Read Online Too Dangerous to Desire by Alexandra Benedict - Free Book Online
Authors: Alexandra Benedict
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black hair was moist and twisted around one shoulder. And her dress! It was cling ing to her wet form, highlighting those tempting curves even more.
Adam looked away from her. “Don’t worry about it.” He crouched beside the hearth and inspected the bread pan. “The cornbread looks ready.”
Evelyn placed the shattered pottery aside. “The potatoes smell ready, too.”
As she worked around him to prepare the meal, Adam sensed the heat from the flames—and the heat from Evelyn, as well.
He had not lived with a woman for a long time. Her presence in the house was going to take get ting used to, that was all. The feelings inside him would settle, retreat with familiarity and time.
But the memory of her sweet breasts . . .
For a man of eight-and-twenty years old he had poor self-control, he thought with disgust.
Adam was in the woman’s way, so he stepped aside and took a seat next to the table. “Shall we continue with our lessons this afternoon?”
He had pressed her too hard in the morning. But he was still determined to teach her how to fight. The instruction would offer her confidence, keep her from jumping out of windows!
“Can we postpone the lesson for another day, Adam?”
She was hunched over the hearth with a ladle, scooping the boiling potatoes from the iron pot and placing them into a serving dish.
The very delicate arch of her backside quickly snagged his interest, and once more Adam had to tamp the inappropriate pleasure he found in ad miring her.
He headed for the door. “I’ll return shortly.”
He captured her bewildered expression from the corner of his eye, but did not stop to explain his hasty departure.
He needed a good, cold dousing.
Chapter 8
nm
t was a warm afternoon. Evelyn grasped the soft blue fabric in her hands, cutting and stitching the material. She paused every so often to stare at the rhythmic swell of the water—her empty grave.
She should be at the bottom of the ocean right now, she reflected. Instead she was sitting on a grassy knoll, observing the waves and sandy beach, sewing drapes for Adam.
Adam.
Where was he? He had rushed off without a snippet of food. That had been a half hour ago. Was he all right?
But it was foolish for her to fret over him: a robust man who danced light with a sword. What danger could possibly befall him?
A figure darted through the garden, so quick Evelyn gasped and dropped her sewing. She searched the landscape once more, but the move ment was gone.
He’s found me!
Her pulse thumped loud in her ears; it washed away the steady sound of the rolling tide. She stumbled across the grassy knoll, treaded quietly along the beach.
Where was Adam?
With care she watched the cottage, the sur rounding garden for more life. But only a fresh sea breeze teased the leaves and caressed the flowers. Otherwise the terrain appeared still, peaceful.
But Evelyn knew better. He was hiding some where. Skulking behind the woodshed. Or per haps he had sneaked inside the house?
Each step shaky, she crossed the beach. She wanted to call out to Adam, but something stran gled her voice, closed her throat.
Feet tangled, Evelyn tripped. Dazed, she stared at the pair of trousers twisted around her ankles.
Adam’s trousers.
Quickly she tossed the article of clothing aside and bounced to her feet. She was sweating. Shak ing. The sight of more clothes—a shirt, leggings, boots—crushed her spirit.
He had thrashed Adam.
The apparel was tossed across the sand in a wild fashion, ripped apart in the heat of a strug gle. But where was Adam’s body?
“Adam!” she croaked.
Her voice so raw and tight, she had to struggle to breathe.
Adam was gone.
She was alone.
With him .
Evelyn started to move toward the ocean, her only means of escape. She retreated into the salty water; she was already doused with tears and sweat.
She ignored the strong current and the bark of the sea ordering her back to the beach. Only the thought of evading him filled her
Adam looked away from her. “Don’t worry about it.” He crouched beside the hearth and inspected the bread pan. “The cornbread looks ready.”
Evelyn placed the shattered pottery aside. “The potatoes smell ready, too.”
As she worked around him to prepare the meal, Adam sensed the heat from the flames—and the heat from Evelyn, as well.
He had not lived with a woman for a long time. Her presence in the house was going to take get ting used to, that was all. The feelings inside him would settle, retreat with familiarity and time.
But the memory of her sweet breasts . . .
For a man of eight-and-twenty years old he had poor self-control, he thought with disgust.
Adam was in the woman’s way, so he stepped aside and took a seat next to the table. “Shall we continue with our lessons this afternoon?”
He had pressed her too hard in the morning. But he was still determined to teach her how to fight. The instruction would offer her confidence, keep her from jumping out of windows!
“Can we postpone the lesson for another day, Adam?”
She was hunched over the hearth with a ladle, scooping the boiling potatoes from the iron pot and placing them into a serving dish.
The very delicate arch of her backside quickly snagged his interest, and once more Adam had to tamp the inappropriate pleasure he found in ad miring her.
He headed for the door. “I’ll return shortly.”
He captured her bewildered expression from the corner of his eye, but did not stop to explain his hasty departure.
He needed a good, cold dousing.
Chapter 8
nm
t was a warm afternoon. Evelyn grasped the soft blue fabric in her hands, cutting and stitching the material. She paused every so often to stare at the rhythmic swell of the water—her empty grave.
She should be at the bottom of the ocean right now, she reflected. Instead she was sitting on a grassy knoll, observing the waves and sandy beach, sewing drapes for Adam.
Adam.
Where was he? He had rushed off without a snippet of food. That had been a half hour ago. Was he all right?
But it was foolish for her to fret over him: a robust man who danced light with a sword. What danger could possibly befall him?
A figure darted through the garden, so quick Evelyn gasped and dropped her sewing. She searched the landscape once more, but the move ment was gone.
He’s found me!
Her pulse thumped loud in her ears; it washed away the steady sound of the rolling tide. She stumbled across the grassy knoll, treaded quietly along the beach.
Where was Adam?
With care she watched the cottage, the sur rounding garden for more life. But only a fresh sea breeze teased the leaves and caressed the flowers. Otherwise the terrain appeared still, peaceful.
But Evelyn knew better. He was hiding some where. Skulking behind the woodshed. Or per haps he had sneaked inside the house?
Each step shaky, she crossed the beach. She wanted to call out to Adam, but something stran gled her voice, closed her throat.
Feet tangled, Evelyn tripped. Dazed, she stared at the pair of trousers twisted around her ankles.
Adam’s trousers.
Quickly she tossed the article of clothing aside and bounced to her feet. She was sweating. Shak ing. The sight of more clothes—a shirt, leggings, boots—crushed her spirit.
He had thrashed Adam.
The apparel was tossed across the sand in a wild fashion, ripped apart in the heat of a strug gle. But where was Adam’s body?
“Adam!” she croaked.
Her voice so raw and tight, she had to struggle to breathe.
Adam was gone.
She was alone.
With him .
Evelyn started to move toward the ocean, her only means of escape. She retreated into the salty water; she was already doused with tears and sweat.
She ignored the strong current and the bark of the sea ordering her back to the beach. Only the thought of evading him filled her
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