Charlotte Boyett-Compo- Wyndsheer Read Online Free PDF

barely glanced at her before he moved out of her line of vision but that one brief look was enough to make her pulse race.
    Striving to push herself up in the bed to get another look at him, she felt the weakness turning her arms to mush. Pain gouged at her head and she sucked in a soft breath, stilling as the ache shot all the way down her neck. It was all she could do to lift her head to see where he’d gone. When she saw him standing across the room at an old-fashioned stove, stirring something in a heavy cast iron skillet, she blinked, her forehead crinkling with confusion. The smell of eggs cooking wafted to her.
    “I’m hungry,” she heard herself say.
    He made no reply to her statement as he lifted the skillet and turned its contents into a plate. She watched him cross the room toward her with the plate in one hand and a fork in the other. Her head fell back to keep him in sight as he towered over her for a moment before sitting down on the edge of the bed. She swept her gaze over his face as he scooped eggs onto the fork.
    Handsome really could not describe the sheer male beauty of his face, she thought as he thrust the fork slowly to her lips. His looks mesmerized her, fascinated her. They were so rugged, so masculine, yet so beautiful to look upon she found she could not tear her gaze from him. It was like looking at a stunning sunset or a beautifully painted portrait come to life.
    “Eat,” he ordered.
    She opened her lips to take in the lightly scrambled eggs, chewing thoughtfully as she let her eyes continue roaming over his features.
    His dark brown hair was pulled back sharply from his face and secured carelessly in a ponytail. At his temples there were lighter patches of gray. His light green eyes were framed with long, thick lashes beneath perfectly arched brows and his nose was straight and well-defined, very masculine in shape and length. He had full lips that had a distinctive bow to the upper, a clean jaw line though it was shadowed with at least a two-day growth of beard. Broad shoulders sloped into thickly muscles arms the biceps of which rippled as he fed her. She could feel the hardness of his thigh against her own as he sat there and through the opened V of his shirt, she saw a crisp mat of hair.
    “Know what happened?” he asked her as he scraped the egg around in the plate, then scooped another bite up for her.
    She thought about it for a second, curiously unconcerned, and shook her head. Lifting the cover, she peered down at herself--embarrassed a bit that she was naked beneath the sheets.
    “Remember anything?”
    “No,” she said, lowering the sheet. She obediently opened her mouth to him as he pushed another spoonful of egg toward her, her eyes never leaving his remarkable face. She drank him in, absorbed him, knowing she would venture to the well many times over to experience the pleasure just looking at him gave her.
    “Do you know who you are?” He appeared to be a man of few words and those he spoke seemed to be pulled reluctantly from him as though he were unaccustomed to speaking aloud. His gaze was as steady on her face as hers was on his.
    She half-laughed at the question and started to answer but then realized with a start that she did not. The knowledge hit her like an ax between the eyes and she just stared at him--her eyes wide, lips parted, hands clutching the sheet to either side of her hips--as she tried to dredge up a reply, but nothing came. It was as though a black, swirling mist obscured the response and would not allow it to surface. Her mouth worked but no sound came out.
    She watched him get up and move away, taking the now empty plate with him. “Why can’t I remember?” she croaked, struggling to push up in the bed.
    “Concussion,” he said as he placed the plate into a basin. He took up a potholder and reached for an iron kettle on the stove then poured hot water into the basin.
    She put a hand to her head and felt around until she found a spot that was