Part 27 (1/2)
”You look so worried.”
”I went to a friend's house tonight and she wasn't there. And she isn't here.” She made certain to speak slowly. ”Tiff Henley. Do you know her?”
He shook his head. ”When did you see her . .. last time?”
”Yesterday.”
”Then the head-it is not hers.”
”Oh, no, of course not. I'm just worried.”
”Let me know if you do not find her. And if you ... if you find out anything else.”
”About the contessa?”
He shrugged. ”The contessa ... this man who was there as well. The wolf?”
She wondered what expression she gave, or what movement she made that caused him to say next, ”You have seen the man again?”
”No,” she said. Was it a lie? She was certain that Ragnor ...
”I am there. At the station. Come and see me if you are frightened. Worried.
Concerned. If your friend does not appear.”
”Thank you,” Jordan said.
A moment later, Raphael was sweeping down on her again. ”The Pleasure Palace! We must go do the Pleasure Palace.”
”What exactly do they do?” she asked.
”They strip off your clothing, bathe you with oil and honey, and ravish you mercilessly!” he said.
”Maybe I'll skip it.”
He sighed. ”Don't be silly. They bathe your hands in hot oils and slip cold sweet grapes between your lips. It's fun; it's nice.”
He wasn't going to let up. ”If I wind up ravished mercilessly, I'll never forgive you,” she told him.
”If they start to ravish me mercilessly, and you stop them, I'll never forgive you!” he replied. ”Come, come, we'll have fun.”
Apparently, many people shared that view. The lines were long-one on either side of a brilliantly colored harem-like tent set up in the rear of the room. It appeared that they were mixing couples, taking one person at a time from each side of the line. A woman dressed as Marie Antoinette appeared with a man costumed as Julius Caesar. They were both laughing. ”Viene, viene! Come, come!” beckoned one of the girls in a harem costume. She held open the festooned flap to the tent.
Raphael gave Jordan a little push.
She stepped forward and into the tent.
The flap fell, and instantly, she felt as if she had stepped into a black pit.
For a moment, there was nothing. The darkness seemed overwhelming.
She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking that it would help her adjust to the total darkness. She had the strangest feeling of being pulled forward.
Come to me.
She wondered if she had heard the words, or imagined them. There was a scent in the tent; probably some kind of an incense, and yet. ..
Sandalwood, she thought. It reminded her of Steven. So much was reminding her of Steven lately. It was, she reflected ruefully, the intense attraction she was feeling for another man. Steven was gone, lost to her. It was all right to move on.
Come to me.
The words were so strongly set into her mind that she nearly walked forward. But she did not; the darkness was suddenly overwhelming. Fear bubbled in her, an almost uncontrollable panic. Something was going to jump out at her, rush her, sweep her into something horrible.
She could feel it, sense it, nearly taste it, touch it. . .
There was a very gentle touch on her hand. She almost screamed aloud. But she could see then, faintly. The harem girl was wearing something in her headband that glowed in the dark.
The girl took her right hand. Another person reached for her left hand. She was drawn a step deeper into the tent, and then, though she didn't touch anyone, she was aware that she was standing in front of another person. She felt the rays of warmth that seemed to surround her.
Her fear subsided. The strangest sense of total well-being stilled her rising panic.
Her palms were brought upward. Warm oil was poured into them and rubbed gently into the flesh. Her hair was lifted. The warmth was rubbed into her nape. Something cool and exotic touched her lips.
A grape.
She obediently ate it.
She could hear the person opposite her breathing. A man, evidently; the figure was tall.
The whisper of his breath held a sweet scent of wine. He exuded an aura of power, and that strength and masculinity apparently gave her the sense of calm and security that now enwrapped her.
Great! she thought briefly. This is someone's husband, for all I know!
The warmth he emitted touched her cheeks like a surge of sunlit air. A grape was pressed between her fingers, then she realized that they were being handed grapes to slip to one another. A grape touched her mouth again. She parted her lips and took it, marveling that the whole thing should have been rather silly, but that it wasn't. She brought her grape to her darkly shadowed partner's lips, and he too took in the fruit.
They were closer than they had been. She didn't remember being so close. The oils that had been worked in at her nape and her palms seemed to grow hotter. A whisper of deepening heat seemed to work its way into her. A languor stole over her; she could easily lean forward, find the hands that touched her, will them to work their magic ...
Fingers pressed into her shoulders in a kneading ma.s.sage. She felt the tension slip away, felt the stranger's breath, and a stealing ray of lightning sweep through her. She closed her eyes. She could sleep, she could curl up with a total stranger, she could feel a sweet and slow-burning fire that somehow came with the languor, but defied it. Knuckles brushed her throat, caressing softly. Her hands were drawn to the stranger, to his cheek, to the lapel of his jacket, down the fabric of the breast. Something came to her lips again.
Wine. Warm, rich, fruity. Delicious. Then fingers again, on her shoulders, stroking her cheeks ...
A chime sounded, startling her from the reverie which had laid claim to her. The harem girl with the glow-in-the-dark headdress took her hand again, leading her to the exit.
She stepped through the flap and was startled, then angry, to find Ragnor right in front of her, waiting to help her down the steps. She had taken his hand before even seeing him.
What an idiot. She should have known, should have recognized his scent, the size of him, the height!