Burning Tigress Read Online Free PDF

occurrence. There had been that light when she surprised him this morning during his dragon exercises. And there was light now, as they wended their way through Chinese Shanghai.
    She took a breath to speak, and Ken Jin shook his head. He almost laughed at her frustrated sigh. Then, finally, he got his reward. She slipped her hand onto his thigh. She was leaning forward, obviously wanting to talk, and in her need to express herself she'd not only put her hand on his thigh but tightened her hold there, gripping him as firmly as any tigress would its prey. The moment was so delightful that he closed his eyes to savor the feeling.
    It didn't last long, of course. All too soon she began to speak, her voice low and husky in the way of all stimulated women—though he knew she did not understand how a woman's yin automatically responded to a man's yang.
    "Tell me about this school, Ken Jin," she whispered. Her voice and hand had his yang fires surging, but he was still driving the carriage. He had to focus on not crashing. Unfortunately, that required some movement, and his leg flexed beneath her hand. He was too late to freeze the muscle twitch, and much too late to stop her from realizing where she'd put her hand. Gasping in horror, she pulled back to sit excruciatingly tall beside him. He suppressed his sigh of regret even as he spoke in a sharp undertone.
    "Slump, Miss Charlotte!"
    She twisted slightly. "I beg your pardon?"
    "Slump," he repeated. "Chinese ladies are not nearly so tall." In truth, no one who looked at her could mistake her for Chinese. Her clothing alone, not to mention the horse and carriage, marked her as an Englishwoman no matter how she covered her face and hair. But if she slumped, then she would need to position herself low in the carriage, low enough, perhaps, to steady herself by gripping him again.
    He knew he was depraved to toy with a girl in this way, especially a white girl. What kind of deviant resorted to subterfuge just to have a woman touch his thigh? It was stupid, and she was, after all, his employer's daughter. No man pissed at the dinner table. Yet here he was, stirring his flagging yang fires with an innocent white girl. How much lower could he sink?
    Very low, apparently, because he grinned as Miss Charlotte once again leaned forward, slumping in her seat and setting her long white fingers across his thigh. Perhaps if he scooted forward, her hand would slip higher.
    "Ken Jin, you must explain where we are going," she whispered.
    "Right here," he answered with regret. He pulled back on the reins, simultaneously sliding his hips forward. Unfortunately, his ruse failed. Miss Charlotte was already straightening, her hand lifting to her chest as she looked around.
    No matter. His dragon was already well stimulated. So he set the brake and leapt down to the street. Except, he couldn't exactly leap because his dragon had stretched to large and happy life. Ah, what a joy to realize this morning's acupuncture had finally cleared his energy blockage. After more than a year of wilting nothingness, his dragon lived and lusted again. He didn't even care that it made walking difficult. He was a whole man again.
    He extended his hand, assisting Miss Charlotte as she descended. Or such was his intent, but she hadn't waited for him. As he rounded the horse, she was already climbing out. Which required him to stand quietly and watch the shift and sway of her full buttocks. Ah, what great yin flowed in his employer's daughter! Her husband would be a lucky man—assuming he had the wit to tap her ample stores. But then she was down, and Ken Jin had to escort her to the door of the famous Tigress Shi Po.
    "Ken Jin," she whispered. "Where are we? What shall I say?"
    "Perhaps you should leave the satchel in the carriage. I can lock it in the boot—"
    "No," she snapped, clutching the sack. "I wish to keep it with me."
    "As you wish," he returned. He had to find some way of separating her from the scrolls. They