A Season for Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

did when we met. I know you're fighting something, but I'll help you. I don't care about your past. I don't care about your present. I'll work mine into it. I don't believe that you don't care about me—as much as I care about you, no matter how ludicrous it is after only three days. I'll go as slow as you like. But you have to keep seeing me. I'll never convince you of my sincerity otherwise."
A torrent of sobs welled in her rib cage, threatening to spill forth. She had to build the wall, retreat, and then get away surely and quickly. The angle of his jawline was square and determined; nothing but the cold truth would keep him away, and she would have to risk his contempt whether it devastated her or not.
She withdrew her hand from his and picked up her coffee cup with cool dismissal. "Drake, I can't—repeat, can't—continue to see you. It's out of the question."
"Really?" An imperious brow arched even higher, and his lips tightened into a caustic line. "And why not? What happened to I love you and forever?"
I do love you, Ronnie whispered to herself sadly, but you'd never understand, and even if you did, I could never explain. . . .
She took a sip of coffee and set the cup down briskly. "Oh, come, Drake," she said, "surely a man such as yourself has had his share of flings! Love is just a word. So is forever."
"We didn't spend a day and night exchanging words," he told her sardonically, drawing the hint of a hoped-for blush. No one could make love as she had without feeling!
But his angel of the night had turned back to marble by day. "We played the game to make something pretty of a physical attraction," she said cuttingly. With a wry and glacial smile she added, "To spend a night making love sounds much nicer than spending a night having sex!"
She hadn't anticipated what happened next. He set his ironclad fingers around her wrist and drew her to her feet in an undeniable gesture that was barely civilized despite the crowd in the dining room. He didn't stop for a second as he led, or rather dragged, her down the corridor and back to her cabin, ignoring her comments, whether they were demanding, angry, or scornful.
He stopped inside the cabin, after he had slammed the door and pinned her to it, claiming her lips, plundering her mouth savagely. His hands moved over territory he knew by heart, aggressively taunting, cradling breasts that were his, searching beneath material to find the answer he expected—flesh that heated to his touch, nipples that grew taut on contact.
Ronnie furiously pummeled against him and twisted her head to avoid his kiss. But his lips were clamped on hers. Her comparatively feeble struggles had no effect on his steellike determination to have his way. Her protests were muffled as his teeth grazed hers, pitted against them, and his tongue found the access to probe her mouth with heady command. Ronnie's attempt at words died, her mouth gave sweetly to his. She would never be able to deny him. A moment later she was arched against his chest, moaning as his fingers worked their spell upon her, twisting at the peak of her breast to send chills of pleasure racing down her spine as he held her in that relentless embrace.
Then he pulled away from her, using his hands and arms as inescapable bars around her. Eyes that were as dark as night seared into hers with ruthless demand.
"Now tell me again that this all means nothing to you," he grated harshly, his breathing as strained as hers.
She was shaking, panting, unnerved. God help her, she couldn't cry. But a lie would not suffice.
"All right!" she flashed in answer to his challenge. "It means something. It means something very wonderful. But it can't be!"
"Why not?" He would not soften now. He wanted answers. The ship was docked in Charleston Harbor. Time was running out. "Ronnie, I want to marry you."
A sob did tear from her throat. "I can't marry you!" she cried, the ice finally melting from her eyes as they stared tremulously into his. "I can't marry