The Coachman's Daughter by Gayle Eden Read Free Book Online Page B

by her father,
she watched the droplets on his swarthy hands before he shoved his
hair into some order. He used his handkerchief to dry his face; his
sleeves were rolled to the elbow.
    As he dragged the cloth down, he turned
toward her. “Would it wake your father if you fetched me some
coffee?”
    “No.” She sighed, realizing he was not going
anywhere yet. She motioned to a polished slat door. “In there is a
small office, I’ll be right back.”
    Grabbing up her coat as she climbed the
stairs, Haven was as quiet as possible getting water in the pot,
scooping up already ground coffee and then stirring the embers of
the fire in an iron stove. She cleaned herself up while it brewed,
pulling off muddy boots, to pad to her room.
    After combing her hair, washing her face, she
found a soft cream shirt and pair of wool trousers, dry socks and
her spare boots. She did not put the shoes on until she had taken
the tray with pot and cups out and set them outside the door.
Closing it and wincing as it squeaked, she put on her boots and
then carried the tray below.
    Amber light shone over the area before she
reached the slatted door. Nudging with her foot, she got it open
and entered by globed candle light. He did not sit behind a desk,
but on it. She passed by him to a low table between two chairs just
under a window. It was not a large space and after seating herself,
she poured coffee she had already mixed with thick cream.
    He slid off the desk and took it from her
hand, lowering himself into one of the plain leather chairs, knees
wide and spine slumped as he relaxed.
    She sipped her own, leaning back and
observing him. Somewhere in her mind, she chanted, let him be his
usual ass of a self, please. She really could not take it if he
acted half way nice to her. Particularly if he talked to her again
as he had on the road.
    Resting the cup on one his thighs, he met her
gaze, the candlelight reflecting in the deep green, those blasted
thick sooty lashes making them so sensual her stomach was doing
summersaults. Most of that hair was tucked behind his ears but some
spiraled damp against his temple and cheekbone, drawing attention
to the fact, they were fine boned. His mouth was dark, sensual, and
almost full. His nose was straight, strong, and she had once lost
herself watching him in repose, always feeling some response inside
of her to the warm hue of his skin and that dark coloring in
contrast to such pure green eyes…
    Moments seemed to tick off and then he leaned
and placed his cup on the table. Not knowing why, Haven braced
herself, and in one smooth moment he had taken hers, set it
down—was taking her chin in his hand, and then kissing her.
    Making a sound of surprise, she had her
breath stolen when his tongue eased between her teeth and touched
her own. Raising her hands, Haven pushed at him, pressing back and
turning her head aside. “My lord.”
    “Shhh. I’m not going to hurt you.” He got to
his feet and used a hold on her shoulders to bring her out of the
chair. His voice was hushed, quiet, but his eyes were intense.
Given the small space, there was nowhere for her to go.
    “Look at me.”
    She did. “I think you’d better—”
    His head descended. This time a moan escaped
because his lips were sensual and his tongue was boldly laving
hers. There was a seeking next, a too gentle one by that tongue
that made Haven respond despite herself.
    Her lips became malleable, pliant. Her tongue
answered the soft caress of his.
    Dizzy, nearly trembling, she felt the wash of
weakness and light-headedness fill her. This time when he let her
draw a breath, his mouth moved to the side of her neck. She pushed
and blindly took a step, rocking the small table her shin smacked
into, but she got around it.
    At the door, Deme caught and turned her.
Coming close so her back was pressed against the slats.
    She looked up at him. “Don’t.”
    He skimmed his hands up to her shoulders
again, and then rested them under her hair at the