Read Online Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride by Christi Caldwell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christi Caldwell
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glanced up, their stares locked, and held.
Then she began to study his face. He knew the moment she noted the faint scar that started at his temple and traversed a parallel path to his jaw. Many of the women he’d bedded had assessed the mark with a kind of fascinated horror.
Emmaline reached up a hand as if to touch it, and then seemed to remember where they were. She drew her hand back but her gaze did not leave his scar.
Her interest triggered a vulnerability he’d thought dead. The sight of her; unsullied and pure and him brutal and vile made him feel like the devil dancing in church. She’d been untouched by hands of evil, when his had wrought death and destruction.
He waited for her to ask the blunt question most ladies of his acquaintance asked. A kind of perverted glee that they’d dared to touch a blood-thirsty warrior.
Except she didn’t ask the question, didn’t beg to know how he’d come by the mark.
She was different than any other woman he’d ever known…and it scared the hell out of him.
Damn her for making him feel things he didn’t want to feel. A little too forcefully, he angled her body close to his—closer than was fashionably appropriate.
“Do you look at all gentlemen like this?” he asked, his voice hard. His vulnerability robbed him of both reason and the more than twenty-eight years of gentlemanly behavior that had been ingrained into him.
“Like what?”
“Like you have wicked thoughts in your innocent head.”
Emmaline’s breath caught and she opened then shut her mouth several times, as if she were trying to formulate a suitable response to his insult. It would seem Emmaline could be flummoxed.
He was a complete and utter bastard.
And, as though Drake needed further affirmation of that truth, his mind traveled a path of silken kisses and seductive caresses. He became aware of the feel of her delicate waist under his hand. The fine satin russet gown did little to veil the warmth of her skin. He yearned to strip the fabric from her body and run explorative hands along her satiny flesh. He wanted to move his hand lower, tug her skirts up, and caress her.
Emmaline wince d and he realized he’d unconsciously gripped her hand too tight. He flexed his fingers, forcing himself to relax his hold. He studied her hand using it as a lifeline back from the path his mind had wandered.
Except…
They really were lovely fingers. He imagined them wrapped about his length, stroking, squeezing, teasing… His breath came hoarse. Where had that thought come from? But it was too late. The forbidden thoughts were there as he held her in his arms.
Had he thought her figureless? Her breasts, though not large, were the size of small, firm apples. God, if he didn’t have a taste for the forbidden fruit. Now he knew the trial Adam had been presented with in that garden of temptation, understood why he’d thrown away Paradise. The curve of her waist flared nicely under his fingers , and he wanted to reach lower, grasp her buttocks, and tug her to his center. Drake gave himself an invisible shake, reminding himself where in hell they were.
Emma line licked her lower lip. “My lord?” she whispered.
Drake’s eyes fell to those full red lips that haunted his dreams and he dipped his head, a hairsbreadth from capturing them. He was going to kiss her, right there, in the midst of the dance-floor and he gave not one damn that every last peer present would bear witness.
“The dance has ended.” Emmaline brought Drake’s forbidden musings to a staggering halt. He became aware of the fact they were standing in the middle of an emptying dance-floor.
Drake’s body jerked and he set Emmaline from him as though he’d been speared with a bayonet. When had he looked at Emmaline and seen beauty instead of obligation and responsibility? His heart raced with panic.
He dipped a mocking bow and clapped his hands in a deriding fashion. “Brava, my girl. You have gotten what you wanted. How neatly
Then she began to study his face. He knew the moment she noted the faint scar that started at his temple and traversed a parallel path to his jaw. Many of the women he’d bedded had assessed the mark with a kind of fascinated horror.
Emmaline reached up a hand as if to touch it, and then seemed to remember where they were. She drew her hand back but her gaze did not leave his scar.
Her interest triggered a vulnerability he’d thought dead. The sight of her; unsullied and pure and him brutal and vile made him feel like the devil dancing in church. She’d been untouched by hands of evil, when his had wrought death and destruction.
He waited for her to ask the blunt question most ladies of his acquaintance asked. A kind of perverted glee that they’d dared to touch a blood-thirsty warrior.
Except she didn’t ask the question, didn’t beg to know how he’d come by the mark.
She was different than any other woman he’d ever known…and it scared the hell out of him.
Damn her for making him feel things he didn’t want to feel. A little too forcefully, he angled her body close to his—closer than was fashionably appropriate.
“Do you look at all gentlemen like this?” he asked, his voice hard. His vulnerability robbed him of both reason and the more than twenty-eight years of gentlemanly behavior that had been ingrained into him.
“Like what?”
“Like you have wicked thoughts in your innocent head.”
Emmaline’s breath caught and she opened then shut her mouth several times, as if she were trying to formulate a suitable response to his insult. It would seem Emmaline could be flummoxed.
He was a complete and utter bastard.
And, as though Drake needed further affirmation of that truth, his mind traveled a path of silken kisses and seductive caresses. He became aware of the feel of her delicate waist under his hand. The fine satin russet gown did little to veil the warmth of her skin. He yearned to strip the fabric from her body and run explorative hands along her satiny flesh. He wanted to move his hand lower, tug her skirts up, and caress her.
Emmaline wince d and he realized he’d unconsciously gripped her hand too tight. He flexed his fingers, forcing himself to relax his hold. He studied her hand using it as a lifeline back from the path his mind had wandered.
Except…
They really were lovely fingers. He imagined them wrapped about his length, stroking, squeezing, teasing… His breath came hoarse. Where had that thought come from? But it was too late. The forbidden thoughts were there as he held her in his arms.
Had he thought her figureless? Her breasts, though not large, were the size of small, firm apples. God, if he didn’t have a taste for the forbidden fruit. Now he knew the trial Adam had been presented with in that garden of temptation, understood why he’d thrown away Paradise. The curve of her waist flared nicely under his fingers , and he wanted to reach lower, grasp her buttocks, and tug her to his center. Drake gave himself an invisible shake, reminding himself where in hell they were.
Emma line licked her lower lip. “My lord?” she whispered.
Drake’s eyes fell to those full red lips that haunted his dreams and he dipped his head, a hairsbreadth from capturing them. He was going to kiss her, right there, in the midst of the dance-floor and he gave not one damn that every last peer present would bear witness.
“The dance has ended.” Emmaline brought Drake’s forbidden musings to a staggering halt. He became aware of the fact they were standing in the middle of an emptying dance-floor.
Drake’s body jerked and he set Emmaline from him as though he’d been speared with a bayonet. When had he looked at Emmaline and seen beauty instead of obligation and responsibility? His heart raced with panic.
He dipped a mocking bow and clapped his hands in a deriding fashion. “Brava, my girl. You have gotten what you wanted. How neatly
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