Crystal Warrior: Through All Eternity (Atlantean Crystal Saga Book 1) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Jen YatesNZ
whore, whom Gavin had accused of being the basis of her nature, slipping through the cracks of the walls she'd so carefully plastered around her. There was no way she would ever lay herself open to such an accusation again.
‘You're laying tiles?’
‘Yes. In the kitchen.’
‘I'd be glad to help.’
What was there in that small exchange to set her pulse leaping, to heat her blood so it throbbed in her lower regions with a fury she'd rarely experienced?
Then he added with a sideways grin for Fran, ‘We'll lock the writers out. They'll only want to write in the grout.’
‘Huh!’ Fran cried, slapping her hand on the water and splashing him. ‘Writers are also very good at making coffee and snacks, which tile layers need like anyone else!’
‘Writers only make food and coffee when they've got writer's block, not when someone actually needs it,’ Torr retaliated, gripping Fran's wrists and grinning wickedly.
Immediately Fran was on her feet trying to twist Torr under the water while he, with what Georgina considered was a typical male tactic, tried to overbalance her with his foot.
Georgina felt suddenly starved for air. Her body was so aware Torr Montgomery shared the same pool her skin was prickling and parts of her simply ached. More than that, her hands were clenched into fists beneath the water to keep from clawing her sister away from him. In the interests of self-preservation it would be sensible if she used the need to check on dinner as an excuse to leave them together in the pool.
Not that there was anything to do. She'd carefully chosen a menu that would leave her free to entertain her guests. It seemed like a lifetime ago, that time of innocent happiness before meeting her sister's fiancé.
‘I'd better go check on dinner,’ she said loudly and stepped out of the pool.
‘George, you rat! I need help here!’ Fran was trying vigorously to pull Torr under the water by his legs.
Georgina looked back and wished she hadn't. The muscles of his deeply tanned shoulders and arms rippled and flexed as he gripped the edge of the spa. Teeth a grinning slash of white against the dark tan of his face, his hair clung to his forehead in wet, curling tendrils of black silk. Suddenly her focus shifted and she could have sworn there were long wet ropes of ebony round his shoulders and something, tattoos maybe, around his upper arms and above his right breast.
She blinked to clear her vision, and again wished she hadn't. With arms spread and fingers gripping the edge of the pool, his chest was a wide wall of water-slicked, sculpted muscle and his biceps bunched invitingly. Inviting—what?
Snatching up a towel, she turned and hurried inside, calling over her shoulder, ‘I'm sure you can handle it.’
Always you run from me. When will you face the truth of who we are and to whom you belong?
Her feet faltered as the words jabbed into her mind in a voice that was Torr's yet was more—dark-timbred, husky. Imperious.
And the words themselves? Fear gripped the pit of her stomach. Mental hospitals were full of people who claimed to hear voices in their heads.
Chapter 2
Beer in hand, Torr leaned against the river-stone fireplace dominating the lounge of Georgina Hackville's home watching Fran regale her family with anecdotes of her travels and their stopover in Honolulu on their flight south. Every now and then she'd flash him a smile, seeking corroboration or a detail she couldn't remember. It was the perfect time to study the Hackville women. Near six feet tall, all three sisters were strikingly similar, differing mainly in coloring.
Silver blond with ivory porcelain skin and calm blue eyes, Merryn put one in mind of angels. Fran, model-slim with gold skin and hair and luminous sea-green eyes, shimmered with vibrancy. To his consternation, in contrast to the enigmatic, muted personality of her twin, she appeared too bright, too—damn! His head had gone all to hell. On that trip to Peru he and
‘You're laying tiles?’
‘Yes. In the kitchen.’
‘I'd be glad to help.’
What was there in that small exchange to set her pulse leaping, to heat her blood so it throbbed in her lower regions with a fury she'd rarely experienced?
Then he added with a sideways grin for Fran, ‘We'll lock the writers out. They'll only want to write in the grout.’
‘Huh!’ Fran cried, slapping her hand on the water and splashing him. ‘Writers are also very good at making coffee and snacks, which tile layers need like anyone else!’
‘Writers only make food and coffee when they've got writer's block, not when someone actually needs it,’ Torr retaliated, gripping Fran's wrists and grinning wickedly.
Immediately Fran was on her feet trying to twist Torr under the water while he, with what Georgina considered was a typical male tactic, tried to overbalance her with his foot.
Georgina felt suddenly starved for air. Her body was so aware Torr Montgomery shared the same pool her skin was prickling and parts of her simply ached. More than that, her hands were clenched into fists beneath the water to keep from clawing her sister away from him. In the interests of self-preservation it would be sensible if she used the need to check on dinner as an excuse to leave them together in the pool.
Not that there was anything to do. She'd carefully chosen a menu that would leave her free to entertain her guests. It seemed like a lifetime ago, that time of innocent happiness before meeting her sister's fiancé.
‘I'd better go check on dinner,’ she said loudly and stepped out of the pool.
‘George, you rat! I need help here!’ Fran was trying vigorously to pull Torr under the water by his legs.
Georgina looked back and wished she hadn't. The muscles of his deeply tanned shoulders and arms rippled and flexed as he gripped the edge of the spa. Teeth a grinning slash of white against the dark tan of his face, his hair clung to his forehead in wet, curling tendrils of black silk. Suddenly her focus shifted and she could have sworn there were long wet ropes of ebony round his shoulders and something, tattoos maybe, around his upper arms and above his right breast.
She blinked to clear her vision, and again wished she hadn't. With arms spread and fingers gripping the edge of the pool, his chest was a wide wall of water-slicked, sculpted muscle and his biceps bunched invitingly. Inviting—what?
Snatching up a towel, she turned and hurried inside, calling over her shoulder, ‘I'm sure you can handle it.’
Always you run from me. When will you face the truth of who we are and to whom you belong?
Her feet faltered as the words jabbed into her mind in a voice that was Torr's yet was more—dark-timbred, husky. Imperious.
And the words themselves? Fear gripped the pit of her stomach. Mental hospitals were full of people who claimed to hear voices in their heads.
Chapter 2
Beer in hand, Torr leaned against the river-stone fireplace dominating the lounge of Georgina Hackville's home watching Fran regale her family with anecdotes of her travels and their stopover in Honolulu on their flight south. Every now and then she'd flash him a smile, seeking corroboration or a detail she couldn't remember. It was the perfect time to study the Hackville women. Near six feet tall, all three sisters were strikingly similar, differing mainly in coloring.
Silver blond with ivory porcelain skin and calm blue eyes, Merryn put one in mind of angels. Fran, model-slim with gold skin and hair and luminous sea-green eyes, shimmered with vibrancy. To his consternation, in contrast to the enigmatic, muted personality of her twin, she appeared too bright, too—damn! His head had gone all to hell. On that trip to Peru he and
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