Read Online Ripe for Pleasure by Isobel Carr - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Isobel Carr
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been replaced by a raw, angry-looking
cut.
Leo cupped her face, caressing the high arch of her cheekbone, savoring the warm velvet of her skin, like the skin of a peach
fresh from the tree. “I think that would be breaking our bargain.”
Her face crumpled, the shadow under her eyes becoming hollows that reminded him far too much of the mark on her wrist. “Please?
Isn’t
please
begging enough?”
Leo shut his eyes as her plea dragged a smile out of him. “Yes, my dear, but of entirely the wrong order. What you want tonight
is sleep. But if you want me to stay, I can dispose myself on the chaise with perfect comfort.”
Viola eyed the chaise in question, then flicked her gaze up and down his length. “Doubtful as I find that, my lord, it won’t
do.” She shivered, pressed closer, and laid her head upon his chest, hands still clutching at his coat. “I don’t think I can
stand to go to bed alone tonight. To
be
alone tonight.”
Leo clenched his jaw, fighting the impulse to simply acquiesce. It would be so damn easy. “I can’t pretend that fright is
a suitable substitute for desire.” He swept her up into his arms and marched into her bedchamber. “What you want is comfort.
What you need is sleep. The first I’m more than willing to provide. The second—I think—will come to us both readily enough.”
He deposited her beside the bed, shaking his head at her rueful expression, wanting to laugh or to cry. The cold spot that
had taken up residence just behind his breastbone burned, seeming to expand with every falsehood and deception. With swift
efficiency, he stripped her of her dressing gown and bundled her, naked and fuming, into bed.
He’d thought this would be easy.
The alluring flash of skin—pale as the moonlight that limned it with a faint celestial glow—was almost more than he could
bear. The heavy sway of breasts, the flare ofhips below a trim waist, the rounded perfection of thighs, all of it beauty personified.
Had he really just sworn to sleep chastely beside her?
Leo undressed quickly, dropping his clothing unceremoniously onto the floor. Most of it was ruined anyway, fit only for the
rag-and-bone man. Wearing his drawers as a masculine chastity belt, he climbed into bed beside her.
As he slid beneath the covers, Viola fit herself to his side: head on his chest, breasts pressed close, thighs embracing one
of his own. Leo wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head, letting the faint, lingering scent of lavender
hair powder invade his senses and lull him into a merely lustful stupor.
Viola made a sleepy, unintelligible sound and burrowed into him like a kitten, her breathing changing almost instantaneously
into the soft, steady rhythm of sleep. Leo stared up into the dark recesses of the canopy and cursed himself for a fool.
Viola woke to screams.
She sat bolt upright, hands flying to her mouth, terrified the sound was coming from her own throat. Her head swam, pounding
painfully as her heartbeat surged.
The sound went on: men and horses and the terrible roar of fire behind it all. An unholy red light flooded through the window.
Lord Leonidas was gone, the indentation he’d left in the mattress, stone cold. His coat and stockings lay abandoned, a milky
pool against the dark wood of the floor.
Viola staggered from bed, shrugging into her dressing gown as she rushed to the window. The mews were afire.Half-dressed men struggled with fear-maddened horses. Smoke poured up to meet heavy clouds, the promise of rain a cruel taunt
in the face of such disaster.
Her gate burst open. A tall figure, hair flowing around his shoulders and mirroring the flames behind him, led a plunging
horse into her garden. He yanked the halter from its head, and the animal caroled away from him, a fierce display of muscle
and bone that sent Viola’s heart straight into her throat. Two more horses joined it before the gate snapped shut, and Vaughn
cut.
Leo cupped her face, caressing the high arch of her cheekbone, savoring the warm velvet of her skin, like the skin of a peach
fresh from the tree. “I think that would be breaking our bargain.”
Her face crumpled, the shadow under her eyes becoming hollows that reminded him far too much of the mark on her wrist. “Please?
Isn’t
please
begging enough?”
Leo shut his eyes as her plea dragged a smile out of him. “Yes, my dear, but of entirely the wrong order. What you want tonight
is sleep. But if you want me to stay, I can dispose myself on the chaise with perfect comfort.”
Viola eyed the chaise in question, then flicked her gaze up and down his length. “Doubtful as I find that, my lord, it won’t
do.” She shivered, pressed closer, and laid her head upon his chest, hands still clutching at his coat. “I don’t think I can
stand to go to bed alone tonight. To
be
alone tonight.”
Leo clenched his jaw, fighting the impulse to simply acquiesce. It would be so damn easy. “I can’t pretend that fright is
a suitable substitute for desire.” He swept her up into his arms and marched into her bedchamber. “What you want is comfort.
What you need is sleep. The first I’m more than willing to provide. The second—I think—will come to us both readily enough.”
He deposited her beside the bed, shaking his head at her rueful expression, wanting to laugh or to cry. The cold spot that
had taken up residence just behind his breastbone burned, seeming to expand with every falsehood and deception. With swift
efficiency, he stripped her of her dressing gown and bundled her, naked and fuming, into bed.
He’d thought this would be easy.
The alluring flash of skin—pale as the moonlight that limned it with a faint celestial glow—was almost more than he could
bear. The heavy sway of breasts, the flare ofhips below a trim waist, the rounded perfection of thighs, all of it beauty personified.
Had he really just sworn to sleep chastely beside her?
Leo undressed quickly, dropping his clothing unceremoniously onto the floor. Most of it was ruined anyway, fit only for the
rag-and-bone man. Wearing his drawers as a masculine chastity belt, he climbed into bed beside her.
As he slid beneath the covers, Viola fit herself to his side: head on his chest, breasts pressed close, thighs embracing one
of his own. Leo wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head, letting the faint, lingering scent of lavender
hair powder invade his senses and lull him into a merely lustful stupor.
Viola made a sleepy, unintelligible sound and burrowed into him like a kitten, her breathing changing almost instantaneously
into the soft, steady rhythm of sleep. Leo stared up into the dark recesses of the canopy and cursed himself for a fool.
Viola woke to screams.
She sat bolt upright, hands flying to her mouth, terrified the sound was coming from her own throat. Her head swam, pounding
painfully as her heartbeat surged.
The sound went on: men and horses and the terrible roar of fire behind it all. An unholy red light flooded through the window.
Lord Leonidas was gone, the indentation he’d left in the mattress, stone cold. His coat and stockings lay abandoned, a milky
pool against the dark wood of the floor.
Viola staggered from bed, shrugging into her dressing gown as she rushed to the window. The mews were afire.Half-dressed men struggled with fear-maddened horses. Smoke poured up to meet heavy clouds, the promise of rain a cruel taunt
in the face of such disaster.
Her gate burst open. A tall figure, hair flowing around his shoulders and mirroring the flames behind him, led a plunging
horse into her garden. He yanked the halter from its head, and the animal caroled away from him, a fierce display of muscle
and bone that sent Viola’s heart straight into her throat. Two more horses joined it before the gate snapped shut, and Vaughn
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