The Dancer Page 7

  "A friend of mine, Minnie Osler, happened to be in Mexico City when you danced there. She didn't see you but she said the papers praised you to the skies and she hoped, if you ever returned to California, you could be persuaded to perform at the Orpheum in Los Angeles--her brother's part owner or something like that. "I miss you, dear Elena. Love, Meg."

  Elena sat on her bed for a long time staring at the letter without seeing it. Davis. Engaged to be married in October. Somehow she'd never thought of him marrying, of his ever being married. Putting himself beyond her reach. At last she took a deep breath and raised her head. If he was engaged, she needn't worry about running into Davis, what difference would it make if she did? So why not travel to California and visit Meg? And why not dance in the Orpheum while she was there? Meg deserved to see how her money had been spent. And Davis? If he was out of her reach, she was equally out of his.

  What would he think when he watched her dance? Elena recalled one of the reviews in the paper: "At the height of her performance, every man watching feels La Coralilla's passion and wishes to possess this fiery dancer for his own."

  She smiled. One way or another, she'd be sure to perform while she was in California.

  On the fifteenth of August, the day after Elena arrived at the Bothwick's, Meg woke her early. "I completely forgot to tell you yesterday," Meg said, curling onto the end of Elena's bed.

  Meg was a bit plumper--too much rich food, she claimed--but otherwise looked the same as ever. Elena propped herself up on her pillows and smiled at her. "What did you forget?"

  "To tell you about the party. It's tonight! Everyone is coming." Meg began rattling off names. "--and Davis and Lois, of course," she finished.

  Of course.

  “My new gown's dusky rose," Meg confided. "What're you going to wear? White? You're stunning in white."

  "No!" Elena's tone was sharp. "Not white."

  Meg's eyebrows rose.

  Elena smiled one-sidedly. "I stopped being the lily maid. I wear a coral snake's colors now, didn't I tell you?"

  "I can't imaging sweet Elena being venomous."

  "Wait until someone provokes me."

  Meg's eyes narrowed. "You've changed," she said. "Is it because of a man? A love affair?"

  Elena laughed and shook her head.

  "But you must have been surrounded with admirers in Mexico," Meg persisted.

  "Some. But I didn't have time for them and, besides, none of them really interested me."

  Meg sighed. "You're on your way to becoming famous. Imagine dancing in Spain this winter! I envy you, I really do."

  "I'm sure you wouldn't give up Patrick for a thousand trips to Spain."

  "At times I might, he can be a handful." Meg frowned. "Warren's been talking about us having another baby. I don't want to and I hope it never happens. I hated carrying Patrick and the birth was a nightmare." She leaned closer to Elena and lowered her voice. "I feel guilty, though. Warren's been so wonderful to me--he deserves a child."

  Elena had no answers for Meg so she said nothing and after a moment Meg began to chat about the party again.

  "Lois will be in white, she usually is. We've been to the opera with her and Davis--imagine him attending the opera!--and Lois wore a diamond tiara that made her look as regal as a princess. She acts like one, anyway, lah-de-dah and all. I'm dying to have you meet her and hear what you think."

  Listening to Meg rattle on about Davis's fiancee, Elena decided on her own party gown--a dress she wore for dancing, red and yellow, with a wide swirling skirt and a low neckline. With her gold gypsy-hoop earrings. A bit much, maybe, for Meg's party but tonight she wouldn't be Elena, she meant to be her dancer self and La Coralilla didn't care what anyone thought. Like her namesake, La Coralilla was bold and gaudy--and dangerous.

  La Coralilla was deliberately late in coming down the stairs to join the party. Davis, who'd just arrived, stood in the foyer with a handsome blonde woman she knew must be Lois. La Coralilla paused on the landing, waiting for him to notice her. When he looked up she smiled brilliantly and resumed her descent, pleased to see Davis's jaw drop as he stared at her.

  "Elena!" Disbelief edged the word.

  Lois glanced toward La Coralilla, her eyes momentarily widening.

  "How pleasant to see you again," La Coralilla told Davis. She didn't bother to glance at Lois as she glided away. Davis started after her but, as usual, La Coralilla was immediately surrounded by men, cutting her off from him. For the next hour she smiled and talked, she listened and, now and then, she laughed. It was easy for La Coralilla to keep herself the center of attention.

  It wasn't Davis who finally broke through the circle of admirers but Meg. "You simply must meet Lois," Meg insisted.

  Lois, wearing white satin reminiscent of a bridal gown, smiled at La Coralilla. "I'm enchanted to meet you," she said in a high, breathy voice. "I had no idea Meg invited you here to dance for us tonight."

  Lois knew perfectly well Elena Gabaldon was an old friend of Meg's and was staying in the Bothwick house as a guest, not as an entertainer--the remark was meant to put La Coralilla in her place. Only La Coralilla's years of practice as a performer kept her slightly mocking smile in place as she quickly revised her plans. Originally she'd meant nothing more than to startle Davis, then ignore him.

  Lois's remark changed her mind--the woman must be taught the consequences of tangling with a coral snake.

  La Coralilla glanced at Meg, who looked shocked and unhappy.

  "I'll be happy to dance if Meg will play for me--it will be like old times. Do you remember 'La Gitana', Meg?"

  Meg nodded, her face clearing. She sent a servant to fetch La Coralilla's castanets and had another roll back a carpet to clear a space in the drawing room before seating herself at the piano.

  La Coralilla glanced about the room. Under the multitude of lights from the crystal chandelier, jewels glittered on bosoms and ears and satin gowns shimmered as the guests gathered to watch her. Expensive French perfumes vied with the lighter fragrance of the many flowers in wall sconces and vases. La Coralilla's gaze swept from one face to the next, pausing when she reached Lois, who stood next to Davis.

  "One more thing." La Coralilla's voice was husky with the promise of what was to come. "This dance needs a man."

  Her gaze shifted to Davis and she held out her hand. "Remember when we used to waltz together? Dance with me now."

  As if mesmerized, he left Lois's side and walked slowly toward her, his eyes never leaving hers.

  "You've seen the men dance in the cantinas," she said to him in a low tone, "how they stomp their heels and dance in place. You have a good sense of rhythm and should be able to improvise."

  "I'll manage."

  "That's all you have to do, dance in place and keep turning to face me. I'll take care of the rest."

  "I know more about flamenco than you think," he told her.

  She shrugged. How well he danced made little difference, La Coralilla would rivet everyone's attention.

  She raised her arms and clicked the black sandalwood castanets. Meg began to play.

  La Coralilla danced, weaving a sinuous pattern around the stationary Davis who faced her always, his feet keeping time to the music. Soon she'd break away from him, twirling and spinning, coming back to him and whirling away again, making his immobility part of the dance.

  She twirled, readying herself, and felt his arms go around her. Automatically she shifted into the partnered steps and, to her amazement, he kept pace. As they danced on, she found he knew all the steps and she relaxed, giving herself up to the enjoyment of the dance, her joy heightened because Davis was her partner, she was in his arms.

  Meg speeded the rhythm, to match it they twirled and dipped faster and faster, his touch sure. When she left him to once again dance around him as he faced her, she flirted and teased as the woman should and when he answered with his own movements, the man's promise to the woman, she found herself enmeshed in a web of passion she couldn't
break, passion that had more to do with him than with the dance.

  When Davis caught her to him at last, bending her backwards in the sultry embrace that was the finale of the dance, she heard several of the watching guests gasp.

  Davis held her a fraction longer than called for, his dark eyes glinting. "Now," he said hoarsely, so low only she could hear. "Tonight."

  She no longer knew who she was, La Coralilla or Elena, all she could do was nod.

  Chapter Six

  Elena hardly heeded the applause as Davis released her and she made one final twirl, her castanets clicking. Because it was part of a performance, she smiled and curtsied in all directions but her attention wasn't on the audience, it was focused on the man next to her. On Davis.

  He caught her hand, pulling her with him through the ring of spectators, their words of praise falling like confetti as she passed among them. Davis led her from the drawing room into the deserted foyer and let her go at the foot of the stairs.

  "Riding clothes," he ordered. "I'll have two horses saddled--meet me at the stables. Hurry!"

  Elena mounted the staircase, still in the daze induced by the passionate dance. On the second floor, a maid asked if she could help but Elena dismissed her with a shake of her head. No one could help her now. She changed quickly, driven by the need to be with Davis, and ran down the back stairs.

  He waited by the back door with the horses--Bella and a gray stallion she hadn't seen before--and didn't touch her except to help her mount. She understood perfectly. If he felt like she did, one kiss and they'd never be able to part long enough to ride to the Burwash ranch. She knew he was taking her there.

  They rode in silence, everything had been said in the dance. A cool breeze blew from the ocean, carrying the scent of the sea, a sliver of a moon poked through wisps of cloud. Elena inhaled deeply of the California night and realized how much she'd missed being here. Mexico City was beautiful, but this was home.

  At Davis's house, he turned the horses over to Jack, grown into a gangly youth who goggled at her. She heard Davis tell him to see the horses were returned to the Bothwicks and then Davis ushered her through the front door, up the stairs past a manservant who politely didn't stare, then into the master suite where he shut the door behind them. Elena, who'd never before been inside this bedroom, had a quick impression of massive walnut furnishings before Davis gathered her into his arms.

  His kiss was sweet and urgent at the same time, offering while it demanded. She gave herself up to the pleasure of his embrace--this time there'd be no reservations, no drawing back. What came afterwards made no difference, she wanted, she had to have, the now.

  He drew away and stared down at her, his eyes glowing with the same passion that simmered within her. "You're more beautiful every time I see you," he murmured. "Are you really here with me, or am I dreaming?"

  Her fingers stroked softly down his cheek. "If it's a dream we're both having the same one."

  "Ah, God, Elena, if you only knew what your touch does to me."

  She felt as bold as La Coralilla as she slanted a look from under her lashes. "Why don't you show me?"

  He caught her to him, his hands pulling her hard against the length of his body as his mouth covered hers, his tongue tasting, exploring. Heat blossomed inside her, an aching warmth that made her press closer, wanting nothing at all between them. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed where, between kisses, he undressed her, then flung off his own clothes and lay beside her.

  His tongue, hot and moist, flicked across her nipple, making her arch to him. When he took her nipple inside his mouth, she moaned in delighted need, entwining her body with his. His hands caressed her nakedness, his fingers touched her in unexpected places, carrying the heat of desire everywhere they roamed. She clung to him, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, feeling as though she might die of pleasure, yet needing and demanding more. "Davis, please," she cried.

  "What?" His voice was husky and low. "What do you want?"

  She didn't know--and yet she did. "You," she whispered. "I want you."

  He rose over her. "Look at me, Elena," he murmured. She stared into his dark eyes, so close to hers, as he nudged her legs apart with his knee. Something hard and hot probed her yielding softness and slipped inside her, pushing. She felt an instant of not-quite-pain, then he withdrew only to come into her again and withdrawing until she was aflame with need. Her eyes closed as little throaty sounds escaped her.

  When he eased all the way inside , she writhed against him, his is throbbing hardness impaled her, creating such exquisite pleasure that she cried out.

  He stopped moving but she could not and soon he began to thrust in a rhythm she instinctively counterpointed as they became partners in the age-old, forever-new dance of love. Calling her name over and over, he whirled them both into a frenzy of wild passion that climaxed in a starburst of glory.

  Afterwards she lay in his arms knowing she'd given him not only her body but her heart and her soul as well. She'd never love any other man, it had been Davis from the beginning and after tonight it always would be. As much as dancing meant to her, Davis meant more. He was her life.

  He turned, easing her away until he could look at her. "You're mine now," he said softly. "You can't run away from me again."

  La Coralilla surfaced, bold and sassy. "All I did was ask you to dance. I never dreamed--" She paused, half-smiling.

  "What didn't you dream?"

  "That you actually knew how."

  He pulled her close. "Mexico's turned you into a little vixen."

  "Where did you learn those steps?" she asked, her voice muffled by his chest.

  "Which ones?"

  "I think there's more than one fox in this bed. I mean the flamenco dancing."

  "The same place you did."

  "Not from Madame Maria! She would have told me."

  "I asked her not to. I watched you dance and I saw what you offered your partner. I knew it was part of the dance but all the same I could hardly bear to see you with him. I told myself someday you'd dance with me and when you did, your offering would be for me and I'd take it and you'd be mine. So I had to learn the steps."

  She pulled back to stare at him. What she'd thought was her own idea, a way to get even with Lois, Davis had planned for years. It was the first time she'd thought of Lois since the beginning of the flamenco dance and she immediately wished she hadn't. "You're engaged to be married." She spoke flatly.

  "This is no time to bring that up." He leaned over to kiss her, trailing kisses down to her breasts.

  Elena tried to prevent herself from forgetting Lois, but forgot everything except the way he made her feel. His lips coaxed while he touched her in places that heated her blood.

  "Love me, sweet Elena." His voice was soft, but the part of him she'd barely begun to know was far from soft and the feel of it against her thigh melted the marrow of her bones.

  This time she knew exactly what she wanted.

  When Elena woke in the morning Davis was gone from the bed and from the room. She sat up, looking for some indication he meant to come back, but saw nothing. Perhaps he'd left a note. She didn't find one. After washing and dressing hurriedly, she stood a moment inside the closed door of his bedroom gathering her nerve to face whoever she might find on the other side of the door. Servants were no problem but Stella was another story. Calling on La Coralilla's aplomb, she opened the door.

  No one was in the corridor or on the stairs. She stood in the foyer wondering where Davis had gone and what she should do. If he expected her to stay here, she must return to Bothwicks for her belongings. But did he expect her to stay? Why had he left without waking her to say where he was going?

  "Good morning, Elena." Stella spoke from the doorway leading to the dining room. "Come on in and have a bit of breakfast with me."

  Elena turned, a meaningless smile already in place. "Thank you, but I'd best be getting back."

  "Don't climb on your
high-horse, miss. I'm too damn old to care what you or anyone else does. Sit down and tell me all about Mexico City. I used to live there a century or so ago."

  "Another time I'd love to but--"

  Stella's shrewd gaze probed Elena. "Just like Davis to run off without telling you why--I can see that's exactly what he did. Well, I'll give you a rundown. Old Jarvis, the lawyer, called early this morning. It seems some character showed up at the corporation office claiming he owns a third of the ranch, says he's the son of Diarmid's bastard."