Harlot Read Online Free PDF

hot and pulsing. The idea of those hands on her again…
    But his hands wouldn’t touch her that way. They wouldn’t cradle her face or stroke her wrist or cup her cheek. Still. They’d be Caleb’s hands. She loved those hands.
    Jessica sat down at her kitchen table and wrote a letter. Despite the roughness of the wood floors and the bare shelves in the kitchen, the stationery was creamy and fine-grained. There were few things that hadn’t been sold out from under her to pay her father’s debts, but her personal stationery had been one of them. She wished she could scratch out her stamped initials, but that would be childish. She had the same name, even if she was a completely different person.
    After braiding her hair and donning a hat with a brim that dipped down low enough to keep her face in shadow, Jessica sealed the letter in an envelope, wrote Caleb’s name on the front, and headed out to saddle Bill’s mule.
    It was Sunday. Everyone would be at services for a time. She could ride into town, leave the letter for Caleb, and escape before anyone recognized her.
    Sixty minutes later, Jessica urged the mule into the narrow alley that ran behind Theodore Durst’s home. Sweat prickled along her hairline, despite the cool clouds rolling in. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be seen by anyone, ever again.
    She sent Bill into town for supplies when they needed sugar or flour or coffee. Melisande went too, sometimes, claiming not to be bothered by the stares. But Jessica hadn’t set foot in town in months, and everything inside her urged her to leave now. This terrible idea was hardly worth the risk of being spotted by an old friend. A new enemy.
    “I need the money,” she whispered to herself, nudging the mule forward when it sensed her tension and stopped. Three houses down, Jessica spotted the gate that led to the Durst yard. She slid off the mule and stood there, staring.
    It was a white picket gate and could do her no harm, but her knees shook as she reached into her bag and withdrew the letter. The paper’s perfection was a strange pale square in the gray day. When she turned it over, Caleb’s name looked like it had every other time she’d written it. As if she still belonged to him. She didn’t.
    She’d heard he had someone else waiting in California. That had likely been a lie too, but Jessica didn’t care one way or another. Men never cared about their faraway sweethearts, after all.
    Anger at that thought gave her the strength to open the gate and walk toward the kitchen door. She didn’t knock, though. She only pulled the screen door until it was the tiniest bit ajar, then leaned down to slip the letter inside. The hinges squealed. Jessica dropped the letter in and let the door shut, cringing when it slammed against the frame.
    Before she could get farther than the bottom step, the wooden door creaked open, and Jessica spun around.
    “Hello?” the cook called out. “Can I help you?”
    “No,” Jessica murmured as she backed away.
    The cook cocked her head, wiped her hands on her apron, and offered a smile. “Nonsense. What can I—?” The words died on her lips, and her eyes widened. “You!” she gasped.
    Oh no. Jessica backed away faster.
    “What are you doing here? Get on out of here!”
    “I’m sorry,” Jessica whispered.
    “Get on and don’t come back!” the older woman yelled in response. She made a shooing motion with her apron. Jessica could remember the cook fussing over a plate of little sandwiches and assuring Jessica that Caleb would surely come home from California soon. Now her face was flushed with anger.
    “Get off this property! You should be ashamed of yourself, bringing your nastiness around here!”
    Jessica retreated down the stone path that led to a tiny shed and the gate. “I’m sorry,” she managed again, just before a male voice rumbled from the house.
    “What’s the problem here?” Caleb asked. He stepped through the doorway, his eyes