The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online Page A

her headlong quest. “Yes?”
    “Come and dance.” He didn’t make the mistake of asking but simply caught her hand, drew her the two paces necessary to gain the clearing floor, and swirled her into his arms and directly into the dance.
    He hadn’t given her time to resist. Once they were traveling smoothly amid the swirling couples, he glanced at her face and was skewered by twin daggers of intense blue; with her eyes narrowed to shards, her gaze was beyond sharp.
    He smiled at her.
    Her eyes flared. She hauled in a huge breath—causing her breasts to swell beneath her silk bodice, an interesting and rather arresting sight.
    One that made him realize that, surprisingly for him, despite being unrelentingly focused on her, he hadn’t really paid that much attention to her physical attributes. It had been her character, her emotions and actions that had captured his attention, and were still what most entranced him, but there was no denying that her figure was alluring, too.
    He refocused on her eyes and found them spitting sparks.
    “That was . . . was . . .” She was lost for words and appeared staggered by the fact.
    “Insupportable?” he offered. “The biggest piece of impertinence you’ve ever been subjected to?”
    “Yes! Exactly .” Eyes—could blue burn?—locked with his, she drew in another fulminating breath. “And if you recognize that —”
    “You needed deflecting.”
    “What?”
    “There’s absolutely no point in you tearing after Rand. You’ll only scare him further and send him fleeing into the night.” He smiled lazily down at her, knowing full well just how that would affect her. “Much better you sharpen your talons on me—I can take it.”
    She blinked at him; she hesitated—clearly battling the impulse—but then surrendered and asked, “Why talons?”
    “Eagle. Think emperor.” He held her gaze. “You’re just a touch imperious, you know.”
    She snorted and looked away. After a moment—a moment in which he sensed through his hold on her, through the tension in her lithe frame, that the soothing sway of the dance had finally reached her—she muttered, “You can talk.”
    “Indeed. I can.” He drew her a fraction closer as they eased into a turn. “Like recognizes like, as they say.”
    The rest of the waltz passed without incident, verbal or otherwise.
    He wondered if she had any idea how clearly the fact that she was plotting and planning showed in her face.
    At the end of the dance, he very properly released her, bowed, then raised her from her curtsy—and waited to see what next she would do.
    “Thank you for the waltz.” She glanced around. “If you’ll excuse me?”
    He let her turn away before inquiring, “Wither away, flower?”
    Both inquiry and epithet earned him a darkling look. “The withdrawing room, if you must know.”
    He inclined his head. “I’ll see you later.”
    As she resumed her march through the crowd, he heard her mutter, “Not if I can help it.”
    His grin was fueled equally by anticipation and delight.
    Mary did, indeed, make for the withdrawing room; it was the only place she could think of where she could be sure of gaining a few minutes of assured privacy in which to think.
    Thinking while circling the floor in Ryder’s arms had proved impossible; no matter how valiantly she’d concentrated, her senses had constantly suborned her thoughts, seducing them with a type of scintillating delight, leading to unhelpful considerations such as how much more ensnared by the dance she was when she waltzed with Ryder, and conversely how ho-hum the experience had been with Randolph.
    Such thoughts were irrelevant; Ryder was infinitely more experienced than Randolph, which was a huge point in Randolph’s favor. Sitting before a mirror, she pretended to tidy her perfectly tidy dark curls and determinedly wrenched her mind from its sensual dallying and refocused instead on her most immediate goal: Gaining more time alone with