Born in Sin Read Online Free PDF Page B

at her trim back, but it was her hips that held the most appeal for him. Well shaped and round, they beckoned a man in a way most carnal. Indeed, he could easily imagine walking up behind her, lifting the hem of her dress and burying himself deep inside her until he fully sated the fire in his groin.
    “My wounds are fine,” Sin snapped, wanting her out of his room immediately.
    She looked over her shoulder, glared at him, then looked back down and continued digging out some noxious-smelling plant as if she didn’t care one fig for what he’d said.
    The woman was mad. Insane! Completely and utterly moonstruck. No one disregarded him when he spoke. No one.
    So rare was this that Sin had no idea how to deal with it.
    After a few seconds, she straightened from the bed. “I need wine. Have you any?”
    “Nay,” he lied.
    It didn’t work. She spied a flagon on the table by the hearth.
    Going to it, she quickly learned it was far from empty and Sin wished he had drunk the whole of it the night before.
    She gave him a smarting stare, then poured a goblet of it.
    Sin narrowed his eyes.
    “I wish you would stop scowling at me,” she said as she returned the lid to the flagon. “’Tis unnerving.”
    “The devil is oft—”
    “And stop with the devil nonsense. I told you I know who you are and I’m not afraid of you.”
    “Then you, milady, are a fool.”
    “I’m not a fool,” she said with a meaningful look as she wrapped her long, sensuous fingers around the bowl of the goblet and brought it toward him. “But I do know demons when I see them.”
    “Obviously not.”
    She pulled leaves from the plant and dropped them into the wine. “Demons feed on children, they don’t stop them from being hurt.”
    “And what would you know of demons?”
    She met his gaze levelly. “Quite a bit, actually.”
    She added more herbs and bits to the wine until it formed a thick paste. Then she took the paste and smeared it over his skin, her touch searing him with heat.
    “Do you have a name?” she asked.
    “Since you claim to know me so well, you tell me.”
    She paused. “Well, I’m rather sure your mother didn’t name you Demon Butcher, Satan’s Spawn, or King’s Executioner.”
    Sin suppressed a smile at her cheekiness. Aye, she was a brave lady, with the heart of a lioness. “My mother gave me no name at all,” he said as he watched her wrap a bandage over his arm.
    Those light green eyes flashed as she met his gaze. “You have to be called something.”
    She stood so close that her breath fell softly against his skin as she spoke and the warm, floral scent of her filled his head.
    He became acutely aware of the fact that all he wore was a pair of chausses and she was dressed in naught save a thin servant’s dress. One that would be easy to divest her of.
    His mouth watered.
    The woman was beguiling, and for some reason he couldn’t fathom, he wanted to hear his name on her lips.
    “Those who dare speak to me directly call me Sin.”
    She nodded. “Cyn? Short for Cynric?”
    “Nay,” he said, recovering his stoicism as he remembered who and what he was. “S-I-N. As in conceived, born in, and am currently living happily in.”
    He felt her hand tremble for the first time.
    “You like to frighten people, don’t you?” she asked.
    “Aye.”
    “Why?”
    “Why not?”
    To his surprise, she laughed. It was a wondrous, musical sound that came from deep within her. Sin stared at her, entranced by the way her face softened.
    By the saints, she was a beauty. And right then he wanted desperately to taste those lips. To feel her breath mingling with his own as he claimed her. To allow Henry to see them wed so that he could enjoy her for the rest of his life.
    He froze at the thought.
    Nay, he would never allow himself such comfort. Even though she touched him gently now, she would curse and fear him as all others did if she knew the truth of him and what lay in his past.
    It was not for him to feel comfort or