed her still when she lay exhausted and sweetly sated and amazed once again.

Marissa drifted into sleep, curled by his side, her hair blanketing his chest, her fingers resting lightly upon his naked flesh. She heard a rapping sound, as if far away. Then she started, for the hard-muscled cushion beneath her head moved. “What is it?”

“Lee is at my door,” he said. He rose, sleek and handsome in his nakedness. He found his trousers and started for the connecting door.

Then the rapping came at Marissa’s door. In the hazy twilight that blanketed the room, Ian cast her a wry grin that caught at her heart. He opened her door.

Lee was there. Marissa heard her softly spoken words, but could not understand them.

Ian closed the door and came to the foot of the bed. His hair was dark and tousled over his forehead, and the shiny dampness of his chest enhanced the muscled structure of it. Marissa started to stretch out on the bed, heavy-lidded, lazy and luxurious.

“Oh, no!” Ian told her with a laugh, snatching up the sheet. “We’ve company.”

“Company!” She bolted up. She was a mess, hair everywhere, naked, and slick with a slight sheen of perspiration.

He smiled easily at her panic. “Take your time—you’ve at least five minutes. I’d forgotten, Sullivan and Funston are here for supper.”

“Who?” she gasped.

“Dennis Sullivan, the fire chief. And Frederick Funston, Brigadier General Funston, that is, acting commander of the Presidio. He and his wife, Eda, have a beautiful home here on Nob Hill. I’m afraid you caused it to completely skip my mind, but they’re downstairs now. Lee will serve drinks, I’m sure.”

“We’ve company, and you’re standing there like that!” she gasped.

He laughed and headed for the door to his room. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

“No, I can’t dress in five minutes and meet people! Ian, you must wait—”

But he was already gone. Hastily she went to the bathroom. Biting her lip, she doused herself with cold bathwater then dried off furiously. She raced to her room, rummaged through several drawers to find underclothing and proper attire, then tried to brush, arrange and pin her hair.

Her hair was civilized, she decided, staring into the mirror. Her eyes were still very wild.

She heard a low whistle and turned. Ian was back, dark, handsome, immaculate in black. His blue gaze took in her appearance from head to toe. She had chosen a white ruffled silk blouse with a high collar and a watered silk skirt. The white of her outfit was offset by the jet beads and drop earrings she had chosen, and the fine black brocade jacket.

“Am I all right?” she asked anxiously.

“Positively—virginal,” he told her. She flushed, and he arched a brow with a curious smile. “It’s just Dennis and Freddie and Eda,” he said, “not royalty.”

She glanced at him quickly and remembered that although it had seemed that she had been changed completely and forever by their lovemaking, she hadn’t been. She might be in love with him, but that didn’t change the fact that she was living a lie. She could tell he was thinking that she was accustomed to meeting the upper crust of British society.

She looked at the dresser. Not even the lie really mattered now. She was a good actress, and she had learned her role well. “They are your friends, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Then they are very important to me,” she said softly.

He was across the room to her with a few long strides, raising her chin with his thumb and looking into her eyes. He studied them carefully and slowly smiled. “My love, you are such an enigma. So very proud and determined, fighting all the way. And yet when you choose, the pride is stripped away, and the heart can be laid bare, and it is a beautiful heart.”

“Don’t!” she whispered.

“Don’t?”

“It is not so beautiful a heart,” she murmured quickly. She backed away from him. “You’ve been very good to my friends.” She stood still, then raced to him, throwing herself into his arms and looking into his eyes. “Ian,” she began hurriedly, “I started things badly, I forced this on you, but I mean to try to make things work, I want very badly to be what you want—”

“Shh!” he whispered, puzzled, as he caught her face between his hands and kissed her gently. “Marissa, if I had been completely against the idea of marriage to you, I wouldn’t have married you, no matter what. I could not have been forced to do so. And since I met you, you’ve been surprisingly many things that I want, many.”

She flushed, her lashes lowering.

“Modesty now?” He chuckled, then moved his thumb gently over her lower lip. “Marissa, you caught my heart the other day. You made me see that I was creating my own hell. Marissa …”

He pulled her against him and held her close. Then he broke away, his eyes sparkling. “Our dinner guests await.” He caught her hand and led her from the bedroom, down the stairway and to the dining room, where their company awaited them.

A short red-haired man stood beside a lively little woman with dancing blue eyes. By the buffet, which was doubling as a bar, was a taller man with a lean face and a haunted gaze.

“Eda, Frederick, Dennis, welcome,” Ian said quickly, drawing Marissa around. “My wife, Marissa. Marissa, I give you the true heartbeat of San Francisco and Nob Hill, Mrs. Eda Funston, and her husband, Freddie. And by the buffet, Dennis Sullivan.”

The gentlemen assessed her silently; Eda’s blue eyes sparkled as she greeted her effusively. “So this is the new bride that has the city abuzz!” Eda said. “Marissa, welcome, welcome. What a lovely addition you are to this house. It has not seemed quite so alive in positively ages.”

“Thank you so much,” Marissa told her, glancing at Ian. Eda was wonderfully warm. She felt very welcomed, indeed.

Lee appeared. She remained silent until Ian noticed her, then she announced that dinner was ready.

They were soon seated. Lee returned to serve the soup, and Ian poured wine, and the conversation remained casual. Then Dennis Sullivan almost curtly asked Ian, “Have your clients received the permits for the new buildings from City Hall?”

Ian stared at Dennis, then lifted his glass and stared at his wine. Then he looked at Dennis again. “Yes, the permits were received.”

The fire chief slammed a fist upon the table and the dishes rattled. He apologized profusely, but he was still vehement when he looked at Ian again. “I’m telling you, this is more corruption! Those codes are insane! It’s Mayor Schmitz and that kingmaker of his, Reuf, collecting under-the-table money on these things. Just like the Barbary Coast, feet from our door! Reuf makes money every time he hands out a license for a French restaurant!”

Marissa had no idea what was going on. Eda Funston gently put a stop to the conversation. “Gentlemen, we are at the dinner table!”

“Yes, we are at dinner.” Ian offered Marissa a wry smile, then looked at the fire chief. “Dennis, I have turned the project down in no uncertain terms. They’ll have to find themselves another builder.”

Eda turned the conversation, chatting easily about the upcoming tour of the Great Caruso and his famed temper. When the meal ended and the gentlemen had disappeared into the study for cigars and business, Eda and Marissa wandered across the entry to the parlor, and Marissa asked Eda what was going on.

Eda sighed, taking a seat before the window. “Corruption, my dear. I’m afraid this city is filled with it! My dear Freddie and Dennis and your Ian are quite disgusted with all of it.”

“But what, precisely, is going on?” Marissa demanded.

“There’s not so very much that we can prove, but we know licenses and permits can be bought. The insurance underwriters have given us reports. It’s amazing—and entirely through the diligence of the fire department, they have said—that the city has not burned to the ground. Dennis wanted to train men to use explosives to fight the fires, and he thought a supplementary saltwater system to fight fires was necessary. The War Department in Washington was willing to send men to the Presidio to be in readiness to help with the fire department. All they wanted was for the city to provide a thousand dollars to build a brick vault on the Presidio grounds to house the explosives. Mayor Schmitz managed to thwart his plans.”

“But if the city has been warned—”

“The board cannot enforce changes, only recommend that they be made.”

“What is wrong with a license for a French restaurant?” Marissa asked her.

“Oh, my dear!” Eda said, and laughed softly, a look of mischief in her eyes. “The restaurant is usually there, all right. Downstairs. And then upstairs … well, French restaurants are often the facade for … well, for bordellos. Er, houses of ill repute. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” Marissa told her, hiding a smile. She understood quite clearly. She might not have known the names of such places, but from the first time Ian had discussed his life with her, she had been well aware that he knew the location of many a dance hall and house of ill repute.

“And the building codes?” she said to Eda.

“Building permits can be bought, you see. But Ian has never been fooled by Mayor Schmitz. He is far too brilliant a builder not to love the quality of his work. I knew he would never agree to work unless his own codes were met!”

She smiled proudly at Marissa, then added softly, “Of course, it is a shame. Someone will be willing to build using those permits. Then heaven help us all if there ever should be a problem!”

Marissa was startled to feel a curious little tremor seize her heart. She shrugged it aside. Whatever happened, Ian would not be involved. And that was all that seemed to matter.

“Well, now, that’s settled. Now, tell me more about your life in England, dear. You’ve the softest, loveliest accent! You’re from the country, and your father was a squire, and now you’re here. So, does that make you Lady Tremayne?”

Marissa lowered her head quickly. Guilt riddled her. “I’m Mrs. Tremayne, Ian’s wife,” she said. That, at least, was true. She managed to describe the manor in England, and to avoid any other direct questions.

Eda was sweet and pleasant, and Dennis Sullivan and Freddie Funston were charming when they joined them in the parlor.

And she knew she did well. The evening should have been a triumph.

But listening to Eda talk, Marissa realized bleakly that, for her, every night of conversation might be a tightrope walk. She would always have to lie and hedge and take care.

It was a sorry thought.

She glanced up and realized that Ian, standing by the fire, was studying her very carefully. Something of her unease must have shown on her face, and it seemed as if he was reading into her soul. She was betraying her own guilt.

She looked away from him quickly, her heart thundering.

She was coming to know him so very well. His eyes were still upon her.

And even when someone asked him a question and he turned aside, she knew that he had not forgotten what he had seen in her face.

And later, there would be a reckoning.

She wasn’t expecting it as soon as it came.

She was the last at the door, saying goodbye to Eda, when their company left. Returning to the parlor, she felt at first as if her heart were warmed despite the cool winter night. There had been the wonderful afternoon, when she had begun to believe that she could be cherished. And then there had been the evening, when she had begun to believe that she could really become a part of her husband’s life.

But as soon as she walked into the small parlor and saw the way Ian looked at her as he stood before the mantel, she was forced to remember that she was living a lie.

She wanted to run for the stairway, to escape to her room, slam and lock the door. Just fighting for the courage not to do so kept her heart hammering hard.

Perhaps cowardice would serve her well at the moment. It was strange how she had once dreaded being too close to him. Now she longed to be close. A passionate kiss could spark the magic to make them both forget that secrets lay in her eyes.

He was staring at her darkly and broodingly. She opened her mouth to speak, but words would not come. She picked up an elegant little pillow from the sofa and plumped it, seeking easy, casual words.

“Your friends are very nice. I enjoyed them thoroughly.”

He didn’t say a word. “It does seem a shame that you’ve got this beautiful city and then problems in the City Hall.”

He still didn’t speak, and she felt her nervousness growing. She set the pillow down. “Well, it seems very late. I think I’ll retire for the evening—”

“I think not,” he interrupted softly.

There was nothing soft about his gaze.

Marissa straightened her shoulders, swiftly deciding that indignation would be the best way to play the scene, with perhaps a touch of pathos. “Really, Ian,” she said very quietly. She lowered her lashes to flutter over her cheeks. “After everything, that you can still accuse me—”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he said flatly. “And yet that you answer so quickly and defensively disturbs me.” His gaze was hard and penetrating still. “And you are not guilty. Then what?” he demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she snapped.

A wry, suspicious smile curved his lips. He left his stance at the fire and strode toward her.

“I’m going to bed!” she announced haughtily, spinning around, but too late. She knew him; she should have known he wouldn’t have allowed her such an arrogant retreat.

He grabbed her by the shoulders, and then his fingers were raking through her hair, holding her head so that her eyes met his relentless blue stare.

“Ian, really—” she began impatiently.

“Yes, really, my love. Tell me what it is that you keep from me?” His voice was low, but intense and passionate. She felt a trembling begin within her, and she shook her head.

“Damn you, there’s nothing!”

“There’s nothing,” he repeated softly.

“Bloody nothing!”

“Ah, but then why is your gaze so haunted? You can no longer fear me, I am certain.”

“I never feared you!”

“So what is it that you do fear?”

“Nothing!”

She bit her lip, meeting his hard, hostile gaze.

He couldn’t have ceased to want her so quickly! she told herself.

She had not ceased to want him!

If only he would hold her close, kiss her hard, let it be! She longed to cry out, to sweep her arms around him, to forget that she lived a lie. She wanted so badly to tell him the truth at that moment.

But she couldn’t. Not now. Maybe the time would come. Perhaps she could earn his trust, his affection, even his love.

“Marissa?”

“There’s nothing!” she repeated, trembling. And then she wrenched away from him, certain that he would come after her. And then she would hold him, and make him forget his demands upon her.

But he didn’t follow her. He walked to the tall mirrored hall tree by the doorway and picked up his black cape and top hat. “We’ll discuss it when I return,” he told her briefly. “Have an answer by then.” He tipped his hat to her and turned.

Startled, she stared after him. He strode through the beautiful entryway to the front door.

Marissa forgot she was on the offensive and tore after him. “Where are you going?” she asked in amazement.

He smiled. “Out, my dear,” he said, and threw open the front door, then headed toward the carriage house.

Marissa felt a blush rush to her cheeks. She couldn’t believe the pain and jealousy that seared through her. After the time they had spent together, after the uninhibited abandon she had learned, he was leaving her!

Heading for the Barbary Coast. And French restaurants!

She caught the front door before it could close and followed him out in absolute fury and indignation. “Ian! Ian Tremayne!” she called from the beautiful Victorian porch.

He stopped and spun around.

“Don’t dare think to question me again!” she warned him, her eyes alive with an emerald fire. “Don’t think to question me—don’t come home, for that matter!” she snapped, forgetting that it was his home. Before he could respond, she turned and slammed her way into the house. She leaned against the front door. She couldn’t believe it! She was about to burst into hysterical tears. How could he leave her? She had fallen in love, and she had given everything to him, and it had meant the world to her, but nothing to him!

She heard horse’s hooves upon the drive, and she knew he was gone.

Marissa glanced up just in time to see Lee Kwan slipping from the entryway to the dining room. She didn’t know what the girl had seen or heard, but embarrassment suddenly rippled into her pride just as viciously as pain had torn into her heart.

She turned and slammed out of the house. She would walk down to the caretakers’ cottage and see Mary and Jimmy, she thought.

But she didn’t really want to see Mary. She didn’t want to bare her shattered heart or pride.

She walked into the night. She was startled when the door opened and closed quickly behind her. She spun around to see that Lee had followed her out.

Lee, with her exotic beauty and mysterious face! Marissa felt even more battered.

“Mrs. Tremayne! Please.”

“Please what, Lee?” she responded, watching the woman with wary suspicion.

“It’s late. Sometimes men—drunk men—wander this way from the dance halls. We are perhaps too close, as the Funstons think. You must come back in the house!”

Marissa smiled suddenly. “Where is he going, Lee?”

Lee’s dark lashes covered her exotic eyes. “Just for a ride.”

“You’re lying. Why do you bother to defend him from me? I could have sworn that you hated me.”

Lee looked straight at her then, and slowly smiled. “I did hate you,” she admitted.

“You did? Meaning that you don’t anymore?” Marissa demanded.

“No, I do not hate you anymore,” Lee said quietly.

“Well, I admit to being confused. But then, you know where he has gone, don’t you? And I do not.” It was a wild shot, but it seemed that her conversation with Ian’s servant had taken a curve that her heart demanded she follow.

“Yes, I know where he has gone.”

“To see the woman by the train.”

“He is doing nothing that will hurt you.”

Marissa threw up her hands, ready to laugh, and ready to cry. “How can you possibly know what will hurt me?”

Lee shook her head and lifted her chin. “I know him better than you.”

“Obviously. At least, you have known him longer.”

Lee shook her head again, vehemently. “You are wrong, Mrs. Tremayne. Your husband has never made me his concubine, though I might well have been willing. He has always been a friend to John and me. He treats us as people, when many blame the Chinese for every ill within the city. We had nothing, we starved. We worked for pennies a day, and John was ill when Ian found us in Chinatown and gave us jobs here. So, yes, I love him. But not as you think. I hated you when I believed that you meant to hurt him. Now, if I am not mistaken, you are in love with him. And you will not hurt him. So I bear you no ill will.”

Marissa stared at the Chinese woman for a long moment, amazed. Lee was not speaking as a serving girl was supposed to speak to her mistress.

But then Marissa had been a serving girl herself, and she had never forgotten her own pride. Lee had much of it. She stood with the gentle evening breeze just plucking at her turquoise silk shirt and black pants. Her fabulous black hair moved in the wind, as inky dark as a raven’s wing. Her chin was lifted; she was prepared for anything.

“You have the right to dismiss me now,” Lee told her.

Marissa shook her head. “Dismiss you?” Then she laughed, and she almost wished that she could tell Lee the truth about herself. “I have no desire to dismiss you, Lee. And if I did,” she admitted, “Ian would certainly not tolerate the act!” She walked toward the woman, smiling, and offered Lee her hand. Lee hesitated, then took it.

“Thank you,” Marissa told her.

Lee nodded after a moment.

“But where did he go?” Marissa asked her. Lee was quiet and Marissa said again, “He went to see that woman. The one at the train station.”

“There is a show opening tonight. He has gone to support the show, and nothing more.”

“How can you know that?”

Lee shrugged. “I know, that is all.” Marissa wanted more, and Lee knew it. “Because he cares for you now. I believe he went because his patronage helps her business. So he will go to see the show.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

Lee smiled. “It will take him time,” she said. “He is his own master.”

On an impulse Marissa laughed and hugged Lee. For a moment the Chinese woman was stiff, then she warmed and hugged Marissa in return.

“Thank you!” Marissa said, then she fled to her bedroom.

The hour was very late. Marissa changed to a nightgown, then began to pace the room. In a sudden fit of anger, she locked the door between the rooms.

And then she paced the floor again.

She curled up at the foot of her bed and ran her hand over the spread. Lee had been in the room, it seemed. She had managed to serve dinner and clean the room.

Marissa hugged her knees to her chest and wondered if Lee was right, if Ian had come to care something about her. She smiled, beginning to weave dreams.

Then she gasped and leaped to her feet as the door between the rooms suddenly seemed to thunder, then came bursting open.

Ian had returned.

She stared at him, and at the door, and he offered her a wry, challenging smile. “It’s my house, my door. I warned you, remember?”

She met the challenge with fury. “Your house, your door. My determination for privacy!”

He stripped off his cape, and tossed his hat aside and came striding into the room. She cried out, determined to escape him, but he was too quick. His fingers had already laced around her arms. She began to shake, furious, yet glad that he had come at last. Wanting to shake him, and wanting to hold him.

“How dare you!” she whispered vehemently, fighting his hold. “How dare you go running to your brothel and come back to me!”

He swept her into his arms. “I went to no brothel!” he swore, and tossed her hard upon the bed. She started up, but his weight came down upon her too quickly, pinning her there. And his blue gaze was full of both ice and fire.

“Don’t—” she began, but equally vehemently, he challenged her.

“How dare you, madam!”

“How dare I what!” she cried indignantly. She felt the power of his arms, of his thighs. Beneath his trousers she could feel the heat of his body, and more. Against the flimsy fabric of her gown, she could feel the pulse of his desire, growing, insolent, demanding … exciting.

“Lie to me,” he whispered.

“I did not run to another!”

“Nor did I.”

He caught her lips in a passionate kiss. She surged against him, trying to escape. She was desperate that he understand he could not go to other women and have her, too. She twisted and tossed, and only managed to come closer against him, to become more aware of the promise that lay so boldly between them. She broke free of his kiss. “Ian, I’ll not—”

“By God, would you still fight me!” He gazed at her with a fire in his eyes that sent her mind reeling and her heart drumming. A pulse ticked hard in his throat, and she felt the rigid pressure of his muscles.

“I’m not fighting you!” she gasped suddenly. “I’m fighting her!”

“Her?”

“That woman.”

“Madam, there is no one to fight.”

She believed him. She wanted to believe him. “And—” she whispered.

“By God, and what!” he thundered in sudden torment.

“The questions,” she said softly, meeting his eyes.

A breath escaped him. His head fell back, then he stared at her again. “Damn the questions, Marissa. Just hold me. Let me make love to you.”

A soft cry escaped her. She wound her arms around him, and when his lips caught hers again, she parted her own beneath him and gave way to the passion of his arms.