Read Online The Hellion (The Lady Knights of Barony Book One ) by Elise Marion - Free Book Online
Authors: Elise Marion
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felt his own body reacting at the image he’d created of her in his mind.
Damn it! He inwardly roared his frustration. What was it about the little harridan that caused such a strong reaction in him? She was combative and stubborn and altogether the most frustrating person he’d ever met. By God, the little wench intrigued him.
No lady he knew would ever mention a man’s physical arousal, certainly not out loud and definitely not to his face. No lady he ever knew would stand up to him so boldly.
Perhaps that’s what it was. Wherever he went, most women threw themselves at him. There were even a few well-bred women that liked the idea of bedding him. He had all the dangerous appeal of a sword for hire, but because his father was a noble, they considered him safe. They always quivered in equal parts anticipation and fear when he was around.
But this woman neither wanted nor feared him, a fact that puzzled him tremendously.
A means to an end, he reminded himself sharply as he heard his prisoner leaving the water. He heard the telltale splashing of her dress—if one wanted to call that thing a dress—being washed a few minutes later. Was she still naked, he wondered? He found himself calling on every ounce of his will to keep from turning around to see. Nothing would please him more than to catch a glimpse of her bent over at the waist, her long, shapely legs parted to reveal her… Lord help him, he was losing his mind.
“Are you finished yet?” he asked a bit sharply. Julian had to maintain the distance of captor and captive between them, he reminded himself.
“In a moment,” she answered just as testily as he heard the rustle of fabric. Within a few seconds, he heard her footsteps crunching across the ground as she neared. He turned, a scathing remark on the tip of his tongue, one that never quite made it past his lips.
For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what he’d been about to say. His voice came out as a strangled sound, a moan, as Ava appeared before him, washed and scrubbed.
What the soot and grime had hidden from him was a curiously attractive face. If Julian wasn’t so dead set on hating her, he might have even admitted that she was as beautiful as Blake had said.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered as he stared at her, unable to form coherent thought or speech.
A triangular face with defined, sloping cheekbones held surprisingly delicate features. Smoldering gray eyes flashed silver in the moonlight, no longer dulled by the layer of ash that had previously covered her face. Those molten silver eyes were framed by a fan of dark, straight lashes; over them arched eyebrows the color of a raven’s wings.
His eyes lowered and locked onto her mouth and lips stained an alluring shade of pink. The tangled thatch of black hair was now a shimmering, wavy curtain that framed her face and stopped just below her chin. Typically he preferred his women with long hair, the better to wrap his large hands around, but on Ava the short locks were perfection.
His eyes followed the slope of her long neck and narrow shoulders to the figure he’d felt pressed against him earlier, now in plain view. She’d tied Simon’s brown belt at her waist, causing the borrowed white shirt to taper in and showcase her soft curves. The top button barely concealed her cleavage from view, and if his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, her pink nipples were visible through the fabric. Where in God’s name were her undergarments? He’d have to remember to find her a vest.
He didn’t want to, but couldn’t stop himself from completing the picture, raking his gaze over her long legs wrapped in Simon’s black breeches. She wore her own boots.
Ava gazed back at him silently, daring him to speak, her eyes challenging his earlier assessment of her looks. If things had been different and she wasn’t his prisoner, he would have relented and told her the truth. He would have swept her against his body and kissed her senseless
Damn it! He inwardly roared his frustration. What was it about the little harridan that caused such a strong reaction in him? She was combative and stubborn and altogether the most frustrating person he’d ever met. By God, the little wench intrigued him.
No lady he knew would ever mention a man’s physical arousal, certainly not out loud and definitely not to his face. No lady he ever knew would stand up to him so boldly.
Perhaps that’s what it was. Wherever he went, most women threw themselves at him. There were even a few well-bred women that liked the idea of bedding him. He had all the dangerous appeal of a sword for hire, but because his father was a noble, they considered him safe. They always quivered in equal parts anticipation and fear when he was around.
But this woman neither wanted nor feared him, a fact that puzzled him tremendously.
A means to an end, he reminded himself sharply as he heard his prisoner leaving the water. He heard the telltale splashing of her dress—if one wanted to call that thing a dress—being washed a few minutes later. Was she still naked, he wondered? He found himself calling on every ounce of his will to keep from turning around to see. Nothing would please him more than to catch a glimpse of her bent over at the waist, her long, shapely legs parted to reveal her… Lord help him, he was losing his mind.
“Are you finished yet?” he asked a bit sharply. Julian had to maintain the distance of captor and captive between them, he reminded himself.
“In a moment,” she answered just as testily as he heard the rustle of fabric. Within a few seconds, he heard her footsteps crunching across the ground as she neared. He turned, a scathing remark on the tip of his tongue, one that never quite made it past his lips.
For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what he’d been about to say. His voice came out as a strangled sound, a moan, as Ava appeared before him, washed and scrubbed.
What the soot and grime had hidden from him was a curiously attractive face. If Julian wasn’t so dead set on hating her, he might have even admitted that she was as beautiful as Blake had said.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered as he stared at her, unable to form coherent thought or speech.
A triangular face with defined, sloping cheekbones held surprisingly delicate features. Smoldering gray eyes flashed silver in the moonlight, no longer dulled by the layer of ash that had previously covered her face. Those molten silver eyes were framed by a fan of dark, straight lashes; over them arched eyebrows the color of a raven’s wings.
His eyes lowered and locked onto her mouth and lips stained an alluring shade of pink. The tangled thatch of black hair was now a shimmering, wavy curtain that framed her face and stopped just below her chin. Typically he preferred his women with long hair, the better to wrap his large hands around, but on Ava the short locks were perfection.
His eyes followed the slope of her long neck and narrow shoulders to the figure he’d felt pressed against him earlier, now in plain view. She’d tied Simon’s brown belt at her waist, causing the borrowed white shirt to taper in and showcase her soft curves. The top button barely concealed her cleavage from view, and if his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, her pink nipples were visible through the fabric. Where in God’s name were her undergarments? He’d have to remember to find her a vest.
He didn’t want to, but couldn’t stop himself from completing the picture, raking his gaze over her long legs wrapped in Simon’s black breeches. She wore her own boots.
Ava gazed back at him silently, daring him to speak, her eyes challenging his earlier assessment of her looks. If things had been different and she wasn’t his prisoner, he would have relented and told her the truth. He would have swept her against his body and kissed her senseless
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