Penelope & Prince Charming Read Online Free Page B

She, the ninny, sat there and let him.
    He brushed his gloved fingers over her hair. “It is like gold in the sunlight.”
    His touch was warm and gentle and started a shaking deep within her.
    “I have read stories,” he said, “in which a magician makes time stand still.”
    So had Penelope. She’d transcribed one such story in her book of fairy tales.
    “Have you ever wished you could do so?” he asked.
    She swallowed. “Yes.”
    He smiled, as though surprised she agreed. “I wish I could stop time now. I would stay here in this place forever, in the moment I fell in love with you.”
    “Too much sun,” she murmured.
    He looked perplexed. “What do you say?”
    “Too much sun. It is a warm day. Your brains are addled.”
    He stared at her a minute, then burst out laughing. The horse, startled by the noise, danced sideways.
    He calmed it with a touch. He swung from the saddle, then lifted Penelope down with him.
    She grabbed her bonnet and jammed it back on her head. He removed it again, smiling as he did so. She reached for it, but he pulled it away, then tucked it into a bag strapped to the saddle.
    She stared, baffled. “Now my brains will be addled.”
    “Will you kiss me, Penelope?”
    His hands went to her waist. He stood over her, tall and strong, his hands warm through her cotton frock.
    This could not be real. She’d landed in the pages of one of her own fairy tales. But no, such things did not happen in Little Marching. He’d kiss her, and she’d be labeled as fast, and people would say, “Poor, foolish Penelope, she let flattery go to her head. You see, my dears, why you should never trust a man?”
    He lowered his eyes, black lashes hiding them. “I beg you.”
    She placed her hands on his arms. She meant to push him away, but she could only rest them there, feeling his strength. “I do not think—”
    He touched his forehead to hers. “Please,” he whispered. “Please kiss me, Penelope.”
    Without waiting for answer, he touched his lips to the side of her mouth, just barely, then drew back.
    Warmth gathered at the base of her spine. She closed her hands over his arms, holding the rock-solid strength of them.
    He touched kisses to her cheek, his lips smooth like warm satin, then moved to the curve of her neck, nuzzling the pulse points there. She let her head drop back, and he gently licked the hollow of her throat.
    She closed her eyes. The join of her thighs felt hot and wet and strange. “Damien?” she whispered.
    “I would like to see you bare.” He slid his hands from her waist to cup just under her bosom. “I would like to see you in the sunshine, with your hair down, and your gown open.”
    Fire raced through every nerve. She was mad, she must be. And for this moment, strangely, she did not care.
    “My brains are addled,” she breathed.
    “Will you do this for me, Penelope?”
    His voice was dark, his body so warm against hers. His arousal touched her softly through his tight breeches; he made no pretense of hiding his desire.
    No, this was nothing like Magnus. Damien smelled good; he was clean and strong.
    “What do you want me to do?” she asked.
    “Let me see you. Let me have that one little thing. Please.”
    His smiles had deserted him. His face was drawn, almost as though he were in pain. He asked it because he needed to.
    “I cannot,” she whispered.
    He slid his palm over her breast, driving more fire through her. “Please, Penelope.”
    Tears stung her eyes. She shook her head.
    He wiped the moisture from her eyelashes with his gloved finger, the leather cool and soft. “Do not cry.”
    Her decision should be so easy. She should either be frightened of him, or she should strike him and declare him not a gentleman and walk back to the road in a huff. But for some reason, it felt right to stand with him, to let him softly touch her face.
    She reached up and rested her fingers on his cheek, and he turned his head and pressed a kiss into her palm.
    Time had