Cheryl Holt Read Online Free PDF

while anxious to obtain a nebulous, but undeniable, benefit in return. He’d silently observed as she’d awakened and dried herself, scrupulously evaluating her saucy breasts, her rounded ass, and ultimately determining that she would be a perfect partner for the ribald sorts of libidinous recreation he enjoyed.
    Initially, with her exclamations of shock and insult at his appearance, he’d thought she was playacting. So many of them did, feeling the need to blunt their depravity by feigning umbrage. As they’d studied their joint reflections in the mirror, she’d been so curious, so responsive and receptive, but as he’d moved to the next level, as he’d suckled at her supple breast, he’d received the distinct impressionthat she was unprepared for what she’d initiated, which left him totally bewildered.
    Unceremoniously, he dumped her on the bed and tossed her towel after her.
    “Cover yourself.”
    She hastily complied, but the towel wasn’t wide enough to suit her purposes, and trembling, she cowered beneath it. He glanced about until he located a green robe draped over a chair; he retrieved it, and pitched it to her.
    “Put this on,” he dictated, then he showed her his back while searching the walls for peepholes. Behind him, he noted her hesitation, then she hurriedly moved about on the bed. When the mattress shifted and her feet hit the floor, he spun around.
    Mercy, but she was an erotic sight, with that splendid hair curling across her shoulders. She’d cinched the robe’s belt at her waist, and the fabric flawlessly outlined her magnificent body, her graceful hips, her pouty breasts with those tempting nipples. Their discord had elevated her pulse and flushed her cheeks to a flattering rose color.
    Their gazes linked and held. Though she was shaking like a skittish colt, she meant to, stand her ground.
    “Who is your husband?” he quietly demanded.
    “I’m not married.”
    “You’re a widow?”
    “No. I’ve never wed.”
    “You’re single?”
    “Yes.”
    Tersely, he bit out, “Then why did you ask me here?”
    “Me? Ask you?”
    “If you didn’t plan an assignation, why invite me to your room? Are you so naive that you don’t appreciate how dangerous it is to dabble with a man when you’ve no intention of following through?”
    “You believe that I’m the kind of woman who would . . .” Aghast, she sputtered. “That I . . . that I . . .”
    Apparently, she couldn’t utter the words that would describe the type of person he suspected her of being. A nigglingwave of doubt swamped him. “You fancied
me
. You specifically propositioned
me
.”
    “You wretched bounder!” Thoroughly insulted, her stunning emerald eyes glimmered heatedly. She clutched at the lapels of her robe. “How dare you concoct such a wild story!”
    Taking her measure, he carefully scrutinized her affront. He was a good judge of character and always had been. In his line of employment, he had to regularly assess veracity and temperament, and he was convinced she was telling the truth. She had neither solicited him nor procured his services.
    So, who was the blond emissary who had lured him to her? And why? Clearly, someone hoped to set a carnal trap. But for him? Or for her? And to what end?
    Abruptly and gravely apprehensive, he raced to the door and locked it.
    “What are you doing?” she queried, but he ignored her.
    A painting hung on the wall, and he lifted it off its hook. Sure enough, there was a partially hidden peephole that would have allowed a voyeur to lurk in the hall and peek inside. He flipped the artwork upside down, and the opening was effectively shielded.
    After a meticulous search of that wall and another, he discovered no more holes. The third wall faced the exterior of the house and the fourth, the inner dressing room, so they couldn’t possibly contain any. The only other entrance—the door to his adjoining bedchamber—was barred from within. For now, they were relatively secure.