The Marker by Meggan Connors Read Free Book Online Page A

would have sworn she leaned into him, pressing her breasts against him, her nipples tightening beneath her thin cotton shift. The heat from her anger dissipated into a different kind of heat altogether. He had enough experience to know she was ripe for the plucking—all he had to do was press her, stoke the fire inside her, and she would be his. More intoxicated by her taste than even the brandy he’d had earlier, he was tempted to do just that.
    He broke the kiss to nuzzle her neck, kissing the sweet spot just below her earlobe, and she trembled in his arms. “Nicholas,” she whispered.
    He liked the way she said his given name, heard the passion in her voice. But she shook in his arms, either from fear or passion, and he knew her father had been right about another thing: she was a good woman. The thought occurred to him that maybe she was just the thing he needed in his life. His world had brightened in just the few short days she had lived in his household.
    He wouldn’t take advantage of her innocence or her good nature. Giving her one last way out and hating himself for doing it, he whispered in her ear, “All it takes is the right man, Alexandra.”
    “What?” she breathed, stiffening in his arms as she understood his words. Her face wreathed in fury, she cried, “Mr. Wetherby!” and shoved against him with all her might. He stumbled backwards, surely the result of the brandy he had consumed earlier. He had to admit, for such a tiny thing, she packed quite a wallop.
    Smiling wryly, he shook his head at her. “I suppose it takes the right woman, too.” He gave her an appraising look. “I think you might be that woman.” And then he damned himself—why would he not stop baiting her? Maybe because he had more fun fighting with her than he had had doing anything else with anyone else in almost a year. He would have a hard time getting back into her good graces if he kept this up—she was stubborn, his marker. He wondered what it would take to win her affection.
    But when he saw the tears standing in her eyes, he felt like a cad. He liked taunting her, but he didn’t want her to cry. Lexie might be a firebrand, but she had a gentle spirit and a tender heart. He would remember that in the future.
    “I am not! I am not, nor will I ever be, anything to you! And you may call me Miss Markland when addressing me.”
    “Very well, Miss Markland,” he acquiesced.
    Putting her hands on her hips, she pointed her index finger at him and hissed, “I told you what would happen if you kissed me again.”
    He thought about it, unable to remember what she had told him. “And what punishment are you planning on doling out for my liberties with your person, Miss Markland?” He was interested to find out what she had planned—and to come up with a plan of his own to combat it.
    Her face the picture of fury, she cried, “I will never speak to you again!”
    He laughed, a rich, full laugh echoing in the room. “As if you could. You work for me, if you’ll recall.”
    With a cry, she stormed from the room, slamming the door to the library behind her. He chuckled to himself. He rather enjoyed her fit of temper. She would come around. By this time tomorrow, she would be talking to him again, and given a little time, she would come to like him. Strange, how much he wanted Lexie to like him. Not just desire him—women always seemed to desire him—but like him. Care about him. He really did regret his behavior tonight, but she would forgive him. Women always did when he tried to charm them. He pushed the idea away that, perhaps, Alexandra Markland was different.
    Turning his thoughts back to Lexie’s choice of reading material, he decided to find out what it had been. Going over to the stack of books lying scattered on the floor, he was startled to find not only the Engels tome among the pile, but also a book on English history, another on fairy tales, and yet another one of poetry. She might have been reading any of