[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.It sounded as if Lord Gordon was doing his best to keep such socially unpresentable scum in their place.Jack's hand moved away from her throat.The fire he ignited inside her remained."Are you all right, my dear? You look rather pale."She is not your dear.Jack would have been happy to slice the impertinent man's head off and present it to Scheherazade as a trophy, but he kept all but his raging thoughts still as the two of them talked.He filed away the information about a delegation from Kuzay.Later he would let himself consider what to do about havingyet another piece of the past come stalking out of the night.Right now all he cared about was being close to Scheherazade.Scheherazade.Lord, how hard it was not to lean close and whisper her true name in her ear.Names had power.Speaking hers would give him the power to bring her back to him, to remind her of the claim he'd made on her all those years ago.A claim you renounced, he reminded himself, though for the moment he couldn't remember why."What's mine I keep.""Leave me alone!" Her words were an insane shout above the storm.He halted for a moment, watched as the girl was doused with spray when a wave crashed against the side of the ship.She looked like a miserable, half-drowned rat, and he still wanted her."I'll jump!""No."" Don't touch me again.Not ever.I can't live knowing that—"He laughed as he moved toward her, fast and furious.Rain lashed down, the heaving deck was slippery with water, but he moved with a sailor's barefoot sureness across the well-known planking.The girl's body might as well be naked, for all the protection the thin, soaked-through chemise afforded it.Her expression was wild in the irregular illumination of spears of too-close lightning.They'd outrun the dangerous center of the storm, but sailing through this was no easy feat.He left his men to minding the ship and kept his concentration on the girl.Her eyes were fixed on him as well.He knew for certain that her trembling came more from her awareness of his nakedness than from any reaction to the storm."I want to die.""I don't care." If it hadn't taken him a moment to come awake from satiated sleep when she'd pushed herself off the bed and fled from his cabin, they wouldn't be out in the rain talking now.He still wasn't quite away from the memory of how it had felt plunging deep into the soft, secret heat of her, of claiming what no other man had known, of what he wanted no other man ever to know."What's mine I keep," he repeated.Tears of fury streamed down her face, mixing with the rain.Fury that had little and everything to do with him, he knew.He saw the physical signs of what she was truly running from.She feared what he'd awakened in her more than she feared him.The wet, clinging material couldn't hide what she wanted to deny, the craving for passion that she wanted to die rather than face.He saw the taut straining of her muscles, the panting breaths, the telltale puckering of the tips of her breasts.He could almost smell her heat.With one swift move he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back onto the deck.Her hands came up, but instead of fighting him off, she made a quick gesture of denial and surrender before dropping them to her sides.His laughter was hard and triumphant as he swept her up and turned.Within moments they were back within the shelter of his tiny cabin.Within another moment they were on the narrow bed.Hismouth was on hers, hungry and plundering.His hands were on her, cupping her breasts, teasing the taut nipples with the pad of his thumb, then suckling them through the wet cloth.She moaned and cried out, and begged.First for him not to touch her.At first, and for a while.He tasted the sea salt on her skin, all over, warmed the chill from her, turned it into fire in her veins.Turned her into—You know what you turned her into, Jack told himself with harsh anger, as he pushed the memory away.He didn't want to think about it anymore, but he couldn't stop the accusations that shouted inside his mind.He'd taken a confused, frightened, but spirited girl and turned her into a creature trained to satisfy his every sexual whim.His creature, another, more demanding voice deep in his mind reminded him.His superb, beautiful, hungry, insatiable animal.His.Then.Now.Forever.The knowledge that some man named Hamilton had dared to touch what was his, that Gordon Summers and the damned Prince of Wales dared to look at her, sent rage boiling through him.Tempted him to remind her quickly and decisively just who her passion belonged to.Nine years could make no difference between them.Don't be a fool.Jack had no idea how even one reasonable thought made its way to the surface of his mind, but it was like a slap in the face and a dousing of freezing water combined.He fought down raging emotions, fought his way back to some precarious measure of sanity, and discovered that only a few moments had passed.Scheherazade and Summers were still holding a pleasant conversation.No one had noticed him go mad.The mask hadn't slipped.He could even feel a pleasant, vapid smile tugging up his lips.Sherrie concentrated very hard on Gordon Summers.Caught between the intensity of the two men, she couldn't make herself move.Fortunately, Summers' natural charisma acted as a counterbalance to the unwanted fascination that drew her to Jack PenMartyn."His Highness is most interested in the Orient," Lord Gordon went on."Which is where I think your services would prove most helpful, my dear." He chuckled.Sherrie noticed that it was a warm, fruity, far too self-satisfied sound.From it her imagination conjured an impossible vision of Summers rubbing his hands together as he gloated evilly over some wicked scheme.She knew her imagination was being far too active this evening, though she blamed the silent PenMartyn rather than the verbose evangelist."I'm hardly qualified to advise a British prince on any subject," she answered Summers.She doubted Bertie would be interested in her opinions.Her cleavage most certainly, but not her opinions."You underestimate your appeal, my dear."Sherrie bridled at last at Summers' smug expression and tone."Lord Gordon, please, I dislike being spoken to in such a familiar way by someone of such a short acquaintance.I realize we Americans are considered somewhat informal and forward, but I assure you I am not."Scheherazade's politeness had the quality of sheathed steel.Jack almost laughed
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Tematy
IndexSUSAN McCARTH Y Becoming a Tiger How Baby Animals Learn to Live in the Wild
Stephens Susan Harlequin Œwiatowe Życie Ekstra 205 Na francuskim zamku
Howatch Susan Za lœnišcš zasłonš 02 Cudowne moce
Howatch Susan Za lœnišcš zasłonš 03 Najwyższe trofea (2)
Tom 03 Kandydat na ojca Phillips Susan Elizabeth
Mallery Susan Siostrzyczki 01 Słodkie słówka
Phillips Susan Elisabeth WÅ‚oskie wakacje(1)
Laurens Stephanie Siostry Cyn Na ratunek damie
Smith Lisa Jane Pamiętniki wampirów 2 Walka
Adrian Smith The City of Coventry; A Twentieth Century Icon (2006)