Cheryl Holt by More Than Seduction Read Free Book Online Page B

defeated.
    Clutching his shaggy hair in her fist, she tipped his head back. “She cares. Don’t ever think she doesn’t.”
    They were so close. She could detect the individual whiskers of his beard, the flecks of black in his blue eyes. It seemed she could read his mind, could sense his bottled-up fear and fatigue, anger and frustration, sadness and melancholy. Sheknew things about him she had no way of knowing, understood details for which there was no accounting.
    Flustered, she moved away. “Let’s get you in.”
    “Is it deep?”
    “From knee-high to chest-high, depending on where you are. And there are rock benches carved into the edges. Under the water.”
    Glancing about, she wondered what he thought of her grotto. It was an ancient place, a trick of nature. The Romans—at least she believed it had been the Romans—had hewn the stones and blocked the spring to create the pool. At the far end, the water trickled over a dam and meandered to an adjacent stream, where it flowed away.
    Surrounded by shrubs and trees, it was secluded, quiet. Enchanted, too. As a girl, she’d been convinced that fairies whispered, their voices concealed by the rushing current, and she’d spent thousands of hours tiptoeing and searching under leaves, trying to unearth the elusive pixies, but she’d never been lucky enough to stumble upon one. Even though she was twenty-eight, she still swore that they resided in the ferns.
    Bracing herself, she gripped his wrists as he teetered to the first stair. He doused his foot, then his calves, soaking his bandages and wetting his nightgown.
    As the water climbed to his waist, she hugged him again and led him so that he was sitting on the rocky shelf. He couldn’t speak, and there were tears in his eyes.
    “What is it?” she frantically asked.
    “Hurts . . .” he managed to grind out.
    Of course, it would! At being so anxious to carry on, she’d disregarded the obvious. She spread his legs, and snuggled herself between them, flattening her torso to his.
    “Focus on me,” she coaxed, wishing she could absorb his pain. “It will pass.”
    “Jesus . . .”
    “Breath in,” she directed. “And hold it. Now, let it out.”
    He repeated the process over and over, then he embraced her, his good arm clasping her with all his strength. His face was buried at her nape, and for a lengthy period, they were melded together. She could perceive the illness in him, could feel his fever, could hear his heart beating too rapidly.
    Gradually, he relaxed, his muscles flexing, his pulse moderating. His arm slackened, and she pulled away. The encounter grew intimate, their lips an inch apart, and she felt so much like kissing him that she frightened herself.
    She wasn’t some hussy, some coquette practiced in the art of seduction. She wasn’t even sure
how
to kiss him, and the realization brought a blush to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.
    As she was a natural caregiver, her affection was produced by the fact that he was suffering and she couldn’t stand to witness it. She invariably became more attached than she should to people who were in distress.
    Positive that his musings were a far cry from hers, she couldn’t help smiling. If she pressed her mouth to his, he’d probably be so aghast that he’d have a seizure.
    Just as she’d rationalized her emotions to the point of absurdity, he dipped down and kissed
her
. It wasn’t stormy or tumultuous as she’d envisioned in her female fantasies, nor was it as passionate as it might have been had he been more robust.
    As if she was cherished and fine, his lips settled onto hers, and she held herself very still, letting the perfection of the moment surge over her. The birds sang in the forest, the brook rippled, and it was the sweetest, most thrilling thing that had ever happened to her.
    Much too soon, it ended, and she was so disappointed! She’d been kissed by Stephen Chamberlin! The most infamous rake in