Prince of Dreams (Stokehurst #2)(14)

“Wonderful,” Nikolas agreed dryly. His breath caught as Emma reached between the bars of the cage and scratched the tiger's neck.

“In Asia, where Manchu is from, the tiger is a symbol of reincarnation.” Emma glanced from Manchu to Nikolas. “You look alike, actually. Maybe you were a tiger in another life, Your Highness.”

“Don't reach in there.” Nikolas's voice was soft, but it held a note that caused both Emma and the tiger to look at him questioningly.

Emma slid her arm farther into the cage and rubbed the cat's neck harder. “If you recall, he has no claws,” she said. “They were pulled out by his first owner. Now Manchu will never be able to provide for himself. He'll never have freedom, the poor little kitten.” She looked at Manchu with loving pity. An affectionate gurgling noise began in the tiger's chest, and he stared at her with the love of a cub for its mother. Nikolas tensed visibly until Emma withdrew her arm.

“There's no need to worry,” she said. “Manchu thinks of me as a friend.”

“Or an afternoon snack.” Nikolas lifted the bucket of meat scraps. “I assume this is for him?” The tiger's head lifted, and he regarded the bucket with sudden alertness.

Emma rose to her feet and took the bucket from Nikolas. Expertly she shook the sopping mess into the cage. “Bon appétit, Manchu.” The tiger gurgled with appreciation and applied himself happily to the meal. “Ghastly.” Emma made a face and laughed. “I'm surrounded by carnivores.” She wiped her hands on her trousers and grinned at Nikolas. “How does it feel to have dirty hands, Your Highness? A new experience for you, I imagine.”

He approached her slowly. “I believe you're trying to bait me, Emma.” Reaching for her slender wrist, he lifted her hand and looked at it palm-up, then turned it slowly.

Emma's smile vanished as she flinched in embarrassment. Her hand was reddened and callused. Her fingers were long and slender, but the nails had been filed to ruthlessly short crescents. Tiny white scars, most of them scratches or tooth marks, were scattered from her fingertips to her wrist. After the well-groomed women Nikolas was used to, she must be a horror. “Not the hand of a lady, is it?” she said.

He smoothed his thumb over the fine tracing of blue veins on her skin. “It's the hand of a woman.”

Nervously Emma tried to pull away. “What do you want from me? Why are you here?”

His grip tightened. “I enjoy your company.”

“You couldn't possibly.”

“Why not? You're intelligent, entertaining…and very beautiful.”

“You arrogant bastard,” she said, her temper exploding. “Don't you dare mock me!”

“Do you really think so little of yourself? It's not mockery.” He took her other wrist, ignoring her burst of outrage. “My red-haired one,” he murmured. “In the old Russian, we used the same word for ‘red’ and ‘beautiful.’”

Emma yanked at her imprisoned hands. “What are you doing?”

“I said I would kiss you someday. I always keep my promises.”

Her muscles strained against his hard grip as she tried to wrench free. “If you don't take your hands off me, I'll blacken both your eyes. If you haven't noticed, I'm as tall as you are!”

Nikolas pushed her easily against a nearby wall. Her shoulders hit the wooden boards with a soft thump. “Not quite.” He leaned over her, pinning her arms at her sides. “And you're only half my weight.”

“I-I'll tell my father!” The few times in the past she had used those words, they had produced a magical effect. Everyone was afraid of her father.

“Will you?” His eyes gleamed with amusement. “That should be interesting.”

Emma turned her face away, knowing she had made a mistake. She should have reacted with contempt, should have laughed and said he was being ridiculous. Instead she had lost her temper, the only sure way to keep his interest.

He released her hands and leaned closer, using his body to press her against the wall. Deliberately he wrapped her braid around his hand, and exerted enough force to pull her head back. His mouth hovered just above hers. She could feel the heat of his breath wafting against her lips in a soft, even rhythm, and she began to tremble. She spoke in a thick voice that didn't seem to be her own. “Whatever you're going to do, get it over with. I have work to attend to.”

All at once she felt his mouth on hers, in a hard assault that was over as quickly as it had begun. He lifted his head, staring down at her with those golden-lashed eyes. Emma's mouth tingled from the bruising kiss. Tentatively she licked her lips, discovering a faint sugar-and-tea sweetness. “Now leave me alone,” she said unsteadily.

The edges of his wide cheekbones seemed sharper than usual. His face looked exotic, almost Oriental in its austere calm. “I'm not finished.”

Emma moved suddenly, trying to push him away. His arms closed around her, and she struggled until she was crushed by the power of his body. Nikolas bent his head again, kissing her with a force that wiped away the memories of all other men. Never again would she be able to recall the fumbling sweetness of her first kiss with a village boy, or even the tender embraces she had shared with Adam Milbank. Nikolas took it all away, branding her with a brutal passion which left no room for anything else. Emma was dizzy from the speed at which everything had changed. No longer was he the darkly glamorous figure who had hovered at the farthest edges of her life. Suddenly he was real, immediate, making her recognize him in a way she had never dared to before.