Linda Skye Read Online Free

tightly clasped in front of her, and she trembled ever so faintly—but whether from the cold or from fear, he did not know. Eustache frowned. He had not wanted to frighten her.
    He paced slowly across the room, pretending not to notice when she flinched at his approach. He walked past her without pausing, turning when he reached the four-poster bed. With one hand, he unbuckled the leather belt at his waist and tossed it to the floor. Then, he sat on the edge of the mattress, one hand resting on his knee.
    “Girl,” he said, “help me with my tunic.”
    Giselle exhaled slowly, trying to force out the nervous tension in her limbs. Obey , she told herself. She needed to keep him interested. Swallowing nervously, she stepped away from the comfort of the snapping fire. Her head felt light as she neared the man, but she was unable to look away from his face. In the dim light, the severe cut of his jaw was even more pronounced, and reflections of the orange and red flames danced in his eyes.
    And yet…
    He was even more handsome with his skin warmed by firelight. His expression was guarded, but she caught traces of flitting emotions. Determination. Impatience. Longing? Giselle already knew that he desired her body; that she was in his bedchambers was proof. But could she dare to hope that there was more behind his guarded eyes than just brutish lust? Could she ever be more than a passing fancy? Just before she reached him, she allowed herself to wonder if he would be gentle.
    Eustache watched her from hooded eyes. Her steps were fluid and graceful, and he admired the way the thin fabric of her gown swished over the curve of her hips. She stopped before him, so close that the hem of her frock brushed his booted feet. His eyes travelled slowly up her body, stopping to rest on her delicate face.
    “My tunic,” he reminded her, his voice low and soft.
    She leaned forward and took the lower hem of his thick tunic in both hands. She pulled the garment upward, and he lifted his arms so she could get it over his head. The rough wool caught and ruffled his hair, and she almost smiled at his tousled locks. He grunted at her amusement and pulled off his linen undershirt, exposing his bare torso.
    “Put it there,” he instructed, pointing to a chair beside the massive stone fireplace.
    Tearing her eyes away from the muscular plane of his chest, Giselle gathered his tunic in her arms and walked away as he bent to undo the laces of his boots. After kicking them away, he straightened in time to see her turn back toward him, the light of the fire shining straight through her nightdress. With a start, he realised that underneath the thin linen, she was completely naked. As she approached, he could see the shadows and valleys of her intimate curves and the dark, erect peaks of her breasts through the gauzy material. Heat pooled in his groin, and his fists clenched as he felt himself harden.
    “Come,” he said to her, holding out a large hand.
    She placed her fingers in his, and as he drew her closer, he could feel the wild fluttering of her pulse at her wrist. She was a slender, fragile thing—the type of woman he had never before touched. He was accustomed to buxom, red-faced tavern matrons or brawling, crude-tongued battlefield whores. Neither had ever been as fair or as sweet as the young woman who stood before him. She was exquisitely ethereal, like the last, lingering rays of sunlight on a summer’s eve. In that instant, Eustache decided that he wanted her for more than just one night—he wanted to catch her and hold onto her.
    “Are you frightened?” he asked gruffly.
    She shook her bowed head.
    “No, mon seigneur ,” she said quietly.
    With his other hand, he caught her chin with a rough fingertip and tilted her face up. Though she stood and he sat, their eyes were level. He regarded her contemplatively as she attempted not to squirm under scrutiny. Finally, she gave in to the truth that bubbled in her chest.
    “I am not