Free The Tiger Prince by Iris Johansen Page A

the material of her shirt. “Ah, isn’t that pretty.” He rubbed his palm slowly back and forth over her breasts.
    Jane felt heat ripple through her and a tingle begin between her legs. Why wasn’t she struggling? She wasstrong enough to break his grip if she made the effort. Pachtal. She grasped desperately at the only sensible reason occurring to her. She must be afraid Pachtal would come if she made a disturbance, or perhaps it was this incense that was making her dizzy and weak. “I … I don’t want this.”
    “Of course you do.” He undid two more buttons. “Why else are you here?”
    She swallowed. “You don’t understand.”
    “You said that before. You’re wrong. This is something I understand very well. Ask Zabrie.” He undid another button. “We can—”
    “Stop it!”
    “You don’t want me to undress you? Whatever you say.” His hand fell away from the buttons and gathered up both her hands in his own. “See, I’ve stopped.” His thumb rubbed slowly, exploringly, over her palm. “Calluses.” He turned her hand over and gazed down at it. “Hard and rough. You didn’t get these planting flowers in an English garden.”
    She tried to draw her hand away from him, but his grasp tightened.
    “I meant no insult. I like them. They make us akin. I have calluses too.” He rubbed his palm over the top of her hand. “Feel them. You see? I know what it is to work so hard I’m tottering on my feet with exhaustion. I understand weariness and discouragement. I understand how you can try and try and still never reach a goal. It’s not easy to have to fight every single day, is it?” His voice was caressing, his words weaving silky bonds around her emotions. “That’s why we have to reward ourselves when we get the chance.”
    “I don’t have to reward my—”
    “Shh …” He leaned forward until his mouth hovered over her breast. “I want to see you but perhaps this is better. It’s quite arousing seeing what your nipples do to that shirt. Is that why you wear men’s things instead of a mask when you come here?”
    His breath was warm on her nipple, and the tingling increased between her thighs until it was close to pain.She felt drugged, disoriented … yes, it must be the incense….
    His head was bent, and she could no longer see those light, glittering eyes, but his sun-streaked hair shone in the lamplight and she had the odd impression of sensual savagery, hovering, about to strike … or stroke.
    His warm tongue touched the tip of her breast through the thin cotton of her shirt.
    She gave a low cry, her back arching in a spasm of sensation.
    “That’s right,” he whispered. “Feel me.
Need
me.”
    She did need him, she realized dazedly. She had always thought it was men who needed women, that the soft, whimpering cries of pleasure and subjugation she had heard from her mother and the other whores were pretense. Now she had to bite back those same cries as she felt the warmth of this stranger’s lips. Dear God, perhaps it wasn’t the opium pipe that had seduced her mother and made her a slave, but this same pleasure.
    No! She wouldn’t be caught like this. She would not be a whore. She would not be a slave. “Let me go!” She broke his grip and leapt to her feet. She fastened her shirt with trembling fingers. “Don’t
touch
me. I’m not a whore.”
    He didn’t try to stop her, nor did he make any attempt to cover his nudity. He merely lay and watched her, graceful, catlike, aroused. “I didn’t think you were. I understand from Zabrie that a number of the British wives of the officers from the fort come here to amuse themselves.”
    “I told you, I’m not English.” Her voice was shaking, and she tried to steady it. “It’s a mistake. I don’t want to fornicate with you.”
    “I beg to disagree.” His gaze lingered on her engorged nipples clearly outlined against her shirt. “You most certainly do.”
    “It was a mistake,” she repeated with sudden