Read Online Beyond paradise by Copyright Paperback Collection (Library of Congress) DLC, Elizabeth Doyle - Free Book Online
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circumstances, I'm sure. But why are you doing this? What use am I to you?"
"Stop talking," he said, but he didn't seem angry, just preoccupied. "We've got a long journey ahead, and I don't wish to spend it conversing." He climbed up behind her and took the reins. It was an awfully awkward arrangement. Sylvie felt as though he were embracing her. His arms touched her on each side, and clasped at the reins near her ribs. She didn't even want to think about where his legs were. It would have been obscene if it hadn't been so ... necessary.
"A long journey?" she asked, glancing at the pistol he'd stashed in his torn breeches.
He lifted her chin with a finger. "Look at me when you talk," he said.
"How can I? I'm facing the wrong way."
"Then don't talk."
He urged Monique into a gallop, and Sylvie thought it awfully traitorous of her to oblige the way she did. Sylvie was immediately lurched even more intimately against his hard, bare chest and the couple headed along the seashore, away from town, and away from any minuscule promise of help. Sylvie knew the island well, and knew that if they continued to travel north, they would encounter no one for a very long time.
71
Eight
Sylvie was in a panic. His grip was not fierce, but it was enough to keep her from jumping. She knew there must be a means of escape—she could not imagine it any other way. But it didn't seem there would be one as long as they were galloping. She would wait until they stopped and then she would reason with him, or try to remount Monique on her own, or pray that he sent her away. When more than an hour had passed, Sylvie gave up on being prim within his arms. She had tried to lean forward, to scoot herself slightly away from his open legs, to maintain some level of decency. But the ride was hard, and her hopes were battered, and it all just seemed so useless. She used him as a rest for her back, letting him carry the burden of her weight. He didn't seem to care one way or the other, so why not let him be a chair? It was hard to pretend he was a chair, though, whenever she stole a glimpse at his powerful arms, slapping steadily against her sides as they controlled the reins. His arms were so handsome and lean, so elegantly carved with rivers of faint blue winding between the hills of muscle. It was astounding
Elizabeth Doyle
to her that he did not react even when she let her head drop against his shoulder in weariness. He seemed completely disinterested in their contact, as though he bore no attraction to her at all.
At last, he stopped near a grove of banana trees that grew near the sand. It seemed he was hungry. He hopped from Monique, and tied her to a tree. He helped Sylvie down, too, to make it harder for her to take off on the horse without him. He turned his full attention to gathering fruit.
"You realize I was trying to help you," Sylvie couldn't help remarking.
"And you did," he winked. "Thank you very much."
Sylvie rolled her eyes. "Don't you feel the least bit of remorse? I could understand if you said you feel terrible but you have no choice, or you'd never do something like this if it hadn't been that you were going to be hanged, but it seems as though you hold malice toward me, the one who sought to be kind."
To her surprise, he approached her gently, and said with a knuckle to her chin, "I feel terrible, but I have no choice."
"That's what I just told you to say."
"And I said it. What more do you want?"
"Meaning it would be nice."
"All right, then. I mean it."
"That is absurd. You can't just..."
"You know what I think is absurd?" He laughed darkly. "I think it's absurd that you're not afraid of me." He laughed cruelly at a joke Sylvie did not understand. "I think it's absurd that people like you are so spoiled, so used to being treated like royalty, that it hasn't even occurred to you to beg for your life. It hasn't even crossed your mind that I might..." He glanced at her breasts for only a moment. "Well, that you might be
"Stop talking," he said, but he didn't seem angry, just preoccupied. "We've got a long journey ahead, and I don't wish to spend it conversing." He climbed up behind her and took the reins. It was an awfully awkward arrangement. Sylvie felt as though he were embracing her. His arms touched her on each side, and clasped at the reins near her ribs. She didn't even want to think about where his legs were. It would have been obscene if it hadn't been so ... necessary.
"A long journey?" she asked, glancing at the pistol he'd stashed in his torn breeches.
He lifted her chin with a finger. "Look at me when you talk," he said.
"How can I? I'm facing the wrong way."
"Then don't talk."
He urged Monique into a gallop, and Sylvie thought it awfully traitorous of her to oblige the way she did. Sylvie was immediately lurched even more intimately against his hard, bare chest and the couple headed along the seashore, away from town, and away from any minuscule promise of help. Sylvie knew the island well, and knew that if they continued to travel north, they would encounter no one for a very long time.
71
Eight
Sylvie was in a panic. His grip was not fierce, but it was enough to keep her from jumping. She knew there must be a means of escape—she could not imagine it any other way. But it didn't seem there would be one as long as they were galloping. She would wait until they stopped and then she would reason with him, or try to remount Monique on her own, or pray that he sent her away. When more than an hour had passed, Sylvie gave up on being prim within his arms. She had tried to lean forward, to scoot herself slightly away from his open legs, to maintain some level of decency. But the ride was hard, and her hopes were battered, and it all just seemed so useless. She used him as a rest for her back, letting him carry the burden of her weight. He didn't seem to care one way or the other, so why not let him be a chair? It was hard to pretend he was a chair, though, whenever she stole a glimpse at his powerful arms, slapping steadily against her sides as they controlled the reins. His arms were so handsome and lean, so elegantly carved with rivers of faint blue winding between the hills of muscle. It was astounding
Elizabeth Doyle
to her that he did not react even when she let her head drop against his shoulder in weariness. He seemed completely disinterested in their contact, as though he bore no attraction to her at all.
At last, he stopped near a grove of banana trees that grew near the sand. It seemed he was hungry. He hopped from Monique, and tied her to a tree. He helped Sylvie down, too, to make it harder for her to take off on the horse without him. He turned his full attention to gathering fruit.
"You realize I was trying to help you," Sylvie couldn't help remarking.
"And you did," he winked. "Thank you very much."
Sylvie rolled her eyes. "Don't you feel the least bit of remorse? I could understand if you said you feel terrible but you have no choice, or you'd never do something like this if it hadn't been that you were going to be hanged, but it seems as though you hold malice toward me, the one who sought to be kind."
To her surprise, he approached her gently, and said with a knuckle to her chin, "I feel terrible, but I have no choice."
"That's what I just told you to say."
"And I said it. What more do you want?"
"Meaning it would be nice."
"All right, then. I mean it."
"That is absurd. You can't just..."
"You know what I think is absurd?" He laughed darkly. "I think it's absurd that you're not afraid of me." He laughed cruelly at a joke Sylvie did not understand. "I think it's absurd that people like you are so spoiled, so used to being treated like royalty, that it hasn't even occurred to you to beg for your life. It hasn't even crossed your mind that I might..." He glanced at her breasts for only a moment. "Well, that you might be
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