Marissa Day by The Seduction of Miranda Prosper Read Free Book Online Page A

This is the only way to save her life.”
    “Yes, sir.” Louise’s tone had changed, growing brisk and efficient. She bustled out the door and shut it firmly behind herself.
    Miranda dropped back onto the pillow. The tide of pain dragged her under, threatening to drown her.
    “Corwin,” she whispered. “I’m burning alive.”
    “Shhh, shhh, Miranda.” She felt the mattress dip and she was aware of a warmth and human presence beside her. “It’s all right. You’ve just drunk a wine that is too strong for you.” A man’s hand stroked her cheek. Corwin! But there was something wrong. His hand was cold and weak. Miranda forced open her eyes, but she could see nothing of him but shadow.
    “Are you here to help me die?” she whispered.
    “No, dearest.” He was panting now. “We are here to help you live.”
    “Save your strength, Corwin,” said Darius gruffly. The mattress dipped again as Darius sat on her other side.
    “You have taken something Corwin needs, Miranda Prosper,” Darius said. “You must give it back.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “You must touch him, Miranda.”
    The thought made her stomach clench, and for a moment she thought she would vomit. “No. I can’t.” She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to turn her face away.
    The mattress shifted again, and Miranda was aware of Darius lying down behind her.
    “Look at him,” commanded Darius, reaching around to cup her chin and lift it so her face was angled toward Corwin in front of her. Darius’s breath was warm and strangely gentle against her ear and his hand firm and strong as he held her. “Look at him with me, Miranda.”
    Darius pressed himself behind her. Her nightgown made only the thinnest of barriers between them. She could feel every inch of his naked body against her: his chest, his thighs, his cock. She felt his heart hammering. His hand glided down her arm, making the cloth slide against her skin, and slowly, his living warmth began to seep into her. All these sensations seemed to cause Miranda’s internal strength to stir. She found she could bear her pain more easily. She could open her eyes to look at Corwin.
    Corwin sprawled on the bed, as pale as marble and almost as still. She could take in all of him with her freshly cleared gaze, as if he were a sculptor’s masterpiece—so beautiful, so perfectly masculine, and at the same time so weakened that it was plainly all he could do to raise his eyes toward her.
    “Touch him, Miranda,” whispered Darius in her ear.
    “I can’t.” Fire burned beneath Miranda’s skin, seeking exit through her pores. “I’ll hurt him.”
    “No. Not this time. I’ll help you.”
    Gently but irresistibly, Darius lifted her hand. He laid Miranda’s palm against Corwin’s and folded their fingers together. Miranda shook as their skin made contact, but Darius held her—held them—in place, his strong hand covering their two weak ones, and the burning tide within her ebbed further yet.
    “That’s it,” murmured Darius. “Open yourself to him, Miranda. To us. Let the fire inside you flow free.”
    “It will kill him.”
    “No, Miranda. It will heal him. Trust me.”
    Darius lifted her palm away from Corwin’s and glided it up Corwin’s arm, making her stroke the sick man’s chilled flesh. Something ethereal reached from Darius into her, nestling itself inside her. She could feel Darius’s strength, not just in his grip, or in his cock—which was growing hard where it pressed against the small of her silk-clad back—but in spirit somehow. Where Darius’s strength entered, the fire Miranda had imbibed drained away from her heart. It flowed into her veins, down her arms to her hands, to her palms and fingertips.
    Darius took her other hand and laid it on Corwin’s right arm. Embracing her with his hard-muscled arms, Darius sat himself and her up and leaned her over Corwin’s pale form. His chest pressed against her back, his hands continued to move hers, showing her