Touch the Wind by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online Page A

he was satisfied.
    Tears of shame and an odd sense of degradation drenched her cheeks, already moistened by the initial tears of pain. She felt used and abused, cheapened somehow by an act that should have been a consummation of their love. Weakly, Sheila tried to move away from the male form beside her, but her aching, trembling muscles wouldn’t obey.
    Propped into a half-sitting position by an unsteady elbow, Brad studied her with a cynically amused look. “What the hell are you crying about?”
    If he had been kind to her, if he had said one gentle word to make up for the callously indifferent way he had used her, Sheila might have forgiven him. She might have blamed it all on his heavy consumption of alcohol.
    Instead, she briskly wiped the dampness from her cheeks with the back of her hand, pride surfacing to conceal her longing for a soothing hand, even Brad’s.
    “Nothing,” Sheila retorted in a husky, throbbing voice.
    “Good.” He rolled onto his side. “God, I’m tired,” he muttered in a sigh.
    Within minutes Brad was snoring away, the liquorfinally taking its toll. Sheila wished the tiredness would have claimed him earlier, before . . .
    She slid from the bed, ignoring the fiery, aching soreness in her loins. Unaware of her nakedness, she walked to the hotel window overlooking the street below. There were people on the sidewalks and small boys hustling and begging.
    Sheila had always considered herself a realist. She had never expected birds to sing or bells to ring. She had never thought she had any romantic illusions about love. Now Sheila realized that she had.
    Her system was shocked, her emotions appalled by the carnal knowledge of a man, a man who was her husband. Sheila had anticipated pain and a certain amount of displeasure, but not this disgust and rejection that coursed through her. Sex was not an intimate union of two lovers. It was a violation, a demanding act of subservience to a man’s will.
    Brad had taken her selfishly for his own pleasure and satisfaction. The niggling question remained: Was it because of the liquor he had drunk? Would it be different when he was sober? How much of the revulsion she was feeling now was overreaction to a traumatic experience? And how much was justified?
    The coolness of the night air wafted over her bare skin. Sheila turned away from the window, confused and uncertain. Her filmy nightgown lay on the floor. She hesitated, then picked it up and drew it over her head. Maybe by morning the memory of her experience would dim and everything would be all right again.

Chapter 4
    Brad awakened with the sun the next morning. At his first stirring, Sheila feigned sleep, something that had been denied her as her mind kept replaying her wedding night.
    He made no attempt to awaken her when he rose and began dressing. Through the slit of her long lashes, Sheila watched him tucking his shirt into the waistband of his trousers. He reached into his pocket and took out the wad of bills. Money-hungry, her father had called him, and now Sheila was half-convinced he was right. Brad had not sought out his new wife the first morning after their marriage. His first interest was her money.
    “Come on, sleeping beauty, wake up,” he ordered crisply without glancing at her.
    After a brief debate whether or not to obey his command, Sheila slowly opened her eyes, keeping them expressionless of her inner thoughts. He had not bothered with a greeting, and neither did she.
    “What is it?” Her thighs were still cramped and sore, protesting any movement.
    “I’ve decided we should go to Acapulco,” Brad announced, looking quite pleased with himself.
    “You’ve what?” Sheila asked.
    “This overcrowded border town is no place for a honeymoon.” His gaze flicked to the hotel window, where the morning turmoil of traffic and people filtered through the panes. “My pampered wife deserves a more exotic locale.”
    When his brown eyes glanced back to her, Sheila could tell he