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Chapter 12 Ghis-la-ine felt warm, and sa-fe, and che-ris-hed. She knew she was back at Sans Do-ute, still a child, her baby brot-her as-le-ep in the nur-sery, her pa-rents in the-ir sum-p-tu-o-us apar-t-ments. She co-uld be no mo-re than fif-te-en-at fif-te-en her li-fe had ta-ken a dark, pa-in-ful turn, and she'd ne-ver felt that sa-fe and lo-ved aga-in. Per-haps it had all be-en a dre-am. An en-d-less, hi-de-o-us nig-h-t-ma-re, full of de-ath and des-pa-ir, but a dre-am no-net-he-less. If she ope-ned her eyes she'd see the pa-le ma-uve walls, li-ned in silk. She'd see the bright blue sky and he-ar the birds sin-ging. The sky was al-ways blue at Sans Do-ute. The birds al-ways sang. Ex-cept for the day they to-ok her pa-rents away, and she and Char-les-Lo-u-is fol-lo-wed Page 78 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html in the-ir wa-ke. It must still be dark out-si-de-the-re was no te-asing light be-yond her clo-sed eye-lids. The silk co-ver-lets we-re he-avi-er than usu-al, the pil-low be-ne-ath her he-ad mo-re so-lid, mo-re li-ke bo-ne and mus-c-le than fe-at-hers. But they had to be fe-at-hers be-ne-ath her he-ad. If they we-ren't, then she wo-uldn't be at Sans Do-ute, and her nig-h-t-ma-re wo-uld be re-al. The-re wo-uld be no com-fort or sa-fety, only dan-ger. His arms we-re aro-und her wa-ist, pul-ling her clo-se aga-inst him. One leg lay bet-we-en hers, a pos-ses-si-ve in-t-ru-der, and his hand was tan-g-led in her ha-ir. She co-uld pic-tu-re it, the long, whi-te fin-gers en-t-wi-ned in her ches-t-nut curls, co-uld re-mem-ber the sa-me ima-ge from the ram-s-hac-k-le inn. Wo-uld she find a pi-le of co-ins be-si-de the bed? But she hadn't ear-ned tho-se co-ins. Wo-uldn't earn tho-se co-ins. He co-uldn't buy her. He co-uld kid-nap her, ke-ep her hos-ta-ge, ta-ke her by for-ce if he had a mind to. Even kill her. But he co-uldn't buy her ac-qu-i-es-cen-ce. A man's sho-ul-der sho-uldn't be com-for-tab-le. Es-pe-ci-al-ly a man as le-an and mus-cu-lar as Nic-ho-las Blac-k-t-hor-ne. But it was. His chin res-ted on her fo-re-he-ad, and she told her-self she didn't da-re mo-ve. If she did, he might awa-ke and fi-nish what he'd star-ted the night be-fo-re. It was a risk she didn't want to ta-ke. Her only al-ter-na-ti-ve was to re-ma-in ut-terly still, trap-ped in his arms, pi-ni-oned aga-inst his strong, hot body. She wo-uld simply ha-ve to en-du-re. He'd un-ti-ed her arms and legs so-me-ti-me du-ring the night, and she hadn't even be-en awa-re of it. Her own arms we-re aro-und him, clin-ging to him li-ke a we-ak, hel-p-less fe-ma-le. Li-ke so-me-one who wan-ted to be in his arms. Ab-surd. His chest was smo-oth and warm, his cam-b-ric shirt ha-ving co-me un-fas-te-ned du-ring the night. Sin-ce she had not-hing el-se to con-cen-t-ra-te on, she de-ci-ded to sta-re at his chest, lo-oking for signs of sag-ging mus-c-les, the flab of a was-ted li-fe. Cur-se him, the-re was no sign at all. His skin was smo-oth, ta-ut, a whi-te gold in the murky dawn, his nip-ples flat and hard amid the fa-int -tra-cing of dark ha-ir. She sur-ve-yed him, tel-ling her-self that it was dis-gust bur-ning a ho-le in her sto-mach, dis-gust and the strong cof-fee of the night be-fo-re. But she co-uldn't help won-de-ring how he wo-uld tas-te. She knew sud-denly that he was awa-ke. That he'd be-en awa-ke for so-me ti-me now, and her cir-cum-s-pect be-ha-vi-or had be-en a was-te of ti-me. "Let me up," she sa-id in a small, angry vo-ice. His hold on her didn't tig-h-ten, but she didn't ma-ke the mis-ta-ke of thin-king she had any chan-ce of es-ca-pe. Not un-til he was re-ady to re-le-ase her. And he wasn't the slig-h-test bit re-ady. His hand slid over her jaw, smo-othly, de-li-ca-tely, a ca-ress that ma-de her shi-ver in re-ac-ti-on as he tip-ped her fa-ce up. "You sur-vi-ved the night, Ghis-la-ine," he mur-mu-red, "yo-ur chas-tity in-tact. Don't you think I de-ser-ve a re-ward for my for-be-aran-ce?" Be-fo-re she co-uld tell him what he de-ser-ved, his mo-uth drop-ped down on hers, lightly, kis-sing her with bri-ef tho-ro-ug-h-ness be-fo-re she co-uld pull her wits to-get-her to pro-test. Just when she was abo-ut to ra-ise her hands and sho-ve him, he rol-led away from her, sit-ting up on the sag-ging bed and run-ning a hand thro-ugh his long, rum-p-led dark ha-ir. A mo-ment la-ter he glan-ced back at her, and the-re was a qu-iz-zi-cal [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |