The Forbidden Rose Read Online Free Page B

That was a pity because she was approaching this business of hurting him with lots of enthusiasm.
    He didn’t blame her for trying. He’d do the same himself. He climbed on top and held her down. “Biting everything in sight don’t do you any noticeable good, and it’s annoying the hell out of me.”
    The ending was abrupt. She gave up, all at once, all over. She lay under him, looking up. They were wrapped together like lovers. But this wasn’t even the distant cousin of lovemaking.
    I am scaring her to death.
    Then she got a good look at the scar on his cheek and stopped breathing.
    That scar was a work of art, seven inches of grotesque, running from his eyebrow to his chin. The major geographic feature of his face. It made him look fairly depraved.
    “This face of mine’s always been a great trial. I’m lucky I don’t have to look at it.” He stayed as he was, still and heavy, on top of her.
    Her eyes were the color of coffee pouring from the pot—intensely brown, translucent. She was pale under the sunburn, and scratched and dirty. Her muscles, hard with fear, vibrated in his hands where he had her pinned down.
    “Let me go.” Her throat clenched and unclenched.
    The fichu kerchief around her neck had got itself pulled loose. Her breasts were nudging out of her bodice. And . . . he had his hand on one of them. When did that happen? God. He jerked away fast and took hold of her shoulder instead. That was neutral ground up there. “Sorry. Don’t mean anything by that. An accident.”
    Fine pair of breasts she had. White as split almonds. Round as peaches. The nipples peeked out, since the fichu wasn’t doing its job. A pair of dark little roses, pulled up into buds. Tasty looking. And if he got any closer he could put his mouth down and lick them.
    That’s going to reassure her—you slavering at her tits.
    He levered himself up some, so he wasn’t crushing her. “I wanted to know who’s spying on me. That’s all. I’m not going to hurt you. See. I’m letting you go. What you do is, you don’t hit me. You might hold off on that biting, too.”
    He watched a bit of rational thought come tiptoeing into her mind. Watched her turn his words over, considering them from all sides. She unfroze, muscle by muscle.
    He shifted back farther. “I didn’t expect to find anyone. In the village, they say it’s deserted. What are you doing here?”
    “That is not letting me go.” She looked at the scar on his face and away, quickly. “If you are going to not hurt me, you may do it at a greater distance. You are very heavy.”
    He could get to like this woman.
    He rolled to the side and got up to his knees. He didn’t need to keep hold of her. He could snag her if she tried to run.
    “That is somewhat better.” Her voice shook. “Nonetheless, I would prefer more space between us. The space of an entire stable perhaps.”
    Oh yes, he could like her very much. “Sit up and talk to me. Who are you? Why were you spying on me?”
    She pushed herself upward and began tucking her fichu in at her neckline, covering up. “I was not spying. I was avoiding you. There is a significant difference.”
    Her accent was the Paris of coffeehouses and boulevards and salons. No trace of the Normandy patois. This wasn’t a fancy lady’s maid or the bailiff’s wife. He’d netted himself the daughter of the house. De Fleurignac’s daughter.
    “You’re being cautious.” She was going to lead him to her father. All he had to do was hold on to her.
    Maybe what he was thinking showed. Her eyes skittered away from him. “I am wary of strangers lately.”
    “And I don’t look particularly benign.” He ran his thumbnail down the scar on his cheek. His masterpiece of a scar. He’d be a nightmare to a woman, alone, in a deserted stable. “Not pretty, is it?”
    Fear shifted behind her eyes. That would be one more affront to this woman’s dignity, that she couldn’t keep herself from being afraid of him.
    “It is not