Creole Fires by Kat Martin Page B

you!” With those parting words he followed Nicki into the pantry, catching up to her before she could reach the back stairs. Wordlessly, he gripped her arm and tugged her down the hall toward his study. Once inside, he resolutely closed the door.
    “Need I remind you that you are a servant in this house?” Alex said harshly.
    “I know, Alex. I just couldn’t stand to see that woman—”
    Alex cursed. “From now on you will address me as M’sieur du Villier.”
    “Yes, m’sieur.” He was madder than she’d thought.
    “I won’t go so far as to say Clarissa didn’t deserve exactly what she got.” He almost smiled. “But it’s hardly your place to decide. Clarissa Endicott will soon be my wife. You’ll have to learn to get along with her sooner or later.”
    “As will you, m’sieur,” she reminded him.
    “Exactly.” But he certainly didn’t look happy about it. “Now, you’ll go back in there and apologize and that will be the end of it.”
    “I can’t do that.”
    Alex’s eyes turned dark. “And just why the hell not?” His mouth had thinned to a narrow line, and a muscle bunched in his jaw. The old, familiar fear began to curl in Nicki’s stomach.
    “Because she has insulted my family. Aside from that, she doesn’t deserve it. I have no intention of apologizing to that horrible woman—not now, not ever.”
    Alex grabbed her arms and dragged her against his chest. He glowered down at her until her knees felt weak. “You are my responsibility. I have given my word that you’ll apologize and that’s exactly what you will do.”
    Nicole shook her head. “I won’t and there’s nothing you can do to make me. You may beat me if you like, it won’t change a thing.”
    Alex looked ready to murder her. “Beat you? That’s the best idea you’ve had since I met you.” He tightened his hold on her arm and dragged her toward the tufted leather sofa in front of the fireplace. This time when her face paled, and she looked ready to faint, he didn’t weaken.
    “I should have done this before,” he said, draping her across his knees and pinning her against his muscular thighs.
    This time she refused to beg for mercy. She felt her skirts being raised, then the room darkened as they billowed around her head, cutting off the lamp light. Nicki closed her eyes, torn between embarrassment and determination. At least she hadn’t cowered in fear as before.
    Barely able to contain his fury, Alex tightened his hold on Nicki’s tiny waist, raised his hand—then stopped its descent in midair. One glance at the figure across his knees and Alex saw not the narrow, bony hips of a little girl, but the full, lush curves of a woman. Even the thin white cotton drawers couldn’t disguise her tantalizing bottom. Her narrow waist he’d noticed before, but the roundness of the tight little derriere that had been hidden beneath her skirts he hadn’t even imagined. Now that he knew, it was almost more than he could stand.
    Nicki wasn’t a woman—and yet she was. It was infuriating—maddening! Alex felt a rush of blood to his loins—which only enraged him more.
    With an anger directed more at himself than at her, he jerked Nicki’s skirts back down and hauled her to her feet. Her face was flushed with embarrassment, but she seemed no less determined than before.
    “You’re going to apologize one way or another,” hecommanded, tugging her to the door. “Mrs. Leander,” he bellowed, “see that she doesn’t leave her room until she’s ready to apologize to Mademoiselle Endicott.”
    Her expression said she’d be in there till spring.
    “She’s to have nothing but bread and water,” he added, deciding lack of food ought to bring her around if nothing else would.
    To Nicki he said, “You don’t run this house, I do. I know she deserved it, but that doesn’t alleviate the problem. Sooner or later you’ll have to face her. I want it to be sooner.” With that he stormed toward the dining room, only to