Read Online Banish Misfortune by Anne Stuart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Stuart
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then vodka to hide the smell, and then pills so they could pretend they were straight, and then vodka again." Why didn't he slide those large, beautiful hands down over her shoulders, she wondered, and pull her back against him? She needed more warmth than his hands were providing.
"I suppose that might explain it," Springer agreed, watching her out of narrowed eyes as his hands continued their steady kneading. He found he wanted to slide his hands down and pull her closer, against him. He wanted to protect her from whatever had terrified her enough to scream like that, her ice-blue eyes a blank of horror; he wanted her to warm up, body and soul. And he wanted her to warm up to him.
That was the last thing she needed right now, though. He should take her back to Peter, and let him do the comforting, the warming. Jessica Hansen was nothing but trouble, and she was someone else's trouble, not his. He'd take her back to the house and go find Peter.
He didn't move, couldn't move. She smelled of hyacinths, sweet and musky, and tinged with innocence, and the unexpectedness of it startled him. He would have thought she'd prefer something cool and sophisticated, something modern. Not the delicate, old-fashioned scent that brought to mind summer dresses and hillside picnics.
She was cold, so cold, and she needed his warmth. Without further wavering she leaned back, coming up against his solid body, his warm chest. She could feel his surprise, his momentary hesitation, and then his hands slid down from her shoulders, his arms circling her frail body, pulling her back against him. Jessica let out a long, shuddering sigh, closing her eyes once more. She was safe at last.
At least, until he chose to leave her. The sudden thought that he could, would do exactly that, sooner or later, panicked her.
"What is it now?" he murmured behind her, apparently entirely at ease in this strange situation, "Relax, Jessie."
But that was just what she couldn't do. She needed him, needed the warmth and comfort his body could give her, and she knew from experience that she'd have to pay for it, pay for the holding and soothing. At that point no price would have been too high.
Turning slowly in his arms, she slid her hands up around his neck. He was looking down at her, an ar-rested expression on his dark face. And there on the windswept, deserted beach, she reached up and pressed her mouth against his unsuspecting one.
Deliberately she kept her mouth soft, pliant, waiting for him to make the next move. She could feel his hesitation, indecision, and she increased the pressure, reaching out with the tip of her tongue to lightly touch his lower lip. She heard a low, muffled groan, and then his hands were cupping her close-cropped head, holding her gently as he deepened the kiss, his mouth warm and wet and hungry on hers.
Jessica accepted her success complaisantly as she felt her body wrapped closer to his protective bulk, and tilted her head back under his onslaught, willing the clouds to return, the clear, sailing blue sky, the birds...
And then suddenly she was alone, released unceremoniously from his embrace as if she were contaminated. Scrambling to her knees in the sand, she stared at him with a mixture of shock and confusion. He was sitting there staring at her, his breathing a little heavy, his eyes angry and opaque, his mouth thinned in contempt.
"Is that how you usually do it, Jessie?" he demanded.
"What are you talking about?"
"Close your eyes and dream yourself away? I don't need performances, in bed or out of it. I prefer flesh-and-blood companions whose mind and emotions are involved along with their bodies. You're not really capable of that, are you?"
Denials, protests, insults flooded her mind but stopped short of her mouth. She just knelt there, her caftan still pulled loosely around her, staring at him in numb surprise. "I...I..."
The anger left him as swiftly as it had come, and he reached out his hand, that large, gentle hand
"I suppose that might explain it," Springer agreed, watching her out of narrowed eyes as his hands continued their steady kneading. He found he wanted to slide his hands down and pull her closer, against him. He wanted to protect her from whatever had terrified her enough to scream like that, her ice-blue eyes a blank of horror; he wanted her to warm up, body and soul. And he wanted her to warm up to him.
That was the last thing she needed right now, though. He should take her back to Peter, and let him do the comforting, the warming. Jessica Hansen was nothing but trouble, and she was someone else's trouble, not his. He'd take her back to the house and go find Peter.
He didn't move, couldn't move. She smelled of hyacinths, sweet and musky, and tinged with innocence, and the unexpectedness of it startled him. He would have thought she'd prefer something cool and sophisticated, something modern. Not the delicate, old-fashioned scent that brought to mind summer dresses and hillside picnics.
She was cold, so cold, and she needed his warmth. Without further wavering she leaned back, coming up against his solid body, his warm chest. She could feel his surprise, his momentary hesitation, and then his hands slid down from her shoulders, his arms circling her frail body, pulling her back against him. Jessica let out a long, shuddering sigh, closing her eyes once more. She was safe at last.
At least, until he chose to leave her. The sudden thought that he could, would do exactly that, sooner or later, panicked her.
"What is it now?" he murmured behind her, apparently entirely at ease in this strange situation, "Relax, Jessie."
But that was just what she couldn't do. She needed him, needed the warmth and comfort his body could give her, and she knew from experience that she'd have to pay for it, pay for the holding and soothing. At that point no price would have been too high.
Turning slowly in his arms, she slid her hands up around his neck. He was looking down at her, an ar-rested expression on his dark face. And there on the windswept, deserted beach, she reached up and pressed her mouth against his unsuspecting one.
Deliberately she kept her mouth soft, pliant, waiting for him to make the next move. She could feel his hesitation, indecision, and she increased the pressure, reaching out with the tip of her tongue to lightly touch his lower lip. She heard a low, muffled groan, and then his hands were cupping her close-cropped head, holding her gently as he deepened the kiss, his mouth warm and wet and hungry on hers.
Jessica accepted her success complaisantly as she felt her body wrapped closer to his protective bulk, and tilted her head back under his onslaught, willing the clouds to return, the clear, sailing blue sky, the birds...
And then suddenly she was alone, released unceremoniously from his embrace as if she were contaminated. Scrambling to her knees in the sand, she stared at him with a mixture of shock and confusion. He was sitting there staring at her, his breathing a little heavy, his eyes angry and opaque, his mouth thinned in contempt.
"Is that how you usually do it, Jessie?" he demanded.
"What are you talking about?"
"Close your eyes and dream yourself away? I don't need performances, in bed or out of it. I prefer flesh-and-blood companions whose mind and emotions are involved along with their bodies. You're not really capable of that, are you?"
Denials, protests, insults flooded her mind but stopped short of her mouth. She just knelt there, her caftan still pulled loosely around her, staring at him in numb surprise. "I...I..."
The anger left him as swiftly as it had come, and he reached out his hand, that large, gentle hand
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