Man of Ice by Diana Palmer Read Free Book Online Page B

almost lost consciousness at the stabbing ache of pleasure he kindled in her trembling body, there in the water, there in the blue ocean….
    She fell asleep with the memories deep in her mind. Unfortunately, those sweet memories merged with some that were much darker. Dawson had finally gained temporary control of himself, and left her alone in the sea to recover from their feverish embraces. But all through the evening meal with George, he’d watched Barrie with eyes that made her feel hunted. The idiotic way she’d smiled at him and encouraged his watchfulness could still make her cringe. She’d thought he was falling in love with her, and she was doing her best to show him that she already felt that way about him. She’d had no idea how he was interpreting her shy flirting.
    But it had all become clear after she’d gone to bed that night. The sliding door on her balcony had opened and Dawson had come through it. He’d been wearing a robe and nothing else. Barrie remembered the sweep of his hand as he tore the sheet away from her body, clad only in thin briefs because of the heat and the failing air-conditioning. Her body had reacted at once to his eyes, and even the shock and faint fear hadn’t robbed her of the desire that was all too visible to a man of Dawson’s experience.
    “Want me, Barrie?” he’d whispered as he threw off his robe and joined her on the bed. “Let’s see how well you follow up on those teasing little glances you’ve been giving me all night.”
    She hadn’t had the presence of mind to explain that she hadn’t been teasing him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, that he was her life. But his hands on her body were shocking, like the things he whispered to her in the moonlight, like the feel of his mouth surging over her taut breasts while he made love to her as if he were some demon of the night.
    If she’d been the experienced woman he thought her, it would have been a night to remember. But she’d been a virgin, and he’d been completely out of control. She remembered the faint tremor in the hands that had gathered her hips up to the fierce thrust of his body, his cry of pleasure that drowned out her cry of pain. He whispered to her all through it, his body as insistent as his mouth, his hands, until finally he arched up as though he were on some invisible rack, his powerful body cording with ripple after ripple of ecstasy until he convulsed with hoarse, fierce cries and his hands hurt her.
    She felt no such pleasure. Her body felt torn and violated. She was almost sick with the pain that had never seemed to stop. When he pulled away from her finally, exhausted and sweaty, she winced and cried out, because that hurt, too.
    She wept, curled into a ball, while he got to his feet and put his robe back on. He’d looked down at her sobbing form with eyes she couldn’t see, and she didn’t like remembering the things he’d said to her then. His voice had been as brutal as his invasion of her, and she’d been far too innocent to realize that he was shocked and upset by her innocence, hitting out to disguise his own stark guilt. It could have been so different if he’d loved her. But in the darkness of her dream, he was a bird of prey, tearing at her flesh, hurting her, hurting her…
    She didn’t realize that she’d screamed. She heard the door open and close, felt light against her eyelids, and then felt hands shaking her.
    “Barrie. Barrie!”
    She came awake with a start, and the face above her was Dawson’s. He was wearing a robe, as he had been that night. His hair was damp from a shower, and her mind reverted to the night she’d spent in his arms in France.
    “Don’t…hurt me…anymore!” she whispered, sobbing.
    He didn’t reply. He couldn’t. The terror in those eyes made him sick right through to his soul. “Dear God,” he breathed.

Four
    B ARRIE saw his face contort and as she came back to awareness, she noticed the room around her, the light