Read Online Moonlight Rebel by Marie Ferrarella - Free Book Online

sailed with us, and his friend met him at the dock. Somehow, they must have known."
    Jason didn't quite know whether to believe her. She spoke too rapidly, as if her words set forth a lie that was coming to her. Or perhaps it was just her accent. He guided the horse to the left, working on instincts long burned into his brain.
    "Where do you come from?" he asked again. When she still didn't answer, he shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'll just tell my father I bought you from a trader."
    She felt her anger rise. She wanted to face this man, this barbarian. She twisted in the saddle. The motion caused her to brush against his chest. She wanted as little contact with him as was humanly possible. With effort, she held herself still. "No!" After a moment, she relented. She tried to imagine where he was taking her and what would happen once they arrived. "Will your father be angry?"
    "Over my bringing home a beautiful woman? No." Jason laughed. "Never over that. He's quite a man, my father. Always says there's room for one more at the table. He won't mind my bringing home a ragged princess."
    Jason noted that she stiffened slightly at the title. Could he have hit closer to home than he'd thought? Well, she would tell him by and by, when she was ready.
    By now he was acutely aware of her sitting astride the horse, neatly nestled between his legs, her rump forced to rub against his inner thighs with each step the horse took. Without meaning to, Jason had allowed himself to be opened up to a cornucopia of sensations and feelings. Despite her disheveled appearance, the woman before him smelled of wild flowers. The tangled veil of black hair shone in the bright moonlight, and her form rocked against him. He wasn't surprised to find himself wondering what it would be like to hold her in his arms. To make wild, passionate love to her. There was passion there. He had seen it in her eyes. What would it be like, to have that passion directed toward him? He made a promise to himself that someday, soon, he would find out.
    She seemed to be almost oblivious to him. He felt a challenge forming. He wanted nothing more than to seduce her, to hear her cry his name as he filled her. But then he admonished himself for his thoughts. She had been through a great deal today. She had lost her father, had nearly been abducted and who knew what else? She was obviously hiding something, and just as obviously afraid to trust anyone. He could see she was of good family. They would have had to have been wealthy to have had their daughter taught a foreign language. And her hands, he noted, glancing down at her thighs where they rested, were soft. Only the rich could have pampered hands like that. Like his sister, Savannah.
    Like Charity. He almost laughed. How much more exciting this Krystyna seemed to him than Charity. Charity was like a pampered doll. The woman he had rescued tonight had life and fire to her. Charity had only empty, vapid thoughts and desires that no longer intrigued him. Who knew, perhaps he had caught himself a princess. All he knew was that he had one hell of a beautiful woman before him.
    Her voice, soft, melodic, without a waver to it, broke the stillness. "What is your name?"
    "What?" Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't heard her. Jason bent his head closer to her.
    His breath was on her cheek, and she shivered. Why? she asked herself. She certainly was not cold, not with his body pressed so closely about her. In addition, his arms encircled her in case, she surmised, she had any ideas of leaping off the horse and running away. He needn't have worried. She was not about to do that again. They were riding straight into the woods. She had a fear of getting lost in the forest at night.
    "Your name," she repeated. "I do not know your name."
    So, she has curiosity. They were making slow progress. "Jason," he told her. "Jason McKinley."
    "McKinley," she repeated softly. Her voice was answered by the hoot of an owl. She strove not to shiver.
    It