Magic in His Kiss Read Online Free PDF Page A

weren’t deep in an abbey at the bedside of a dying woman, he might well be tempted to play a different sort of song.
    One of seduction.
    Nicole’s body was made for a man’s hands to caress. Her mouth fair begged kissing.
    Even as his loins stirred, Rhodri acknowledged the danger of luring this particular captivating woman into his bed. Nicole de Leon was the object of his mission—and he couldn’t fail in his task.
    Best to think of her as the petulant little girl who’d kicked him in the shins and caused him three long months’ worth of punishment, not ponder overlong on her womanly enticements or on the benevolent smile she turned his way. Except she was no longer a little girl, nor violently petulant, nor utterly selfish.
    Mother Abbess’s hand shifted. Nicole was quick to notice. She covered the nun’s hand with her own soft-skinned, delicate fingers, bending low to hear whatever the nun whispered.
    Giving him yet another perspective from which to contemplate the jut of her bosom beneath the habit. He almost groaned aloud in pain, fighting the nearly overwhelming urge to reach over and take the weight of a breast in his hand.
    When she straightened, Nicole’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You play so beautifully, Mother Abbess believes you must be an archangel sent to ease her way heavenward.”
    He’d been called many things in his life. Stalwart, brave, and loyal by his friends. Dangerous, a conniving cur, or debased devil by his enemies. Charming, wonderful, and talented by his previous lovers.
    No one ever had compared him to one of the heavenly host. If the nun only knew how the bulge in his pants urged him to commit unholy decadence, she’d be shooing him off to hell.
    “I am no angel, Mother Abbess, though I would appreciate your recommending me to Michael or Gabriel should you happen to meet up with them.”
    Nicole’s smile teased him, charming him so completely his fingers almost fumbled on the strings. “I could tell Mother Abbess a tale or two to disabuse her of her mistaken notion.”
    What tales could Nicole tell of his not-so-angelic nature? She’d certainly been too young to remember much of what had happened during her visit to Wales. But then, she might have heard stories from her sisters or her brother, William. Tales he certainly didn’t want a nun to hear.
    “You could,” he allowed. “But then I would have to tell a tale or two of my own, would I not?”
    Her smile faltered but didn’t disappear. “Mother Abbess already knows I am no angel.”
    Rhodri could have sworn he heard a snicker from one of the flock of nuns kneeling on the floor.
    During his journey to fetch Nicole, he’d given brief thought to the rightness of taking Nicole away from the abbey, wondering if perhaps he’d be tearing her away from a true calling to the Church. Not that her calling mattered to Connor, or to Rhodri, who was duty bound to follow Connor’s orders. Still, he gladly set his mind at ease that Nicole didn’t belong to the Church and that at least one nun in the crowd agreed with him.
    Rhodri refused to feel guilty that Nicole still looked a bit worried that he might inform Mother Abbess of just how unangelic Nicole could be. Instead, he revealed his own devilish tendencies with his harp.
    The song was a common one, heard at every hall, tavern, or campfire where men downed ale. Out of respect for where he was, he didn’t sing the words, but he drew expected reactions all the same.
    From the flock he heard soft gasps and saw a few disapprovingly arched eyebrows. Mother Abbess breathed a soft “Oh” before gracing him with a beatific smile.
    And Nicole—she crossed her arms under her sweet breasts. Her reproachful look failed. Then her boot tapped the rapid beat against the plank floor.
    Her decorum suffered further when she began to mouth the words, even the bawdy ones.
    Sister Claire stood, her expression thunderous, her intent clear. Rhodri stared at her hard and played on, willing