Teresa Medeiros Read Online Free Page B

eyes shut beneath the blindfold, beset by a curious mix of dread and anticipation. “Among other things.”
    “Such as?”
    “A ghost,” she whispered.
    He leaned over her shoulder from behind and pressed his cheek to hers. The prickly softness of his beard chafed her tender skin. His masculine scent permeated her senses. “What say you, Lucy Snow? Am I spirit or man?”
    There was nothing spectral about his touch. Its blatant virility set Lucy’s raw nerves humming. She’d never been touched with such matter-of-fact intimacy by anyone. Smythe prided himself on maintaining the reserve of a servant and the Admiral found physical displays of fondness distasteful.
    The odd little catch in her breath ruined her prim reply. “I sense very little of the spiritual about you, sir.”
    “And much of the carnal, no doubt.”
    His hand threaded through the fragile shield of her hair to find her neck. His warm fingers gently rubbed her nape as if to soothe away all of her fears and melt her defenses, leaving her totally vulnerable to him. Lucy shuddered, shaken by his tenderness, intrigued by his boldness, intoxicated by his brandy-heated breath against her ear.
    “Tell me more of the nefarious doings of Captain Doom,” he coaxed.
    She drew in a shaky breath, fighting for any semblance of the steely poise she had always prided herself on. “They say you can skewer your enemies with a single glance.”
    “Quite flattering, but I fear I have to use more conventional means.” His probing fingertips cut a tingling swath through the sensitive skin behind her ears. “Do go on.”
    Lucy’s honesty betrayed her. “They say you’ve been known to ravish ten virgins in one night.” As soon as the words were out, she cringed, wondering what had possessed her to confess such a shocking thing.
    Instead of laughing as she expected, he framed her delicate jaw in his splayed fingers and tilted her head back.
    His voice was both tender and solemn, mocking them both. “Ah, but then one scrawny virgin such as yourself would only whet my appetite.”
    “They also swear you won’t abide babbling,” Lucy blurted out, knowing she was doing just that. “That you’ll sew up the lips of anyone who dares to defy you.”
    His breath grazed her lips. “What a waste that would be in your case. Especially when I can think of far more pleasurable ways to silence them.”
    Doom was treading dangerous waters. He’d known it from the moment he’d buried his fingers in the flaxen silk of the girl’s hair, the moment he’d inhaled the lemon-scented purity of her skin. He’d clenched the chair back to keep from touching her, but his hands had acted with a stubborn will of their own. Now he could feel the warm waters of temptation closing over his head, making it impossible to breathe anything but her scent. Her mouth maddened him, itsgenerous contours at odds with the chaste angles of her features.
    It had been so long. Too long. He had sacrificed desire on the altar of his revenge as he had all other pleasures and emotions that might distract him from its consummation. How ironic that his first flush of victory should free that desire, render it more potent and enticing than the sweet assurance of vengeance trembling beneath his fingertips.
    When the girl had confessed her identity, he’d been unable to believe his good fortune. His initial euphoria had been dampened by suspicion. It was simply too delicious to have the girl delivered so neatly into his hands. Did he run the risk of being ensnared by his own trap? he wondered. His intense scrutiny of Snow’s past had failed to reveal information about a wife or a child. Was his captive truly Lucien Snow’s daughter or only a clever decoy? Had Snow intended her as bait to flush him out of hiding or as some sort of sacrificial lamb? He knew of only one way to find out.
    His thumbs caressed the fleecy velvet of her ear-lobes. Her skin was as soft as a lamb’s, making him wonder if she would be