Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [37]
Very slowly he walked toward her. Her bright hair was in wild disarray, flowing down her back and over her shoulders. She was wearing only a simple white cotton chemise that came to her knees.
He said nothing, merely stopped in front of her. She sat very straight on the edge of the rock, her hands folded primly in her lap, her emerald eyes wide upon his face. He dropped to his knees in the sand, feeling the coarse grains against his legs. He stretched out his hands and placed them on her thighs. Slowly he pulled her legs apart. He slid his hands upward beneath her chemise, his fingers wet and warm on her smooth thighs. He clutched her buttocks, lifting her, and brought her down against him.
She cried out softly, and Saint shook himself free.
He was reeling with the vividness of the fantasy that had held him for many moments. He knew that what he’d imagined could easily happen—right now. He felt his manhood swelling, responding to her yearning gaze.
He forced himself to stand rigidly, and called out, his voice cold and distant, “What are you doing here, Jules?”
“I didn’t know anyone else would be here,” she said, her voice high and breathless.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I . . . I had to get away from the house, from Sarah.”
Had priggish Sarah been tauting her? “I see” was all he said. He walked briskly up the beach, aware of her eyes following his progress. He found his clothes and quickly dressed himself. He managed to pull on his boots, then straightened. The bulge in his trousers had diminished, thank heaven.
When he turned, she was standing very quietly, watching him. Soft moonlight flowed over her face.
“I’m staying with the Baldwins,” he said. “I’m going back now. I will probably see you in the morning.”
God, he sounded like a cold, uncaring bastard. He stopped in his tracks. “Jules,” he said, his voice gentle now, “don’t let Sarah hurt you. She doesn’t understand.” No one does, least of all your damned father and your wilting mother.
“Sarah is Sarah,” Jules said. She raised her chin. “I shall be quite all right, thank you.” You want to go, so go!
It was as if she’d spoken aloud. He merely nodded, turned on his heel, and strode from the beach.
He felt a great shudder go through his body.
* * *
I should paint a picture, Jules thought, and call it Family at the Breakfast Table with Prodigal Daughter. She nearly laughed aloud at the thought of Koli bringing in a fatted calf so everyone could rejoice over a feast at her return. Her father was sitting stiff and unyielding in his high-backed chair. Her mother was pulling apart a soft piece of bread, her thin fingers nervous and anxious. Sarah said not a word, merely toyed with the fresh papaya. Thomas, sensing the tension, kept his head down and wolfed his breakfast, as was his wont.
I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere.
“Today is Saturday,” Etienne DuPres announced. “Will you be going to the plantation, Thomas?”
“Yes, Father. John and I have some business to discuss.”
Jules saw Sarah’s head come up at Thomas’ words, saw the desperate yearning in her eyes as she asked, “Will John come back with you for lunch?”
Thomas flashed a quick glance toward Juliana. “I imagine nothing could keep him away.”
“John is going to marry our Sarah,” Aurelia DuPres said in her thin, high voice. “Of course he will come.”
Etienne gazed a moment at his younger daughter. She looks like a wanton, he thought, just like her damned grandmother, even with her hair plastered against her head and tied securely.
“Juliana,” he said abruptly, shoving his chair back and rising, “you will come with me to my study. I wish to speak to you.”
Juliana escaped the house long before noon. She didn’t want to see John Bleecher. She didn’t want to see anyone. She kept to the back streets, but she saw many people she knew. The missionary contingent merely nodded to her and kept going. The natives were open, friendly, and glad to see that she was still alive. She knew she should visit Kanola’s husband and children, but she couldn