Nightingale by Cathy Maxwell Read Free Book Online Page A

playing their parts.
    Her hip hit the corner of his desk. She started to move aside, but he blocked her path with his arm. She whirled in the other direction. He caught her wrist.
    â€œNo, Jemma, no more running,” he said and turned her wrist over. He placed a kiss on the delicate skin.
    â€œDane—”
    â€œTake your dress off.” He raised his gaze to meet hers, letting her know he was deadly serious.
    Her smoky eyes studied him a moment. She nodded as if realizing she had no choice. Bowing her head, her hair covering her face, she did as he expected.
    Dane waited impatiently. Her hair still smelled of the sun and fresh air, but he knew better than to trust his senses anymore.
    The dress fell to her feet. She was naked beneath it.
    â€œLook in the mirror, Jemma,” he ordered softly.
    She hesitated, then slowly turned her head to see the two of them standing together. She was so close to him that the tips of her breasts could brush his chest.
    Dane slid his fingers in her hair and pushed it back over her shoulder. Her head tilted back and her eyes fluttered shut, her lips pressed together as if she did not want to be a witness.
    Ah, Jemma, he wanted to whisper, but he didn’t.
    If he was a better man, he would let her go, but he wasn’t.
    Instead, he leaned past her to push the ledgers aside, clearing a space on his desk. The candles were burning low in their sconces. In the light of the hearth’s coal fire, her body appeared to be burnished with gold.
    He lifted her buttocks up on the desk, parting her legs with his hips. His sex was so close to hers that he could feel her moist heat. For a moment, he nuzzled her nose, his lips near her ear. “Do you see us?” he asked.
    Her eyes opened. She looked toward the glass and nodded, her expression inscrutable.
    â€œHave you ever watched yourself making love?” he asked.
    Her lips parted, and he knew he had shocked her.
    â€œYou will this time, Jemma,” he promised. “You will because I want you to know who it is taking you. I want you to remember.”
    In the glass, her gaze met his. “Please, Dane, no, not like this.” There was a hint of panic in her voice.
    â€œThen how else shall it be, Jemma? What else is there?” He thrust into her.
    Her muscles clenched and then accepted him, closing around him and cocooning him to her. But the joy he’d experienced earlier was gone. This was a clinical act, a ritual to exorcise himself from his own demons.
    He buried himself to the hilt. Jemma gave a start but didn’t say a word . . . not one bloody word. He pulled back and entered her again and again, mechanically going through motions as old as time . . . and it meant nothing.
    Too late, Dane glanced at the mirror—and froze. He barely recognized himself because his face was so contorted with anger. His lips were pulled back in a feral anticipation, and his every muscle was tense with rutting lust.
    Jemma watched him, her face as pale as death, her teeth clenched tight. This was not the vibrant creature he’d made love to earlier but a woman who was accustomed to being used in this manner by a man. A woman who held her breath and waited for it to be over.
    Abruptly he pulled out of her.
    For a second, he stood, his breathing heavy as he struggled for control. This was not the man he wanted to be.
    Nor was this the way he had ever wanted to treat Jemma. Ever.
    Dane took a broken step back and slowly fell to his knees. He bowed his head, wishing he could disappear from the face of the earth. What came over him around her? He prided himself on his control, and yet Jemma had the ability to rip right through him.
    He sensed her sitting up, could feel her watch him carefully. He felt little better than an animal.
    â€œDane? Are you all right?”
    The empathy in her voice was almost his undoing. He needed to be alone. Now.
    â€œGo home, Jemma.” He didn’t look at her. He