The Italian Duke's Virgin Mistress by Penny Jordan Read Free Book Online Page A

so clumsy.’
    Clumsy? Raphael frowned. She was tall, yes, but her hands and her feet were elegantly narrow, her body far too slender for her ever to be ‘clumsy’. In fact if anything Raphael had noticed how controlled and economical her movements were, almost as though she was afraid to express herself.
    ‘You’ll want to get changed. I’ll wait for you down here.’
    ‘There’s no need for me to change,’ Charley told him. ‘My jeans will dry.’
    He was looking at her in a way that said very explicitly what he thought of a woman who cared so little for her appearance that she was content to continue wearing jeans that were stained with and smelled of coffee.
    Gritting her teeth, Charley lowered her pride to admit, ‘I haven’t got anything to change into, since you insisted that I was to stay here instead of going home and then returning.’
    Now that the immediate shock was receding Charley was beginning to realise that the scalding coffee had hurt her more than she had first thought. Her leg was throbbing and burning, the pain growing more intense with every passing second, but she was stubbornly determined not to let Raphael see that.
    ‘Go up to your room,’ Raphael commanded. ‘I’llspeak to Anna about providing you with something to wear for now.’
    It was easier to give in than to argue—especially with the pain growing more intense by the second, Charley admitted as she stood up. And then, to her shock, she felt her burned leg give way beneath her, causing her to stumble into Raphael’s desk.
    Raphael was on his feet immediately, opening a drawer in his desk, coming towards her as she clung to the edge of the desktop for support.
    ‘No!’ Charley protested, and protested a second time as she saw the scissors in his hand. But it was no use. He was cutting through the wet denim as ruthlessly as he would have cut down an enemy. The cool air on her burned flesh caused Charley to shudder. She felt slightly sick and light-headed when she looked at her leg and saw how the flesh had reddened and blistered.
    Raphael’s mouth tightened as he looked at the burned flesh. ‘This needs proper medical treatment,’ he announced grimly.
    ‘No. I’m all right,’ Charley insisted. ‘I’ll go upstairs and bathe it with some cool water.’ She let go of the desk and took a couple of steps, the blood draining from her face as her body responded with a surge of pain.
    Raphael had seen enough. Of all the stubborn, stupid women…Before Charley could stop him he was lifting her into his arms, his action forcing her to hold on to him tightly by putting her arms around his neck. He couldn’t possibly be intending to carry her all the way to her room—but it seemed that he was, andCharley could only guess at the power in the muscles cloaked by his fine linen shirt as he did so, as effortlessly as though she weighed little more than a child.
    Once they were inside her room, Raphael placed her on the bed and then, after instructing her not to move, he left.
    Strange how the pain had subsided whilst she was in Raphael’s arms. But it had returned now, and if anything was even worse. It was ridiculous for her to feel as though she had been abandoned, and even more ridiculous—dangerously so—for her to wish that Raphael had stayed with her. Charley looked down at her lower body which, unlike her damaged leg, was still encased in her jeans. She wasn’t helpless, she reminded herself. She sat up and started to ease her jeans off, wincing as the fabric brushed against her burned flesh.
    ‘What the devil…? I told you not to move.’
    Charley swung round. Raphael was coming towards her, carrying a first aid box.
    ‘I’ve rung the doctor, and he should be here soon, but in the meantime the burn needs to be covered by a dressing.’
    Raphael was kneeling on the floor next to her now bare legs, apparently oblivious to the fact that she had removed her jeans and was now only covered by the lacy briefs which had been