Teresa Medeiros Read Online Free

douse the passions she’d ignited with a slug of brandy.
    He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, nursing the childish urge to punish her for his weakness. But the vulnerability of her posture gutted his anger, tinging it with contempt for what he was about to become.
    He put the brandy glass aside, steeling himself to be as dispassionate and remorseless as his task required. There was no room for passion or pity in the black heart of Captain Doom. Especially if he was dealing with Lucien Snow’s whore.
    He moved to stand directly in front of her, hands locked at the small of his back and feet splayed, his silence a blatant challenge. He watched, secretly amused, as a flush of pink crept into the hollows beneathher elegant cheekbones. He would have almost sworn it was caused not by fear, but anger.
    Lucy had known she was in trouble the moment this man entered the cabin. She had recognized in the space of a skipping heartbeat that he was not the same man who had abducted her, the man whose hands had been almost gentle as he apologized for frightening her, his voice melodious and soothing.
    There was nothing soothing about this man. The very air around him crackled with threat. Lucy feared she was in the presence of Captain Doom himself, no phantom but flesh and blood—solid, disturbing, and only inches from her face.
    Being deprived of vision had heightened her other senses. Her ears were tuned to the harsh whisper of air from his lungs. Her nostrils flared at the scent of him—an alluring brew of salt spray, brandy, and the pure spice of male musk. He smelled like the predator he was and she knew instinctively that if she allowed him to scent her fear, she was done for.
    She was thankful her initial panic had been swallowed by outrage at being trussed up like a Christmas goose. When he had first entered the cabin, she had refrained from speaking for fear she would gibber in terror. Now she was simply too obstinate to be the first to break the taut silence.
    Back straight, Lucinda
, the Admiral snapped from memory.
Feet together like a little lady
.
    But Lucy could not bring her feet together. They were bound to opposite chair legs, making her feel exposed, vulnerable, and in the wake of the Admiral’s imaginary rebuke, deeply ashamed.
    The stranger’s gaze seared her cheeks, but she refused to avert her face from his scrutiny. Her jaw was beginning to ache from being clamped so hard. She could almost envision him standing arrogantly beforeher, his legs braced against the faint swell and dip of the cabin floor.
    “Your name.”
    Lucy flinched as if he had struck her. His husky words were a demand, not a request. Had he claimed her soul with such merciless authority, she would have been equally as powerless to resist him.
    “Lucinda Snow,” she replied, her only defense the shards of ice dripping from her voice. “My friends call me Lucy, but I think under the circumstances, you’d do well to address me as Miss Snow.”
    Her captor was silent for several heartbeats, but his excitement was palpable. Gone was the barely repressed violence, replaced by a ferocious satisfaction she sensed might be even more dangerous to her.
    “Miss
Snow?” he finally said. “May I assume there’s no Mr. Snow fretting over your untimely disappearance?”
    His voice was both rough and smooth, like well-aged whiskey steeped in smoke. She suspected its raspy timbre was designed for disguise, but it still sent a shiver of raw reaction down her spine. She prayed he did not see it.
    “Admiral Sir
Snow is my father and I can assure you that when he finds out I’ve been abducted by brigands, he’ll be a man given to action, not fretting.”
    “Ah, a worthy opponent.” The contempt in his words chilled her.
    His boot heels clicked in muted rhythm as he began to pace in a maddening circle around her chair. Not knowing exactly where he stood was even more disconcerting than having him glare at her. She couldn’t shake the sensation