Dawn Song by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online Page A

feelings.
    'She and Octavien occupy quarters on the other side of the kitchen,' Jerome
    told her softly, interpreting her expression with infuriating accuracy. 'If you
    scream loudly enough, they will hear you.'
    'Thank you,' she said shortly. 'That's—very reassuring.'
    'On the other hand,' he said, 'you may not wish to scream.' The words, and
    their implication, seemed to linger in the air, and she felt that betraying
    colour steal into her face again.
    Margot wouldn't have sat here blushing like an idiot, she berated herself.
    She'd have flung back an answer—amusing, provocative, the outcome of the
    evening already decided in her own mind.
    And not the decision Meg herself had reached...
    'Some cognac with your coffee?' His voice cut across her confused jumble of
    thought. 'It will be quite safe,' he added with a touch of derision as she
    hesitated. 'Alcohol is only used by the clumsy, or the uncaring, as a means of
    seeking a woman's compliance.'
    Meg stared down into the dark swirl of coffee. 'Is that what you look
    for—compliance?' she asked in a low voice.
    'Perhaps that is the wrong word.' He frowned slightly, the dark eyes fixed on
    hers, his voice low— almost mesmeric. 'When I make love to a woman, ma

    belle, I demand her full response—to know beyond doubt that she feels as I
    do—wants what I want. Passion must be shared, or it is worthless.'
    There was a brief silence. In spite of herself, Meg was aware of her body's
    involuntary reaction to his words, could feel her nipples tautening with
    excitement against the clinging fabric of her dress- knew, dry-mouthed, that
    he could not fail to notice that either.
    'I don't think passion on its own counts for much, anyway,' she countered
    with a touch of desperation. 'It should be part of something else- something
    deeper, and more lasting.'
    'A very moral point of view.' His mouth twisted. 'And yet one has to start
    somewhere, and usually it is with the kind of physical enchantment that we
    discovered, just now, in my room. You don't deny that, I hope?' he added
    mockingly, his gaze lingering on the betraying thrust of her breasts.
    'On the basis of just one kiss?' Meg managed to invest her tone with an
    inflexion of amused scorn worthy of Margot herself. 'Really, monsieur, you
    may be very attractive, as I'm sure you know already, but perhaps you might
    be overestimating your appeal.'
    'You think so?' he asked, silkily. 'Well, one kiss is hardly grounds for
    judgement, as you say, so let us see...'
    He rose from his chair, and came round the table to her in what seemed to be
    one lithe, totally predatory movement. Meg found herself lifted from her
    chair into his arms, and carried across the room to one of the sofas.
    'Let go of me.' Meg struggled, pushing at his chest with frantic fists.
    'Presently,' he said softly. 'When I have completed my experiment.' He sat
    down, holding her pinioned across his body, one hand twisted ruthlessly in
    her hair, making it impossible for her to move. There was no gentleness
    either, this time, in the lips which plundered hers. He seemed savagely
    determined on enforcing a response from her, to salve, she supposed
    breathlessly, his wounded pride. She'd made him angry, and this bruising,
    burning possession of her mouth was to be her punishment.

    Well, she could fight that with her own rage at his assumption that she'd be
    another easy conquest—an apple ripe to drop from the tree into his careless,
    outstretched hand.
    Damn him, she thought raggedly. Damn him to hell.
    At last, with a groan, he tore his mouth from hers. 'Marguerite.' The word
    was almost a sigh. 'Ah, Dieu, this is not the way.'
    He-bent, tracing the swollen outline of her lips with the tip of his tongue,
    while his hand lifted to pull aside the concealing fold of the honey-coloured
    dress and cup one lace-covered breast in his lean fingers.
    The sudden volte-face from aggression to beguiling and seductive
    tenderness sent Meg's head reeling. She found