Fletcher's Woman Read Online Free PDF Page B

concentrate on the passing countryside, even though he knew every inch of it. The coach had left Providence behind, and there were open fields on both sides of the road, choked with the green-and-yellow violence of Scotch broom.
    There was within him a need to stare openly at the bedraggled waif huddled across from him, to memorize the delicate shape of her neck, the curve of her breasts, the gentle rounding of her thighs. He dared not touch her—not yet, not after the scene with Griffin Fletcher that morning, in Fanny Harper’s cottage—but he was consumed by the need to possess her. Ifhe allowed himself to look too closely, or for too long, his resolve to keep his distance and win her trust might not hold against the oceanic onrush of hunger he felt whenever his eyes touched her.
    The soft meter of her breathing told him that she had fallen asleep, and he smiled. Something very much like tenderness welled up inside him, and he braced himself against it.
    Rachel was different from all the others; he had known that from the first moment. And because she was different, she was dangerous; she could so easily seize power over him, even enslave him.
    No other woman—ever—had presented such a threat.
    The carriage made a sharp and sudden turn, jolting Jonas out of his pensive mood. Wheels rattled on the cobblestone drive leading up to the main house, and after a moment of intense preparation, he dared to glance in Rachel’s direction. She stirred, groaned softly.
    The sound made Jonas’s groin ache.
    When the clatter ceased and the carriage lurched to a stop, he rose from the seat and opened the door. With a soft, half-smile on his face, he lifted Rachel McKinnon into his arms and carried her, like a child, across the sweeping, marble-pillared porch and through the great double doors the driver had opened.
    Rachel awakened just as they crossed the threshhold, her marvelous orchid eyes wide and dazed and sleepy. After a moment, the realization of improper intimacy struck her with a visible impact. She stiffened in Jonas’s arms and cried, “Put me down!”
    Jonas did not want to release her, ever. Just holding her in that innocent, awkward fashion had stirred depths of need and desire in him far beyond what he had feared. It was all he could do to keep from carrying her up the sweeping staircase to his bedroom and losing himself, without regard for the consequences, in her sweetness and fire.
    And there was fire inside her, all right. Jonas could feel it searing the edges of his soul even as he set her back on her feet and executed a courtly half-bow.
    She was more than dangerous. She was deadly.
    â€œAs you wish,” he said, in a voice he didn’t even recognize.
    Rachel looked like an exotic bird, half-drowned, feathers ruffled. “Just because I came here to take a bath, Mr. Wilkes,” she sputtered, “Well—t-that doesn’t mean that I’m—that I—”
    Jonas was still struggling against the wild, agonizing desire that possessed him, but he smiled. “Of course,” he said.
    She relaxed a little, did not clutch his coat so tightly around herself. Slowly, her eyes darkened by awe, she began to take in her surroundings—the entry hall, with its black-and-white marble floor, cathedral ceilings, and carved teakwood walls. The dancing pastel colors cast by the crystal chandelier flashed, like sparks, in the dark purple depths of her gaze.
    Jonas was entirely bewitched, and might have remained frozen in the spell if his housekeeper, Mrs. Hammond, hadn’t appeared in the parlor doorway and stared at Rachel in surprise.
    With a flourish, Jonas gestured toward his rain-soaked guest. “As you can see, the young lady is in desperate need of a bath. See that she has one, please.”
    The housekeeper’s mouth tightened, grew white around the lips. “Jonas Wilkes—”
    But Jonas was already striding out of the house again. He