Read Online Dangerous Secrets by Lisa Marie Rice - Free Book Online
Authors: Lisa Marie Rice
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deep rough voice suddenly soft. “I understand completely.”
“No.” Charity fought against the urge to rub her cheek against his hand, much as Aunt Vera’s cat Folly did when someone scratched her head. “I think it’s more a question of adoption than enchantment.”
An errant snowflake fell on her cheek and she looked up. Big fat lazy flakes were drifting out of the inky night sky, seeming to come from nowhere. She lifted her face into the night and breathed deeply, completely content.
Nick seemed to shake himself. He looked up at the sky and back at her and tugged his scarf off. “Here.” Before she could protest, he’d wrapped it around her neck twice. “It’s turning chilly. And as pretty as that coat is, it doesn’t look quite warm enough.”
The scarf was a deep midnight blue, very soft. Cashmere, triple ply. It still carried his body heat and the scent of him–aprimal scent, male musk and pine, with a faint overlay of citrus.
“There.” He knotted it tightly, patted it, and stepped back, pleased. “That’s better.”
Actually, it was. She’d felt the chill and hadn’t been dressed warmly enough. “Thank you, but now you’re going to be cold,” she protested.
He just looked at her. But it was a look that spoke volumes. It was the kind of look men didn’t give women anymore. She recognized it as the look her father had given her mother when she tried to lift something heavy and he rushed to take it out of her hands.
It was the look only a certain kind of man could give to a woman and she hadn’t seen it in a long, long time. A totally politically incorrect look, sexy as hell.
Nick had almost ridiculously old-fashioned manners. He walked her to the passenger door, handed her in as if she were indeed the queen of Parker’s Ridge—maybe she should just buy herself a tiara and be done with it—buckled her belt for her, then got in himself.
She gave him quiet directions and they pulled out, that outrageously beautiful and powerful car doing something like thirty miles an hour.
Though Charity’s heart drummed, her hands were steady, folded in her lap. Anticipation zinged through her system, though. She couldn’t remember feeling so alive. Or so incredibly female.
Nick had barely touched her, and yet, it was as if they’d already had foreplay. Her breasts were so sensitized, she could feel the lace cups of her bra every time she breathed. When the car took corners, she could feel the pressure between her legs. It was entirely possible that she was already wet.
If the evening ended up with sex, she’d be thrilled. If not, she was still thrilled. It had been so long since she’d felt anything like this. Soft, female. So utterly alive.
They were gliding slowly through a heavily wooded area on their way back to town, the light snowflakes drifting down gently, two horizontal columns of gentle snowfall lit by the powerful headlights. The landscape looked enchanted, timeless. They could have been a prince and a princess in a horse-drawn carriage a hundred years ago.
Charity smiled at the thoughts in her head, so unlike the background hum of worry and duty that was its usual fare.
She turned her head to look at Nick, at his clean, strong profile outlined in the dim lights of the dashboard. Whatever happened between them, she owed him thanks for the gift of this evening.
At his glance, she smiled at him.
He didn’t say anything. The silence inside the car was unbroken. She liked it that he didn’t feel the need to chat. There was something magic in the air and words, the wrong words, could kill the magic.
Nick reached out and took her hand, bringing it to his mouth and pressing a kiss in the palm. She was so excited, she’d forgotten to put on her gloves. His breath was hot, like steam, and she felt that little kiss down to her bones. He returned her hand to her lap. She curled her hand around the kiss and waited, heart pounding, for what life would throw her way next.
It was like
“No.” Charity fought against the urge to rub her cheek against his hand, much as Aunt Vera’s cat Folly did when someone scratched her head. “I think it’s more a question of adoption than enchantment.”
An errant snowflake fell on her cheek and she looked up. Big fat lazy flakes were drifting out of the inky night sky, seeming to come from nowhere. She lifted her face into the night and breathed deeply, completely content.
Nick seemed to shake himself. He looked up at the sky and back at her and tugged his scarf off. “Here.” Before she could protest, he’d wrapped it around her neck twice. “It’s turning chilly. And as pretty as that coat is, it doesn’t look quite warm enough.”
The scarf was a deep midnight blue, very soft. Cashmere, triple ply. It still carried his body heat and the scent of him–aprimal scent, male musk and pine, with a faint overlay of citrus.
“There.” He knotted it tightly, patted it, and stepped back, pleased. “That’s better.”
Actually, it was. She’d felt the chill and hadn’t been dressed warmly enough. “Thank you, but now you’re going to be cold,” she protested.
He just looked at her. But it was a look that spoke volumes. It was the kind of look men didn’t give women anymore. She recognized it as the look her father had given her mother when she tried to lift something heavy and he rushed to take it out of her hands.
It was the look only a certain kind of man could give to a woman and she hadn’t seen it in a long, long time. A totally politically incorrect look, sexy as hell.
Nick had almost ridiculously old-fashioned manners. He walked her to the passenger door, handed her in as if she were indeed the queen of Parker’s Ridge—maybe she should just buy herself a tiara and be done with it—buckled her belt for her, then got in himself.
She gave him quiet directions and they pulled out, that outrageously beautiful and powerful car doing something like thirty miles an hour.
Though Charity’s heart drummed, her hands were steady, folded in her lap. Anticipation zinged through her system, though. She couldn’t remember feeling so alive. Or so incredibly female.
Nick had barely touched her, and yet, it was as if they’d already had foreplay. Her breasts were so sensitized, she could feel the lace cups of her bra every time she breathed. When the car took corners, she could feel the pressure between her legs. It was entirely possible that she was already wet.
If the evening ended up with sex, she’d be thrilled. If not, she was still thrilled. It had been so long since she’d felt anything like this. Soft, female. So utterly alive.
They were gliding slowly through a heavily wooded area on their way back to town, the light snowflakes drifting down gently, two horizontal columns of gentle snowfall lit by the powerful headlights. The landscape looked enchanted, timeless. They could have been a prince and a princess in a horse-drawn carriage a hundred years ago.
Charity smiled at the thoughts in her head, so unlike the background hum of worry and duty that was its usual fare.
She turned her head to look at Nick, at his clean, strong profile outlined in the dim lights of the dashboard. Whatever happened between them, she owed him thanks for the gift of this evening.
At his glance, she smiled at him.
He didn’t say anything. The silence inside the car was unbroken. She liked it that he didn’t feel the need to chat. There was something magic in the air and words, the wrong words, could kill the magic.
Nick reached out and took her hand, bringing it to his mouth and pressing a kiss in the palm. She was so excited, she’d forgotten to put on her gloves. His breath was hot, like steam, and she felt that little kiss down to her bones. He returned her hand to her lap. She curled her hand around the kiss and waited, heart pounding, for what life would throw her way next.
It was like
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