Read Online Firestorm by Brenda Joyce - Free Book Online

her.
    â€œStorm,” he said, reaching for her hand, covered with short black gloves. “How enchanting you look tonight.” He kissed her knuckles, and his touch seemed to sear through the fabric of the gloves. She regarded him venomously and yanked her hand away. He looked taken aback.
    â€œThank you,” she said glacially, her eyes a cold blue fire.
    â€œAre you displeased with me?” he asked coolly.
    She raised her brows, not realizing how imperious the gesture was.
    â€œOf course not,” Paul said, clapping Brett’s shoulder. “How are you, Brett? I see you’ve brought Leanne tonight.”
    Immediately Storm strode away, not caring if she was being unforgivably rude, refusing even to be near the man who had caused Paul to forbid her to ride alone. But taking such long strides was a mistake. A delicate heel slipped, and she would have fallen if Grant Farlane didn’t reach out and grab her. “Damn!” Another mistake .
    â€œIt’s all right,” Grant said kindly.
    Her face was red. She glanced around and saw that half the people in the room had seen the mishap, including Brett. “I hate these da—these shoes,” she muttered.
    Grant grinned. “I myself don’t know how you ladies do it,” he said, his brown eyes twinkling.
    She relaxed. “This is just so different for me.”
    â€œYou’re doing fine,” he soothed. “And you’ve got a bevy of admirers. Leanne St. Claire is green with envy because even she can’t compete with your beauty.”
    Storm didn’t understand why everyone kept telling her she was beautiful. Just then a servant announced dinner, and Grant offered her his arm. She took it, thinking that Marcy was very lucky to have him for a husband.
    Fortunately, dinner went better than the earlier part of the evening. Sitting down gave Storm’s feet a chance to rest, although they didn’t stop throbbing. She tried to slip off her shoes under the table, then decided against it—she would never get them back on. As the guest of honor, she was seated on Grant’s left, with Randolph on her other side. Unfortunately, Leanne and Brett were directly across from her. Storm ignored Brett, although he kept staring at her—quite rudely, she thought. And not just at her face, but at her overly exposed breasts. She had known the gown was too low.
    When Brett spoke to her, she had no choice but to respond, although there was no mistaking her coolness. He finally gave up.
    After a seven-course meal, the guests returned to the salon for more dancing. Marcy routinely waived the custom of having the men retire separately from the women, and Grant always supported her decision. Randolph went off to fetch Storm a glass of water, and for the first time that evening she found herself alone. It was a blessed relief.
    She was emotionally exhausted, with throbbing feet and the beginning of a grand headache. Having eaten too much, and barely able to stand the corset, she was in great physical discomfort. She had drunk a glass of wine with dinner, and now she began to feel lonely, homesick, and sorry for herself. She moved to the velvet-draped French doors and stared blindly out at the night.
    â€œSomehow I don’t get the feeling you’ve enjoyed yourself this evening,” Brett said.
    She turned, blinking back the moisture in her eyes. “Go away.”
    â€œWhy are you angry with me? Because of that little incident on the beach? If so, I apologize.” His dark eyes were blazing.
    â€œYou bastard! You ran and told Paul about it! How dare you interfere! Now I can’t ride alone. You’ve ruined the only pleasure I have in this damn town.”
    He was visibly shocked at her rage and bad language, and then a tense, rigid mask slipped over his face. “It was for your own good,” he said, exercising great restraint. “Better you ride with others than ride alone and get