A Sweet Surrender Read Online Free Page B

had done things, had led men to do things, that no man should be forced to do. Those atrocities would haunt him for the rest of his days.
    She slowly shook her head. “I think still some goodness in man.”
    James couldn’t agree. He’d seen men decapitated, gutted, burned, and torn apart—physically and emotionally. He’d watched as his young brother gasped his last breaths, blood pouring from his chest. Death and destruction. All by the hands of men. All in the name of so called liberty.
    But he didn’t argue with her. As stupid and dangerous as it was, he found her naive innocence refreshing, even a bit charming.
    “Is there a creek you can take me to?”
    She thought about it, and then nodded. “But you can relieve yourself behind shrub.”
    His lips quirked. “I’m quite familiar with the shrub.” It was an area he’d visited often enough. “I’d like to freshen up and shave,” he explained, rubbing his hand over his jaw. He grabbed a small piece of cloth, the flint knife, and the small container of cream she kept with the healing salve, and then walked up to her. “Lead the way.”
    They arrived at a narrow, shallow creek down an embankment not too far from the makeshift shelter. He sat down on a rock near the edge of the calm water and for a moment, took in the peace and beauty that surrounded him. After days inside his crude enclosure, he missed the open simplicity of nature.
    Siara picked up the cloth he had placed on the ground and dampened it. She came back to where he sat and stood between his legs, her soft breasts inches from brushing against his bare chest. He closed his eyes briefly and breathed in her scent. Earthy with a hint of sweetness, like flowers and fresh air.
    She wiped the cool, wet cloth along his jaw and neck. He stared into her lovely brown face, losing himself in the delicate beauty of her smooth, high cheeks and soft full lips. Her fingers were light as they began to smooth the cream over his overgrown whiskers. His eyes drifted down to her smooth neck where a small, faint pulse throbbed rhythmically. Thoughts of his tongue running along her skin, to the base of her throat made him ache to touch her, to pull her beneath him again until he covered all of her, tasted every inch of her.
    When the blunt, sharp end of the blade came into his line of vision, he seized her arm.
    “What are you doing,” he asked quietly.
    “Shave?” she replied, lightly running her free hand through the hairs on his jaw.
    Her gentle touch sent a charge so sweet through him that he lost his train of thought for a moment.
    Tender touch or not, he couldn’t let her near his throat with a blade.
    “I don’t think so, love,” he said, carefully extracting the knife from her hands.
    She frowned, recognizing the distrust in his action. “I not hurt you,” she replied sharply. “I help you.”
    She held out her hand, waiting for him to return the knife. He continued to stare into her striking, dusky brown eyes. The color of smooth treacle. Behind those eyes were no devious calculations or masked hatred. Only patient exasperation.
    When he didn’t move, she sighed and placed her hand once again on his cheek. Her soft touch and gentle eyes lured him, tugged at a place in him he had long thought dead.
    “Believe in me,” she whispered.
    He believed in no one.
    But with her, he made an exception. She was sweetness and goodness—and had literally saved his life.
    When she reached for the knife, he didn’t stop her. He held still as she carefully scraped the blade along his jaw and neck. She trained her eyes on his face, tucking her lower lip between her teeth in concentration. In that moment, he forgot about everything—about the dangers that lurked, his duties to the Crown, and even his men. He simply focused on her. On the alluring lines of her lips, the way her soft hand curved around the side of his neck to hold him still, the way her delicate fingers curved under his chin to shift his head to