Read Online Cordinas Crown Jewel by Nora Roberts - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nora Roberts
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purely satisfying.
He saw her as a woman, first and last. Not an image, not a title. And that made her feel like a woman. He was attracted to her and didn’t want to be. That gave her a lovely edge of control—an essential female control that wasn’t weighed down with royal command.
And his focus, well, that attracted
her.
It was a kind of skill she respected, and stemmed from willpower, intellect and passion for his work.
It also challenged her. Though she knew it would be wise to resist that challenge. She was, after all, essentially alone with him—a man she knew little about—and flirting with that focus, trying to undermine it for her own curiosity and satisfaction might have … consequences.
Then again, what was a quest without consequences?
When he paused long enough, she rolled her stiff shoulders, smiled over at him. “Would you mind if we took a break?”
She watched him come back to the present, back to the room, back to her. Felt his gaze, sexy and scholarly behind his reading glasses, slide over her as she rose to stretch.
“I’m not finished,” he told her.
“We can pick it up again after dinner, if you like.” She kept her smile easy. “I could use a walk before I start cooking. Do you ever walk in the woods, Del?”
There was the faintest hum of invitation in her voice. He was sure—damn sure—it was deliberate. It packed a hell of a punch. He hated to think what she could do if she took a good, solid shot at a man.
“Go ahead, I’ve got stuff to do.” He picked up more notes, dismissing her. He waited until she’d passed into the mudroom before he called out, “Watch out for snakes.”
The hesitation in her stride, the faintest gasp, gave him a great deal of satisfaction.
* * *
He woke in the middle of the night with his ribs aching and his mind blurry.
He’d been dreaming of her again, damn it. This time they’d been in the kitchen working on his notes. She’d sat at the keyboard, stupendously naked.
The fantasy was juvenile enough to embarrass him.
The problem with women was they could get to you just by breathing.
He lay there a moment, willing his ribs to settle and his blood to cool.
He’d gotten through the day and the evening, hadn’t he, holding on to his stipulation. He’d never touched her, not once. It would’ve been easy to. A finger trailed down that pretty nape while she’d typed. A brush of his hand when she’d passed him the salt over dinner.
Easy, as easy as grabbing her one-handed, diving in and finding out what that long, mobile mouth tasted like.
But he hadn’t. Points for him.
Still, it made him a little nervous that he kept
thinking
about doing it.
And she was flirting with him. He’d ignored, evaded or moved in on flirtations often enough to recognizeone. Especially when the woman wasn’t being particularly subtle.
He’d had students—or the occasional groupie who hung around digs—put moves on him. Mostly, in his estimation, because they’d dreamed up some romantic image about the field. He put the blame squarely on Indiana Jones for that. Though those movies had been so damned entertaining he couldn’t be sore about it.
He dismissed the flirtations, or fell in with them, depending on the timing, the woman and his mood. But as far as serious relationships went, he’d managed to avoid that boggy complication. The redhead had complication written all over her, so fun and games were out of the question.
He should get her a room in town. Pay for it. Move her out.
Then he thought of the pile of neatly typed pages, and the intensity of his annoyance went way down. She was a miracle worker. Not only did her help mean he didn’t need to fight his way through the material on his own, but her questions, her interest and her organizational ability was actually getting him to deliver the best material he’d ever done. Not that he was going to mention that.
He thought of the meal she’d put on the table. He hadn’t a clue
He saw her as a woman, first and last. Not an image, not a title. And that made her feel like a woman. He was attracted to her and didn’t want to be. That gave her a lovely edge of control—an essential female control that wasn’t weighed down with royal command.
And his focus, well, that attracted
her.
It was a kind of skill she respected, and stemmed from willpower, intellect and passion for his work.
It also challenged her. Though she knew it would be wise to resist that challenge. She was, after all, essentially alone with him—a man she knew little about—and flirting with that focus, trying to undermine it for her own curiosity and satisfaction might have … consequences.
Then again, what was a quest without consequences?
When he paused long enough, she rolled her stiff shoulders, smiled over at him. “Would you mind if we took a break?”
She watched him come back to the present, back to the room, back to her. Felt his gaze, sexy and scholarly behind his reading glasses, slide over her as she rose to stretch.
“I’m not finished,” he told her.
“We can pick it up again after dinner, if you like.” She kept her smile easy. “I could use a walk before I start cooking. Do you ever walk in the woods, Del?”
There was the faintest hum of invitation in her voice. He was sure—damn sure—it was deliberate. It packed a hell of a punch. He hated to think what she could do if she took a good, solid shot at a man.
“Go ahead, I’ve got stuff to do.” He picked up more notes, dismissing her. He waited until she’d passed into the mudroom before he called out, “Watch out for snakes.”
The hesitation in her stride, the faintest gasp, gave him a great deal of satisfaction.
* * *
He woke in the middle of the night with his ribs aching and his mind blurry.
He’d been dreaming of her again, damn it. This time they’d been in the kitchen working on his notes. She’d sat at the keyboard, stupendously naked.
The fantasy was juvenile enough to embarrass him.
The problem with women was they could get to you just by breathing.
He lay there a moment, willing his ribs to settle and his blood to cool.
He’d gotten through the day and the evening, hadn’t he, holding on to his stipulation. He’d never touched her, not once. It would’ve been easy to. A finger trailed down that pretty nape while she’d typed. A brush of his hand when she’d passed him the salt over dinner.
Easy, as easy as grabbing her one-handed, diving in and finding out what that long, mobile mouth tasted like.
But he hadn’t. Points for him.
Still, it made him a little nervous that he kept
thinking
about doing it.
And she was flirting with him. He’d ignored, evaded or moved in on flirtations often enough to recognizeone. Especially when the woman wasn’t being particularly subtle.
He’d had students—or the occasional groupie who hung around digs—put moves on him. Mostly, in his estimation, because they’d dreamed up some romantic image about the field. He put the blame squarely on Indiana Jones for that. Though those movies had been so damned entertaining he couldn’t be sore about it.
He dismissed the flirtations, or fell in with them, depending on the timing, the woman and his mood. But as far as serious relationships went, he’d managed to avoid that boggy complication. The redhead had complication written all over her, so fun and games were out of the question.
He should get her a room in town. Pay for it. Move her out.
Then he thought of the pile of neatly typed pages, and the intensity of his annoyance went way down. She was a miracle worker. Not only did her help mean he didn’t need to fight his way through the material on his own, but her questions, her interest and her organizational ability was actually getting him to deliver the best material he’d ever done. Not that he was going to mention that.
He thought of the meal she’d put on the table. He hadn’t a clue
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