Read Online Cherry Adair - T-flac 09 by Edge Of Fear - Free Book Online
Authors: Edge Of Fear
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outside, or some old boyfriend she’d changed her name to avoid?
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“You should probably know the name of the father of your children,” he said easily. Putting down his cup, he held out his hand across the table. “Caleb Edge.”
She slid hers into it automatically. Hers was slender, her handshake firm, palm slightly damp. If that didn’t tell him she was nervous, the fact that she was sitting perched on the edge of her seat did. She was a bird ready to fly.
“Hannah Smith.” She withdrew her hand almost immediately and reached for her cup. She took a tentative sip through the hole in the plastic lid. Apparently her drink was too hot. She put it down and wrapped her hands around the base.
Caleb kicked out the chair not quite opposite, sat, then slouched back, intentionally relaxed and nonthreatening. He dragged his attention away from the rapid pulse at the base of her slender throat to gaze into her eyes. Hazel. More brown than green. Pretty. Despite the rich, dark fragrance of coffee surrounding them, he could smell her. Something light and floral and evocative of summer.
“So Hannah Smith, tell me all about you.” He purposely broke eye contact, wanting to appear interested, not predatory, and pried the lid off his coffee cup. It was one thing to pretend an attraction to get what he wanted. It was quite another to feel this avalanche of sensations at her very nearness. His own heart rate was up, and he was preternaturally aware of everything about her. There was no pretending about it.
He needed to get this over with as quickly as possible. Everything in him was on a razor edge of arousal. Which was as bizarre as it was disconcerting. Lust at first sight was something new. He didn’t care for it. Especially here and especially now.
He never mixed business and pleasure. And while he’d been tempted to break that rule a time or two, he never had. As a T-FLAC operative he had little downtime, and when he did he intentionally kept relationships casual. He wasn’t stupid enough to try to buck the family Curse.
Caleb had no intention—ever—of testing the part of the Curse that stated: “When a Lifemate is chosen by the heart of a son, No protection can be given, again I have won. His pain will be deep, her death will be swift, Inside his heart a terrible rift.”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Five hundred years of Edges had proven that the witch’s Curse couldn’t be broken. Over the centuries, all the women the Edge men had loved had died. He and his brothers weren’t going to let Nairne’s Curse continue.
The freaking Curse would die with them.
He’d been close to trying to buck it, damn close, twice. And in each instance he’d forced himself to walk away before more than a glimmer of emotion could blink into life. He’d never regretted doing so.
Christiana was now happily married to a decent guy, had a cute daughter, and was living happily ever after in Maine. Donna had produced four girls and lived with her senator husband in DC.
Both women were happy. Both women were alive.
It was somewhat ironic that Christiana and Donna had both produced daughters. Edge men could only make sons. “Three sons on three sons find nothing but pain.”
Yeah. Whatever. He’d never know.
Other than the fact that he’d been out of the ball game for almost three interminable months during his surgery and rehab, Caleb was happy as a pig in shit about his life.
So, as much as his body was yelling, yes, yes, yes right now, the answer to his rampant libido was an emphatic no. But damn —her skin was as soft as it looked. She was naturally fair, and her skin appeared smooth and flawless. Caleb had the insane urge to lean across the table and stroke her cheek with his lips.
He wanted to kiss her. Touch her. Everywhere. With lips and teeth and tongue. He wanted to rip
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
“You should probably know the name of the father of your children,” he said easily. Putting down his cup, he held out his hand across the table. “Caleb Edge.”
She slid hers into it automatically. Hers was slender, her handshake firm, palm slightly damp. If that didn’t tell him she was nervous, the fact that she was sitting perched on the edge of her seat did. She was a bird ready to fly.
“Hannah Smith.” She withdrew her hand almost immediately and reached for her cup. She took a tentative sip through the hole in the plastic lid. Apparently her drink was too hot. She put it down and wrapped her hands around the base.
Caleb kicked out the chair not quite opposite, sat, then slouched back, intentionally relaxed and nonthreatening. He dragged his attention away from the rapid pulse at the base of her slender throat to gaze into her eyes. Hazel. More brown than green. Pretty. Despite the rich, dark fragrance of coffee surrounding them, he could smell her. Something light and floral and evocative of summer.
“So Hannah Smith, tell me all about you.” He purposely broke eye contact, wanting to appear interested, not predatory, and pried the lid off his coffee cup. It was one thing to pretend an attraction to get what he wanted. It was quite another to feel this avalanche of sensations at her very nearness. His own heart rate was up, and he was preternaturally aware of everything about her. There was no pretending about it.
He needed to get this over with as quickly as possible. Everything in him was on a razor edge of arousal. Which was as bizarre as it was disconcerting. Lust at first sight was something new. He didn’t care for it. Especially here and especially now.
He never mixed business and pleasure. And while he’d been tempted to break that rule a time or two, he never had. As a T-FLAC operative he had little downtime, and when he did he intentionally kept relationships casual. He wasn’t stupid enough to try to buck the family Curse.
Caleb had no intention—ever—of testing the part of the Curse that stated: “When a Lifemate is chosen by the heart of a son, No protection can be given, again I have won. His pain will be deep, her death will be swift, Inside his heart a terrible rift.”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Five hundred years of Edges had proven that the witch’s Curse couldn’t be broken. Over the centuries, all the women the Edge men had loved had died. He and his brothers weren’t going to let Nairne’s Curse continue.
The freaking Curse would die with them.
He’d been close to trying to buck it, damn close, twice. And in each instance he’d forced himself to walk away before more than a glimmer of emotion could blink into life. He’d never regretted doing so.
Christiana was now happily married to a decent guy, had a cute daughter, and was living happily ever after in Maine. Donna had produced four girls and lived with her senator husband in DC.
Both women were happy. Both women were alive.
It was somewhat ironic that Christiana and Donna had both produced daughters. Edge men could only make sons. “Three sons on three sons find nothing but pain.”
Yeah. Whatever. He’d never know.
Other than the fact that he’d been out of the ball game for almost three interminable months during his surgery and rehab, Caleb was happy as a pig in shit about his life.
So, as much as his body was yelling, yes, yes, yes right now, the answer to his rampant libido was an emphatic no. But damn —her skin was as soft as it looked. She was naturally fair, and her skin appeared smooth and flawless. Caleb had the insane urge to lean across the table and stroke her cheek with his lips.
He wanted to kiss her. Touch her. Everywhere. With lips and teeth and tongue. He wanted to rip
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