Angel In My Bed Read Online Free PDF

physical kind of awareness that made her conscious of her femininity. In that regard, time had erased nothing and only seemed to ignite the embers inside to flame. She had married him ten years ago because she had been in love with him to the point of blindness. He had used her then. Her instinct for survival warned her to run from him now. Her hand tightened around the glass doorknob at her back, and she opened the door.
    â€œLet me give you some advice, Meg,” he said, tucking the shirt into his trousers. Wary of his approach, she lifted her chin rather than retreat. “You’re a beautiful woman. I wouldn’t leave here wearing only my blanket. You’ll never make it to the end of the street.”
    Her mind seemed to float around his presence. Caution and fear. These things no longer asserted themselves. “Leave it to you to find humor in my distress, Donally.”
    He stopped in front of her. “I have to admit, I always did like you best wearing nothing more than a sheet. Or nothing at all. I remember when you were the most beautiful woman in all of Calcutta and knew it, too.”
    â€œDon’t blame me for your lust. It’s not my fault you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”
    â€œAh, Meg.” He tilted her chin. “You still have a wee bite with that lovely mouth.”
    â€œAnd what of your mouth, David? Do you still possess that legendary…vigor?”
    He reached over her shoulder and shut the door none too gently. “You were right about the cracked rib and the concussion.” He turned her face from side to side and looked at her eyes. “I believe you’ve also suffered brain damage.”
    Suddenly so hot in his presence, she stared up at him, vaguely wondering if maybe she was dreaming after all. “Is that your expert diagnosis?”
    â€œI know enough of medicine,” he said neutrally.
    â€œSo do I.” She traced a finger along the faint pattern of delineated muscle beneath his shirt, finding renewed fascination with his body. “I once sewed up a man’s scalp that had been lacerated from temple to neck. A terrible mess.”
    The look in his eyes told her he didn’t believe a word she was saying, but she didn’t care. “Where have you been living these past years?”
    He didn’t answer at first, then, “Ireland.”
    â€œAlone?”
    It was all she dared ask him, all she wanted to know, though she used to look at the stars and wonder if he alsolooked up at that same sky and thought of her. Or wondered what they might have had with each other if she had been different.
    His palm remained on the door, trapping her against the heat and scent of his body. “What are you doing, Meg?”
    â€œDid I ever tell you opiates make me do and say insane things?”
    His eyes pinned her where she stood, clasping the blanket to her breast. She was annoyed that she couldn’t read his thoughts.
    But then, she had never been able to read his thoughts, and in her laudanum-induced reality she found herself resenting that strange sense of bliss she’d always felt in his presence. “Where have you brought me?”
    â€œA safe place for now.”
    â€œSafe?” She laughed, a contradiction if she’d ever heard one when she stood in front of him aware of her own nakedness and a strange burning inside. Leaning her head back against the door, she closed her eyes. “So this is God’s great jest on me. Only the angel hails from Ireland.” Her eyes flashed. “Be content that you have ruined my life. Be content that I will never laugh again. That you have won at last.”
    â€œAre you finished?”
    His quiet voice, his complete and utter control ravaged hers.
    â€œNo.” Seized with a fortuitous recklessness to take control, abetted by the laudanum swimming hot through her veins, Victoria raised her arms to his neck. “Are you?”
    His reflexes more honed