Read Online PerpetualPleasure by Dita Parker - Free Book Online Page B

sex!
    Stupid. Stupid.
    Gathering the covers, Lucie drew them over her head.
    His scent returned with a vengeance. Scrambling up, she
flicked on the bedside lamp and inspected her lap. She was holding his shirt.
    Oh.
    Peeking around, she found his shoes and socks lying by the
bed.
    Oh no.
    “Mac?”
    The bathroom door was slightly ajar, the lights out.
    Okay.
    He wasn’t in the room. But he was still in her house. A
house with several rooms she would have locked down had she been thinking about
something else besides getting laid.
    Stupid!
    Scuttling off the bed, Lucie picked up the shirt and pulled
it on in haste. The cool and several-sizes-too-big garment fell in voluptuous
folds over her, smelling headily like her lover as she padded to the door and
stepped out into the corridor.
    “MacCale?” The hall echoed with her voice amplifying it.
    “In here, honey,” he hollered.
    Swallowing down the sour taste of dread, Lucie started down
the hallway. MacCale might have been heading for the stairs, but he hadn’t made
it that far.
    Lucie stopped by the open door and drew a deep, calming
breath before entering her private study. The most private and personal of them
all. She never let anyone inside the most sacred of her sanctuaries, but
MacCale had already proven himself to be an unstoppable force.
    “You shouldn’t be here.”
    “Tell me about it,” MacCale muttered.
    He didn’t turn to look at her. He stood enthralled before a
wall featuring dozens of portraits and photographs. Decades, fashions and
continents gone by, her life captured by artists and photographers.
    “I thought I’d seen you somewhere,” he said. “I went through
some of Boyd’s photos and I found a picture of a woman with your face with Boyd
and that flying ace, Frank Hunter at some air show. I thought it might be your
grandmother, that you looked exactly like her. It was you, wasn’t it? These
aren’t your aunts and great-aunts. These are not your sisters, your mother, or
your grandmothers. These are all you. Each and every one of them, back to what?
The Revolution?”
    MacCale turned to her, his expression dauntless and
demanding.
    Lucie drew another calming breath, then several more that
did nothing to quell the rabid gallop of her heart as she stared at the epitome
of male perfection quietly staring back at her.
    She couldn’t think of anything that would steal away his
attention from what he had uncovered.
    Here goes, with everything. He would peg her as stark
raving mad and take his leave.
    “I was born the year Savannah became the colonial capital,
in 1751. Twenty-six years later I was born again, so to speak, and I never
celebrated another birthday.”
    “Wow.” MacCale flashed her a smile that only managed to
emphasize the understatement of the century.
    Wow? Wow? She gave him the truth along with a free
pass to a funny farm should he ever try to recount her story and the man goes Wow ?
    “So it is true,” he said. “Some women stay twenty-something
for life.”
    He had to be kidding. No, he was kidding, Lucie decided. He
could dish it out, but could he take it?
    “You had sex with an antiquity, buster. Imagine that.”
    MacCale propped his hands on his hips. It was a distinctly
male stand, his bare shoulders and chest widening in challenge. “I say bring it
on. You were absolutely phenomenal for a two-hundred-and-sixty-year-old. Not
that I have a comparison.”
    “You’re not…disgusted?” Lucie blurted.
    “No.” He sounded insulted. It couldn’t be. How could it be?
    “Horrified?”
    His smile was back with a vengeance, sexy and seductive. “I
don’t scare easily. Besides, I’ve had to imagine far more fantastic things over
the years.”
    Really? He met immortals on a daily basis?
    “You must have a thousand questions.”
    “I have all the answers I need for now right here on this
wall. The rest will keep,” he said, then motioned back to the portraits and
photographs. “May I?”
    “It seems you already