Hearts Beguiled Read Online Free PDF Page A

damn-the-world smile. "You know, mademoiselle, I believe you are right."
    He threw himself at her, knocking her to the floor just as a tremendous explosion shook the building.
    The glass that was everywhere in the room shattered into a thousand shards. The walls rattled and the floor shivered. There was an echoing rumble, a final tinkle of a falling mirror, then silence.
    Gabrielle opened her eyes. The ceiling floated high above her. Clouds of plaster drifted lazily in the air. She felt a muffled pressure against her ears, as if she were swimming under water.
    He lay on her, the full length of him covering the full length of her. His chest flattened her breasts; his stomach pressed against hers. One of his thighs was braced between her legs. His face was very close. She could see the fans of tiny wrinkles around his eyes, the incredibly long lashes that brushed against his cheekbones when he blinked, the lines at the corners of his mouth which no longer looked so hard and cruel. She marked the pulse beats in his lean throat, saw them quicken.
    "Monsieur, you are lying on me," she said, then wished she hadn't. It would give him ideas. It was giving her ideas.
    He said nothing. His dark gray eyes regarded her seriously. He shifted his weight a little, easing it. The movement caused his thigh to press briefly into the cleft between her legs, and Gabrielle felt the muscles low in her stomach flutter.
    He lightly brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "You're bleeding a little. It's only a scratch."
    Gabrielle had to smile. He had said it so matter-of-factly. Only a scratch. As if they both hadn't almost been killed. She decided he probably was a little mad. Perhaps that was what made him so exciting.
    His fingers had drifted over her cheekbones, across her forehead, then down along her chin, tracing the contours of her face. The skin of his hand was rough and callused; it sent odd chills rippling down her spine.
    "Your experiment seems to have been something of a disaster, monsieur," she said, mainly to stop the fluttering in her stomach. But her words sounded shaky and breathless to her ears.
    "On the contrary . . ." He lowered his face until it was only inches from hers. She thought he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her. "It was"—his voice drifted into a low, silky purr—"a shattering success."
    Gabrielle closed her eyes, and her mouth parted open with a soft sigh. His lips touched hers—
    "The devil take you, Max you scoundrel! Are you trying to kill us all?"
    Gabrielle's eyes flew open. The face above hers turned slightly and, from beneath lazy, slitted lids, regarded the woman who had just barged into the room.
    "Go away, Sophie. Can't you see I'm busy?"
    The woman stood above them with her hands on her hips. "Really, Max, you are incorrigible. Now is no time to be doing that. " She looked at the shambles around her. "Merde, you've broken all my windows and frightened my cust— guests half out of their wits!"
    Gabrielle struggled against his hard chest. "Get off me, you oaf!"
    Laughing, he rose to his feet, pulling her up with him in one smooth movement. She felt the rugged strength of him in the tingly pressure of his fingers clasping her wrist, long after he had let it go.
    The woman looked Gabrielle up and down, while Gabrielle struggled to gather herself together. Her fichu had pulled half out of her bodice. Plaster dust coated her clothes and hair. Somehow one of her heels had broken off her shoe; it made her feel decidedly lopsided.
    Although they had never been introduced, Gabrielle had seen the woman before, for Sophie Restonne was a well-known figure in the Palais Royal. She was at the tail end of her youth and beauty, but hiding it well, with an expertly made-up face and an elaborate, heavily powdered coiffure. Her dresses were always panniered, beribboned, flounced, and expensive. She resided in one of the apartments above the Cafe de Foy with several "sisters," running an establishment where