Flame by May McGoldrick Read Free Book Online Page A

question that hung on the edges of her full lips. Of a
secret locked in her heart.
    And then there were the alluring ivory shades
of her skin. He caressed with his eyes the gentle swell of firm,
young breasts that rose above her brocaded dress. Suddenly, Gavin
felt the stirring in his loins as he imagined the feel of his lips
on her...
    “Are you mad?” He started, tearing his eyes
from the portrait and rolling away from the light. He must be out
of his mind, indeed, he decided, clenching his teeth. Aroused by a
woman long dead.
     
    ***
     
    Joanna paused quietly in the wedge of open
panel and listened carefully to the sound of his breathing. He was
asleep--she was sure of it--lying on his stomach on the great bed,
the curtains drawn back on the summer night. His face was turned
toward her. Even knowing exactly what she wanted to do, she still
could not bring herself to move. Not yet.
    Wisps of black hair had fallen across his
eyes. His handsome, chiseled face was stern and troubled, even in
sleep. Joanna’s lips parted and her breath caught in her chest as
her eyes roamed over the rest of him. The blanket only managed to
cover the lower part of his back and one of his legs. She felt the
heat rising in her face at the sight of the sinewy muscles on his
broad back and thick, scarred arms. Deep in her belly, another heat
began to emerge, a wild, molten heat that frightened her with its
suddenness and with its power. Joanna quickly tore her eyes
away.
    Stunned that she should respond this way to
the mere sight of a man, Joanna found herself growing angry and
chided herself silently. That’s just what you need now, she thought
reproachfully. Some momentary lapse of sanity. Shaking her head,
she looked across the chamber.
    The painting was there. Somehow, she knew it
would be. Stepping quietly onto the woven rush mat that covered the
floor, she paused after each step. Deliberately, she put out of her
mind any thought of the consequences of being discovered. As she
moved toward the fire, she thrilled at the sense of danger that now
gripped her. Playing the ghost, for some reason, seemed worth the
peril of capture.
    As she reached the hearth, she spotted the
full platter of food and cringed at the sudden growl emanating from
her empty stomach. Throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder, she
stared, waiting. But he didn’t move.
    Well, first things first, she thought,
wrapping the bread and beef in the linen cloth from the tray. The
smell of the food made her mouth water, but she fought off the urge
to eat it immediately. She had a task to accomplish, and the cook’s
dress was clearly designed for practicality rather than fashion, so
Joanna tucked the dinner, as well as the empty goblet, into the
huge pocket.
    Her two hands free, she reached for the
painting and quietly tucked it under one arm. Glancing cautiously
in his direction again, she started to back up, but nearly tripped
over a pile of wet clothing.
    Balancing the portrait against her leg, she
picked up the articles of clothing and spread them, one by one,
over the table and chair to dry. Amazing, she thought wryly, how
living without the comforts of a home for half a year can change
one’s perspective on the privileges of day to day living.
    And besides, she mused, picking up the
painting and starting again across the room toward the panel, in
the morning he wouldn’t think entirely ill of his ghostly visitor.
True, she had taken the painting and his dinner. But she had, at
least, done one good deed.
    As she reached for the panel, she froze in
her tracks as the black-haired giant rolled onto his back. Joanna
was only a step away from the panel, but she didn’t dare to move.
The smell of warm, wet wool wafted across the chamber, and she
watched, petrified, as the man’s hand started slowly moving over
the linens. From the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, Joanna
knew he was still sleeping, and she prayed that her stomach would
not growl now.
    But before she