Love on Trial by Diana Palmer Read Free Book Online

her.
    She flinched at the tone. “I’m not,” she managed.
    There was a brief silence. She wanted to sink right through the floorboard. He was angry with her, and she couldn’t understand why. But it was like being a little bruised. Tears misted in her eyes, and she couldn’t understand that, either.
    â€œSiri,” he said gently.
    She kept her eyes averted, not answering him. The lump in her throat hurt.
    â€œSiri,” he repeated, and his big hand went out to force her chin up so that he could see her face. “Oh, damn!” he breathed when he saw the unshed tears.
    â€œWill you just leave me alone?” she fired at him, jerking away from his hand.
    A deep, harsh sigh came from the other side of the cab. He moved, catching her by the nape of her neck to press her face against the lightweight fabric of his summer suit jacket. “Let it out,” he said at her temple. His arm circled around hershoulders, bringing her closer. “Let it out, Siri.”
    She fought the flood of tears, but they spilled over silently, running hot down her cheeks, onto the pale blue fabric. Her small hands clenched on his massive chest, as she relaxed against him with a choking sigh.
    He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped her red face. “You don’t even cry like a normal woman,” he said softly.
    â€œI never cry,” she whispered, embarrassed, drawing away from him. “It wasn’t allowed when I was growing up.”
    He brushed the damp hair away form her cheek. “Why?”
    She shook her head. “Mother hated the sound of it. That’s all I remember about her. I remember how she punished me for crying.”
    â€œWhat brought this particular cloudburst on?” he asked softly. His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Did you speak to Holland before we left?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat did he say?”
    She lifted her face proudly. “That’s my business, Hawke.”
    He reached out and touched her soft mouth with a dark, gentle finger, tracing its full outline. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. There was a woman once, Siri. She used to blow up and pout if I looked at her sideways. You brought back a memory that sets fire to my temper.”
    â€œI didn’t think a woman lived who would get that close to you,” she remarked, as she mopped away the last traces of tears with the once-white handkerchief now stained with lipstick and mascara.
    A mocking smile touched his hard mouth. “There was one until I found out she liked my money more than she liked me. The curse of being rich is that you never know whether people prefer the man or the wallet.”
    â€œCynic,” she accused. She shifted onthe seat to hand the handkerchief back to him. “If the money bothers you that much, why not donate it to charity?”
    â€œTo what charity?”
    She grinned at him. “The Lonely Hearts society?” she suggested.
    He chuckled softly at her impudence. “I’m not that lonely.”
    â€œOf course not. You probably have to lift the mattress every night to chase out the women,” she agreed.
    â€œWhat makes you think I keep women, you little innocent?” he challenged.
    She studied the big masculine form beside her, the darkness of his face, the sensuality of his chiseled mouth, the massive chest that strained against the open shirt, where a nest of hair was just visible….
    â€œDon’t you?” she replied.
    He caught her eyes and held them, just as he had that day in the restaurant, and something in the look made her blush.
    He leaned forward, allowing the handholding his cigarette to rest against the back of the seat while he caught her cheek with the other hand, turning her face toward him. His thumb passed gently over her lips, parting them, pressing harder now, caressing the pearly hardness of her teeth. She tasted the faint tartness of tobacco on that tough skin, and felt her pulse whipping