Free The Wind Dancer by Iris Johansen Page B

compliance, and now her face was alight with mischievous
laughter. A laughter so infectious that a reluctant smile appeared on his own lips. "I'll ask
her." His gaze met hers. "If you'll ask yourself if you were pretending."
    Her laughter vanished as her long lashes quickly lowered to veil her eyes. "I told you--"
    "That it wasn't pleasure," he finished for her. "Think about it when you're lying in bed
while I'm gone. I believe you'll discover it was pleasure you felt tonight." His voice
lowered to sensual softness. "And as you lie there know that I'm giving Giulia even more
pleasure, the pleasure you could have had." He turned to leave. "Sleep well, Sanchia."
The door closed with a firm click behind him.
    Sanchia gazed wonderingly at the panels of the door. What a strange man he was. He had
wanted to take her in the same animal way Giovanni had used her mother. Nothing had
been clearer to her as he had sat there watching her while she was in the bath. Why had
he not done it? Women were always fair prey to a man whether they were slaves or free
women. Sometimes she had thought being a slave was even a little better. At least slaves,
as property, were usually provided food and a blanket to cover them. A free woman, if
she was comely, as often as not ended up in one of Caprino's brothels. If she was ugly,
she might starve in the streets.
    When she had awakened to see Lord Andreas standing in the doorway of the storage
room, she had been filled with the greatest terror she had ever known. Not only because
of her fear of retribution, but because she could not read him. She sensed enormous
power and could not guess in which way it might be directed. His motives and actions
were an enigma, and that frightened her. She had always believed that to understand was
to conquer or at least survive, but without knowledge she was helpless.
    She slowly began to unfasten the gown she had so recently donned, her gaze still fixed on
the panels of the door. What would he do when he returned? she wondered. His words
had been so queer. She had not meant to challenge him, but he appeared to think she had.
Was it because she was a virgin? How strange, when remaining untouched had always
meant very little to her.
    She had known it was inevitable she would lose her virginity, either to Giovanni or to
some other man who might catch her unaware on the street. It had almost happened a few
months ago when she had been jerked into the alley by a seaman who'd been too wild for
a woman to notice the scent of her. She had known better than to waste her breath
screaming. Rape happened so often in those back alleys that it provoked no more than a
raised eyebrow and a quickening of pace away from the scene. Only luck and a kick in
the bastard's private parts had enabled her to get away from him.
    Losing her virginity wouldn't have been as important to her as the unfairness of having it
taken without her consent. It had always seemed to her that a woman's virginity was
greatly overrated. She could see it would be important to ascertain whether a man's son
was his own through a wife's purity, but where marriage was not involved it was surely
stupid for men to obtain such pleasure from being first with a woman.
    Yet Lionello Andreas was not stupid, and his face when he had learned she was a virgin
had expressed such intense primitive satisfaction it had given her a queer hot feeling in
the pit of her stomach. His hands on her body had evoked the same aching sensation that
fell somewhere between pain and hunger.
    Hunger? She shook her head as she took off the gown and undershift and laid them
carefully on the chair by the table. Why had that word occurred to her? Hunger was for
food and rest and for the lovely words in books, not for a man's hands on her body. It
must be exhaustion that was making her so sluggish and dimwitted.
    She pulled back the velvet spread and slipped beneath it. It was a pity she was too tired to
fully appreciate the softness of the mattress