Read Online Fletcher's Woman by Linda Lael Miller - Free Book Online Page A

freak.
    Somehow, she would have to find a way to live between the two worlds, between the Indian ways and the ways of the whites. And if she could be neither Indian nor white, she would still be Fawn Nighthorse. She could still dream.
    She was startled when the parlor doors swung open, and her fears were deepened by the glint of savage annoyance in Jonas’s tawny eyes.
    â€œHow kind of you to accept my last minute invitation, Miss Nighthorse,” he said.
    Fawn suppressed a shudder. Jonas was a good-looking man and more skilled than most as a lover, yet the thought of his hands touching her made her skin crawl. “I dropped everything and rushed right over,” she said, tempering her surrender with as much sarcasm as she dared.
    A slight, mocking smile curved Jonas’s lips. “Come in,” he said, making a suave gesture of his right hand. In his left, he held a brandy snifter.
    Fawn edged past him, into the sumptuous room, much as she would skirt a mountain lion or a bear. Tension twisted her insides into straining coils.
    She whirled to face him, her right hand locked over her left, her head bloodless and light—much too light. “Jonas, I didn’t mean—” she blurted, “I shouldn’t have told—”
    The impeccable white of Jonas’s shirt collar seemed to seep into his face, pushing all color before it. His eyes were like golden fires, and his grip on the brandy snifter tightened visibly. “You!” he rasped.
    Infinite horror settled over Fawn like a weight, crushing her. All her suspicions had been correct; she knew that now. Field had gone straight to Griffin with the news and Griffin had probably stormed out here and collected Rachel McKinnon before Jonas could maneuver her seduction. Too late, she realized that Griffin hadn’t betrayed her—she had done that herself.
    She retreated a step. “Jonas, I—”
    But Jonas crossed the room in just a few strides, the brandy roiling, amber, in the snifter he carried. “I should have known,” he growled, in an undertone more terrifying than any shout could have been. “You saw Rachel leave with me and you went straight to Griffin!”
    Fawn’s head was shaking back and forth of its own volition. “No—no, Jonas. I-I told Field. I’m sorry.”
    Jonas turned from her suddenly, and for one wild moment, she hoped for a reprieve.
    But the brandy snifter sailed across the room and shattered against the ivory marble of the fireplace, sending out a shower of tiny, crystal shards. The fire roared as it caught the contents of the splintered glass and consumed them.
    Just as Fawn would be consumed.
    Jonas’s eyes were flat, expressionless, as he turned his gaze back to her. It was going to be bad.
    â€œTake off your clothes,” he said.
    Fawn trembled as she reached back to untie the leather strings at the back of her neck, but then a strange calm came over her, a detachment that always carried her through the worst times. The deerskin dress fell to the floor, revealing the nut-brown perfection of Fawn Nighthorse’s body.
    For a moment, Jonas seemed to be frozen in time and space. She felt his eyes slide over her body, knew that the flickering firelight danced on her cinnamon skin and worked an old and changeless magic, stirring primitive responses in the man before her.
    But the spell was soon broken. Jonas thrust her down, roughly, to the massive bearskin rug at her feet. He was upon her in only a moment.
    Other times, there had been a degree of gentleness in Jonas’s insatiable need; it had allowed her to survive by pretending that he was the one her spirit cried out for. But this time was different.
    Jonas’s teeth were sharp on the edges of her nipples, his hands harsh where they ventured. Fawn closed her eyes and her mind against the inevitable entry.
    It did not happen. Jonas’s member, so insistent only seconds before, faded to nothing,