Read Online Demon Lover by Kathleen Creighton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathleen Creighton
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month of August in order to help control the expected increase in contraband traffic during the Exposition, and through a blunder, an accident of fate, she’d managed to find her way to the source of that traffic.
She’d been given, she realized, a rare opportunity. If she played this game right she could break up what appeared to be a very extensive smuggling operation. Excitement washed over her and then receded, leaving her feeling frustrated and helpless. Standing in her way was one coyote with the body of a panther, the eyes of a demon, and the mesmerizing touch of a sorcerer.
C hapter 4
S OMEWHERE, NOT FAR away, a rooster was crowing, and closer by, a soft, irregular creaking. Julie couldn’t identify the source of the creaking, and so it became an irritant that would not let her sleep. She made a querulous sound of protest, and a soft voice answered, "Good morning."
A man’s voice, husky with amusement.
She forced one eye open. A tall, dark man with no shirt on stood beside the bed peering into a small mirror propped on a shelf, shaving by the light of a lantern. The razor made a faint scraping noise.
"Oh," she said fuzzily. "It’s you."
He glanced down at her, his eyes a cool, clear blue above dark skin streaked with white. "Who were you expecting?"
"Are you making that noise?"
He raised his eyebrows and lifted his razor interrogatively.
Julie shook her head and closed her eyes again. "Uh–uh… something’s creaking."
There was the sound of water swishing. "The shutter, I guess," he said, his voice muffled. "The wind has picked up today. Sorry it woke you."
"Me too," Julie murmured, rubbing her eyes. "I’m not a morning person."
Chayne gave a soft chuckle and patted his face with a small white towel. "So I see."
Julie gazed at him, still trying to focus her eyes. "Oh— You’ve got one there, too."
"Got what where?"
"A scar. On your chin."
He touched it, smiling lopsidedly. "So I have."
"It looks like a dimple."
His laughter exploded as he turned to reach for a shirt that hung on a nail beside the bed. Julie watched the pull and tug of the muscles in his arm and across his ribs and mumbled sleepily, "You look different."
"I think you’d better either go back to sleep or have some coffee," he said dryly, buttoning his shirt. "Rita should have some ready by now." He had turned to the door when Julie stopped him with a cry of protest.
"What now?"
She sat up, fully awake at last. "Where are you going?"
"To breakfast and then fishing. Why?"
Trying to keep the dismay out of her voice and the blush out of her cheeks, Julie said, "Are you just going to leave me here?"
He leaned against the door and gazed at her quizzically with his head tilted, as if he were having trouble hearing her.
"I mean," Julie stammered, "what about food? Aren’t you going to bring me something to eat? And," she cried furiously, "there’s not even a bathroom in here! Are you going to walk me to the john, or just put me on a long leash? Stop laughing, damn you! Do you think it’s funny that I have to ask you every time I want to go to the bathroom?"
She was sitting cross–legged in the middle of the bed, quivering with embarrassment and indignation. If she’d had anything more lethal at hand than a pillow she’d have hurled it at his head. When he continued to shake with silent laughter she muttered resentfully, "You really love to humiliate me, don’t you?"
"You know, I believe I do. There’s nothing quite as entertaining as an embarrassed cop." His voice was dry, but as his gaze slipped almost unintentionally from her flushed cheeks to her throat and then continued on down the deep slash of the shirt’s neckline, she saw something kindle in those brilliant eyes that made her wish she could pull the bedclothes up to her chin. He sighed regretfully and straightened, shaking his head. "But you aren’t confined to this room, and I’ve no intention of waiting on you hand and foot. The john is a short
She’d been given, she realized, a rare opportunity. If she played this game right she could break up what appeared to be a very extensive smuggling operation. Excitement washed over her and then receded, leaving her feeling frustrated and helpless. Standing in her way was one coyote with the body of a panther, the eyes of a demon, and the mesmerizing touch of a sorcerer.
C hapter 4
S OMEWHERE, NOT FAR away, a rooster was crowing, and closer by, a soft, irregular creaking. Julie couldn’t identify the source of the creaking, and so it became an irritant that would not let her sleep. She made a querulous sound of protest, and a soft voice answered, "Good morning."
A man’s voice, husky with amusement.
She forced one eye open. A tall, dark man with no shirt on stood beside the bed peering into a small mirror propped on a shelf, shaving by the light of a lantern. The razor made a faint scraping noise.
"Oh," she said fuzzily. "It’s you."
He glanced down at her, his eyes a cool, clear blue above dark skin streaked with white. "Who were you expecting?"
"Are you making that noise?"
He raised his eyebrows and lifted his razor interrogatively.
Julie shook her head and closed her eyes again. "Uh–uh… something’s creaking."
There was the sound of water swishing. "The shutter, I guess," he said, his voice muffled. "The wind has picked up today. Sorry it woke you."
"Me too," Julie murmured, rubbing her eyes. "I’m not a morning person."
Chayne gave a soft chuckle and patted his face with a small white towel. "So I see."
Julie gazed at him, still trying to focus her eyes. "Oh— You’ve got one there, too."
"Got what where?"
"A scar. On your chin."
He touched it, smiling lopsidedly. "So I have."
"It looks like a dimple."
His laughter exploded as he turned to reach for a shirt that hung on a nail beside the bed. Julie watched the pull and tug of the muscles in his arm and across his ribs and mumbled sleepily, "You look different."
"I think you’d better either go back to sleep or have some coffee," he said dryly, buttoning his shirt. "Rita should have some ready by now." He had turned to the door when Julie stopped him with a cry of protest.
"What now?"
She sat up, fully awake at last. "Where are you going?"
"To breakfast and then fishing. Why?"
Trying to keep the dismay out of her voice and the blush out of her cheeks, Julie said, "Are you just going to leave me here?"
He leaned against the door and gazed at her quizzically with his head tilted, as if he were having trouble hearing her.
"I mean," Julie stammered, "what about food? Aren’t you going to bring me something to eat? And," she cried furiously, "there’s not even a bathroom in here! Are you going to walk me to the john, or just put me on a long leash? Stop laughing, damn you! Do you think it’s funny that I have to ask you every time I want to go to the bathroom?"
She was sitting cross–legged in the middle of the bed, quivering with embarrassment and indignation. If she’d had anything more lethal at hand than a pillow she’d have hurled it at his head. When he continued to shake with silent laughter she muttered resentfully, "You really love to humiliate me, don’t you?"
"You know, I believe I do. There’s nothing quite as entertaining as an embarrassed cop." His voice was dry, but as his gaze slipped almost unintentionally from her flushed cheeks to her throat and then continued on down the deep slash of the shirt’s neckline, she saw something kindle in those brilliant eyes that made her wish she could pull the bedclothes up to her chin. He sighed regretfully and straightened, shaking his head. "But you aren’t confined to this room, and I’ve no intention of waiting on you hand and foot. The john is a short
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