Read Online Call of the Wild Wind (Waterloo Heroes Book 2) by Sabrina York - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sabrina York
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companion. I can continue posing as your valet.”
“Wandering around strange inns and flirting with the stable boys?”
“I was not flirting!”
“It looked like that to me.”
“Will and I were simply being friendly.”
“And we all know where that leads, do we not?”
“Balderdash.” She turned away and stared at the door. “One would think you were jealous, the way you are carrying on.”
“Jealous?” A roar. One that shook the room. “To be jealous, I would have to want you for myself.”
The silence that fell, following his pronouncement, was a deafening one. Slowly, she turned and looked at him.
His eyes burned. His face was a mask. His hands were closed into fists.
And she saw it there. On his face, in his expression.
An unholy thrill rose up within her. Because there, in that moment, all thoughts of Peter faded. No man existed but this one. This large, perfectly-formed, glorious specimen. And she realized that her impatience with him, her restlessness in his presence all along, had been speaking to one thing and one thing only.
She desired him, this man who was not her betrothed.
It was really something of a surprise, but not nearly as surprising as the realization that he wanted her as well.
He stood and prowled across the room. He stopped just short of her, touching her with nothing but his breath.
“Britannia, I am trying to be an honorable man.”
She stood as well and faced him, toe-to-toe. “The way an honorable man pretends not to recognize a lady in distress so he can use her as his servant?”
“I think I explained, I was trying to teach you a lesson.”
“Which is so very flattering really. Women love it when men show them their place.”
“It was not meant like that and you know it.”
“Do I?”
“Goddamn it, Britannia…”
“Such language. Whatever would my father say?”
“I believe he would say you are in need of a spanking.”
Her eyes widened. Outrage swelled. If he even tried, she would saw him open with the butter knife. “You are something of a beast, you know.”
“I am a Scot,” he snarled. “What else would you expect?”
Well, there was no answer for that.
But then, he didn’t expect one.
Rather, he took that last step toward her, yanked her into his arms, and kissed her.
It was not a gentle, demure or respectful kiss. Not in the slightest. It was like the wild wind on the moors. A crashing tumult of a storm at sea.
And it was mind-boggling.
She and Peter had kissed many times before. But never had Britannia felt so swept away, confused, elated and aroused.
Without thought, she responded, returning Charles’ manic kisses with ones of her own, each more savage, more taking, more demanding than the last. She clutched at his shoulders through the linen of his shirt, raked her fingers through his silky hair, pressed herself against him, glorying in the hardness of his body, his scent, his power. Heat soaked into her where they touched. The ridge of his erection pressed against her belly.
Good glory. This was magnificent. This was divine. This was—
He pulled away with a snarl and whirled around, showing her his back. She felt his absence to her core. And she ached with it.
Gingerly, she touched her lips, wondering if he had seared them off. Her body shook, her pulse rocketed, her muscles trembled and a hunger raged within her.
“We shouldna ha’ done that,” he said in a rasp. “We should never ha’ done that.”
She sucked in a breath and attempted to find her balance. He was probably right. They should not have kissed. It had exposed something raw and feral that she realized, in retrospect, they had both been trying desperately to hide.
Oh, she wanted him. It was like a fire in her blood.
A pity they could not have pretended a little longer. This would make things ever so much more difficult.
She rallied all her resources and pinned a cheerful smile on her face. “It was a nice kiss,” she said in a tone that was as blasé
“Wandering around strange inns and flirting with the stable boys?”
“I was not flirting!”
“It looked like that to me.”
“Will and I were simply being friendly.”
“And we all know where that leads, do we not?”
“Balderdash.” She turned away and stared at the door. “One would think you were jealous, the way you are carrying on.”
“Jealous?” A roar. One that shook the room. “To be jealous, I would have to want you for myself.”
The silence that fell, following his pronouncement, was a deafening one. Slowly, she turned and looked at him.
His eyes burned. His face was a mask. His hands were closed into fists.
And she saw it there. On his face, in his expression.
An unholy thrill rose up within her. Because there, in that moment, all thoughts of Peter faded. No man existed but this one. This large, perfectly-formed, glorious specimen. And she realized that her impatience with him, her restlessness in his presence all along, had been speaking to one thing and one thing only.
She desired him, this man who was not her betrothed.
It was really something of a surprise, but not nearly as surprising as the realization that he wanted her as well.
He stood and prowled across the room. He stopped just short of her, touching her with nothing but his breath.
“Britannia, I am trying to be an honorable man.”
She stood as well and faced him, toe-to-toe. “The way an honorable man pretends not to recognize a lady in distress so he can use her as his servant?”
“I think I explained, I was trying to teach you a lesson.”
“Which is so very flattering really. Women love it when men show them their place.”
“It was not meant like that and you know it.”
“Do I?”
“Goddamn it, Britannia…”
“Such language. Whatever would my father say?”
“I believe he would say you are in need of a spanking.”
Her eyes widened. Outrage swelled. If he even tried, she would saw him open with the butter knife. “You are something of a beast, you know.”
“I am a Scot,” he snarled. “What else would you expect?”
Well, there was no answer for that.
But then, he didn’t expect one.
Rather, he took that last step toward her, yanked her into his arms, and kissed her.
It was not a gentle, demure or respectful kiss. Not in the slightest. It was like the wild wind on the moors. A crashing tumult of a storm at sea.
And it was mind-boggling.
She and Peter had kissed many times before. But never had Britannia felt so swept away, confused, elated and aroused.
Without thought, she responded, returning Charles’ manic kisses with ones of her own, each more savage, more taking, more demanding than the last. She clutched at his shoulders through the linen of his shirt, raked her fingers through his silky hair, pressed herself against him, glorying in the hardness of his body, his scent, his power. Heat soaked into her where they touched. The ridge of his erection pressed against her belly.
Good glory. This was magnificent. This was divine. This was—
He pulled away with a snarl and whirled around, showing her his back. She felt his absence to her core. And she ached with it.
Gingerly, she touched her lips, wondering if he had seared them off. Her body shook, her pulse rocketed, her muscles trembled and a hunger raged within her.
“We shouldna ha’ done that,” he said in a rasp. “We should never ha’ done that.”
She sucked in a breath and attempted to find her balance. He was probably right. They should not have kissed. It had exposed something raw and feral that she realized, in retrospect, they had both been trying desperately to hide.
Oh, she wanted him. It was like a fire in her blood.
A pity they could not have pretended a little longer. This would make things ever so much more difficult.
She rallied all her resources and pinned a cheerful smile on her face. “It was a nice kiss,” she said in a tone that was as blasé
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