Angel In The Rain (Western Historical Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page B

reluctant to move. If he shifted, she might awaken or turn away. And he didn’t want that. Not just yet.
    Damn fool, whispered a weak voice of reason.
    Her blond head lay cradled against his shoulder, so close her tangled strands of hair nearly brushed his nose. A subtle, flowery smell still lingered. The purely female scent wafted through his senses like wisps of smoke. A siren call. He filled his lungs with her and wet his lips. If he pressed his mouth to her pale flesh, would she taste as sweet?
    He glanced down and homed in on the lushness of her mouth. If he moved his arm, her head would tilt just so and bring her lips in line with his. So tempting.
    He squeezed his eyes closed. Without the distraction of sight, his other senses heightened, making him acutely aware of every square inch where her body melded with his. Each breath she took trailed warm, moist fingers of sensation along his throat. He swallowed as a shiver raced over his skin.
    Her breathing broke with a soft catch, and she murmured in her sleep. Had she felt his heart’s wild rhythm?
    He held his breath. She would move now, or wake up.
    Instead, she snuggled closer and pillowed her face against the hollow of his throat. Her hands delved deeper between them, exerting even more pressure against his straining fly. He gritted his teeth and clenched his stomach until it neared pain to keep from flexing to her touch.
    His own hands twitched with the instinctive need to move and stroke the supple curves pressed against him like an invitation. He ached to arch against her. To surrender himself to the stroking she was giving him through his pants. ¡ Maldito ! He burned with lust for a woman who wasn’t even aware of what she did.
    He knew he played with fire. One so hot and consuming it threatened to burn to cinders the very heart of his resolve. His only salvation was to put some distance between them, the sooner the better.
    Rane held his breath as, inch by inch, he lifted her head from his shoulder. Still, she didn’t awaken. He pulled the blanket higher and eased away.
    Parted from her warmth, he shivered like a fever victim and sat back, staring at her in the darkness. His good sense told him she had no idea what she had done. But every nerve in his body still screamed with arousal.
    Shaken, he rammed fingers back through his hair and expelled a quick breath. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
    ****
    Angel clung to sleep, resisting the nudge against her shoulder. As long as she remained in that misty state between dreams and wakefulness, she could pretend she was still safe and comfortable, still lying in a crisp linen covered bed at her aunt’s townhouse in New York. Although she whimpered in protest, the nudge persisted until she could no longer ignore it.
    She opened her eyes to the flicker of low flames casting dancing shadows over Mantorres’ face hovering above her. She lay stone still, until he moved away. She sat up, pulling the blanket with her and clutched it tightly around her huddled shoulders.
    The moon had already set. The night sky resembled an oversized jeweler’s display, rich black velvet sprinkled with glittering diamonds.
    Mantorres hunkered near the fire, pouring dark liquid from the pan—the same one he’d used to heat beans—into a battered tin mug.
    Coffee. The bracing aroma teased Angel’s nose.
    He shifted and extended the mug, handle first. “Morning,” he said. His voice sounded raspy, telling her he hadn’t been awake long himself.
    Was he trying to be pleasant?
    She looped a finger through the handle and took it from him, but said nothing. She wasn’t about to return his “morning” as though they were friendly campers looking forward to the day’s adventures. Though he hadn’t actually said “ good morning,” it was implied. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing “good” about it. She was still his prisoner, still being taken somewhere she didn’t want to go.
    Angel held the dented cup and