The Tiger Lily Read Online Free PDF

hacienda.
     
    She
had no fear of being observed—her rooms were upstairs at the very end of a long
wing that had been added onto the main dwelling when her father had married,
and it assured privacy. All that met her wandering gaze was the endless lush
green forest.
     
    Flinging
her arms wide in pagan abandon, like a priestess of fire, she faced the glowing
sun, her face and slender body bathed in its golden light. The sun lit the fire
in the red-gold hair that tumbled to her waist, gilded the striking features
that were upturned eagerly for its warm touch, and wandered like a lover's hand
over the tall, slim body.
     
    The
sunlight seemed to linger on the full, coral-tipped breasts, the flat, almost
concave stomach, the fiery curls at the junction of her thighs, and the long,
shapely legs as she stood there before it, her arms outstretched as if to
embrace a lover. The sun transformed her into a slender flame, all crimson and
gold; sighing with unashamed ecstasy she slowly pivoted, reveling in its
warmth. Her arms slowly falling to her sides, a smile of pure happiness on her
young face, she walked to the black iron railing that encircled the balcony.
     
    Leaning
her elbows on the top of the railing, her chin cupped in her hands, contentedly
she stared out at the expanse of forest that met her eyes, the scent of
honeysuckle drifting to her. In the distance, she could just make out the
glitter of blue from the small lake where she frequently swam on days like this
one.
     
    But
there would be no swimming today, she thought with a smile. Today was her
birthday, and today there would be other delights in store for her. As her
father's only child, and the heiress to a considerable fortune, her birthday
was an important day in the lives of everyone connected with the Rancho del
Torres. And not just the lives of those directly connected to the
ranch—families with marriageable sons, neighbors and friends who had known her
since birth would all be converging on the ranch to share in the joyous
celebration of her seventeenth birthday. A fiesta had been planned for weeks,
and for days the cooks in the kitchen had been baking and preparing foodstuffs.
The grand salon had been thrown open and aired, scrubbed, and polished until
every chandelier, every tile in the mosaic floor, every stick of furniture
shone like a newly minted doubloon.
     
    As
she thought of the grand salon, Sabrina's face suddenly clouded. Today would be
the first time it had been used since before her mother's death nearly ten
years ago.
     
    A
shaft of remembered pain sliced through her like a knife as she thought of her
mother's tragic death in Natchez in the summer of 1789. Such a sad and
melancholy ending to what had been, for the most part, a wonderful trip to see
Tia Sofia marry Hugh Dangermond.
     
    Her
soft, voluptuous mouth thinned as she recalled unexpectedly and for the first
time in years her painful, disillusioned parting from Brett Dangermond. What a
beast he had been, she reminded herself fiercely. Sabrina, while generally a
sweet, generous girl, never forgot an insult or an injustice, and to her way of
thinking, Brett's treatment of her after the death of the quail had been both .
. . especially the morning she had ridden the stallion. She had suffered
dreadfully from his inexplicable rejection, but it had been nothing like the pain
and suffering she had endured when, two days before they were to leave for
home, for Nacogdoches, Elena had been killed when her horse bolted during a
morning ride and she was hit in the head by the limb of a huge oak tree.
     
    Everyone
had been stunned. No one could believe that dear, laughing Elena was dead.
Sofia had seemed to age ten years, Alejandro had been like a man possessed, and
Sabrina had looked like a small, pale ghost, blindly refusing Brett's or
anyone's offer of comfort, unwilling to accept that her beloved mother would
never smile at her again, never hold her again.
     
    They
had buried Elena in the