Secrets of a Perfect Night by Stephanie Laurens, Victoria Alexander, Rachel Gibson Read Free Book Online Page A

her. Her back to his chest, he held her flush against him—and didn’t want to let go.The sensations that streaked through him were oddly familiar, a startlingly clear echo he couldn’t place.
    “I was just looking at the view,” Abby gabbled, her eyes no longer seeing. “It’s…magnificent, don’t you think?”
    She was breathless, a direct consequence of not being able to breathe. If she did, she would press herself against his hand, and against his rocklike body. She wasn’t a fool—she held her breath.
    “Hmm…” The deep, masculine murmur came from above her right ear. “Magnificent…”
    His tone left her wondering just what he was describing. Hanging grimly on to her wits, she pulled forward out of his hold. His hand fell from her, but reluctantly. Abby mentally shook herself. “We’d better hurry—the light’s already dimming.”
    Gathering her skirts, she took two quick steps—and slipped.
    On a rock.
    “Oh!” She landed in another drift. This time when Adrian, his teeth-gritted silence far louder than words, hauled her upright, her ankle failed.
    “Oooh!” She winced, hopped, then tried to hobble.
    “ Stop !”
    There was so much fury in the word that, somewhat to her disgust, she did. She met Adrian’s eyes—they smoldered with a warning she’d have to be blind to mistake. He waved Tom over; they reorganized their loads. Tom took the case from Adrian and passed over the bag.
    “Here.” Adrian thrust the bag into Abby’s hands.

    Bemused, she held it—then swallowed a shriek as Adrian bent and lifted her, bag and all, into his arms.
    “There’s no need !” She all but flapped. “It’s only a little way more. I can manage—”
    “It’s more than a hundred yards, and the way you’ve been managing , you’d probably cripple yourself. Now, shut up and let me concentrate.”
    She had no choice—he wasn’t going to put her down. Abby held on to Bolt’s bag and let her gaze wander—anything rather than look at Adrian’s face and risk meeting his eyes. She tried to concentrate, too—on anything other than how easily he carried her, how easily he managed her, which naturally led to how strong he was, and other, even less helpful thoughts.
    Tom hurried ahead and raised the alarm; by the time they reached the cottage, Agnes was waiting, ready to ring a peal over her. Abby silenced Agnes with one sharp look; Agnes sniffed and directed Adrian up the stairs.
    Abby waited to be set down at her bedchamber door. Adrian paused before it, Agnes reached around and opened it, and he strode straight in.
    “Adrian!” Abby ground out the warning between her teeth.
    He set her on the edge of her bed. “We’ll need to get her boot off,” he said to Agnes. Agnes nodded—they both ignored Abby’s outraged shriek when Adrian flipped her skirts up to her knees.
    The boot slipped off easily enough.
    “It’s only just jarred!” Abby flipped her skirts back down. “You’re both overreacting.”

    Adrian flipped her skirts back up again. His hands closed about her ankle—Abby sucked in a breath. He manipulated her foot carefully. “Does that hurt?”
    “Ah…” Abby blinked, then managed, “Only a little.”
    She couldn’t help but think of their feet sliding over each other, repetitively caressing in the dark warmth two nights before.
    “Best keep a cold compress on it for an hour or two, just to be sure.” Agnes bustled to the door.
    “No!” Abby did not want to be left alone with Adrian, in her bedroom, in her stockinged feet. She didn’t know whether she trusted him, but she certainly didn’t trust herself. “I’m not going to sit up here with a cold compress on my ankle.”
    Adrian shrugged. “All right.”
    He swooped, and she was in his arms being carried back downstairs. He carried her to the parlor, set her on the sofa, then shuffled an ottoman into position before her and set her injured foot upon it. Agnes hurried in with the compress; Adrian took it and molded it