Irresistible Read Online Free PDF

only chance— for survival.
    Sending another quick, fervent prayer skyward, she made a stealthy grab and succeeded in closing her hand around the slippery handle.
    "Awake, are you?"
    The man with his fist in her back must have either seen or felt her movement, because he bent nearer, leaning over to speak almost in her ear. The warmth of his breath feathered across her cheek. His accent was that of the British upper classes, and it surprised her, given the speech patterns of his cohorts. Involuntarily, before she could debate the wisdom of doing so, she glanced up, registering the glint of his eyes, the darkness of his hair and skin, the intimidating breadth of his shoulders against the backdrop of the peaking waves. Then all coherent thought left her as she realized that she might very well be looking into the face of her murderer.
    Stark terror froze her in place. Her breathing stopped. Even sitting cross-legged in the bottom of the boat as he was, he was a large man, she could tell. A large, strong man, muscular and fit. He could kill her himself, with his bare hands, with ease, if he chose to do so— and there were five more like him.
    The knot in her stomach twisted tighter. Fighting panic, she willed herself to breathe again and drew in a shaky, quavery draft of salt-and-fish-tainted air.
    It was now or never.
    Grasping the jug as if it were her only hope of salvation— which, indeed, it was— Claire drew on every ounce of strength and determination she still possessed and surged to her knees. Her gown jerked free of his hold. He looked at her in surprise as his hand fell away. On her knees as she was, with him sitting cross-legged before her, they were practically nose to nose. Their gazes met, locked, for the briefest of moments. He was opening his mouth as if to say something as she swung her improvised weapon at him in a desperate arc. The heavy jug crashed into the side of his face with a sound that was clearly audible over the rushing sea.
    "Dammit to bloody hell!"
    Clapping a hand to his face, he fell back even as shock waves from the impact shuddered up her arm, nearly making her drop the jug. Hanging on to it for dear life, her pulse racing, she scrambled clumsily for the side.
    "Master Hugh!"
    The other previously cross-legged man, on his knees now too, snatched a handful of her skirt, pulling her back when she would have dived into the sea. Yanking free, she was undone by the rocking of the boat and toppled against the man she had hit. For a stunned instant Claire felt the hard strength of his body against her back. Then he grabbed her arm, hurting her, and with a strength born of utter desperation she turned on him, beating at him with the jug and screeching like a bedlamite.
    "Christ Almighty! Grab her, James!"
    "Aye, I've got her!"
    She was still swinging as the second man snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her off. He felt softer than the first; the spongy resilience of his stomach cushioned her back. In the background the oarsmen shouted, moving so unwarily as they hastened to come to their companions' aid that they nearly overturned the already wildly pitching boat.
    Frantic, Claire jammed her elbow into that spongy stomach. He groaned, his grip loosening. She managed to wrest herself free only to have her wrist grabbed by the first man. Heart thumping, throat so dry that her screams now emerged more as harsh croaks, she slewed around.
    "Enough, vixen!"
    The words were a snarl. He was breathing heavily, but his hold on her wrist was as unbreakable as a vise. For an instant, as she drew in much-needed air, she stared into eyes that were, in that gray light, as black and pitiless as twin voids. She could see the gleam of his teeth as his lips drew back from them. Her left hand, with his right one wrapped around her wrist, was upraised between them. Her right hand still kept its death-defying grip on the jug. Behind her, the second man was already reaching for her again.
    The battle was