Passage West Read Online Free PDF

close he could reach out and touch her. When she first approached, he expected her to walk past his place of concealment. By the time he realized what she was about to do, it was too late to make her aware of his presence.
    Mesmerized, he watched as she removed her clothes. His throat went dry as she stood before him, clad only in a chemise of soft cotton lawn, which barely covered her from torso to hips.
    If he had any decency, he told himself sternly, he would stand up now, before this went any further, and walk away. But a woman like Abby Market would be humiliated to be caught undressing. This had already gone too far to stop. The damage was done. He had to stay concealed, for her sake as well as his own.
    If he were a saint, he thought, he would avert his gaze and allow her the privacy she sought. He watched as the white chemise dropped to the ground. His breath caught in his throat and he swallowed back the hiss of air that nearly escaped his lips at the sight of her. Though her arms and face had been bronzed by the sun, the rest of her skin was as pale and luminous as the white pebbles that lay at the bottom of a pool, bleached by the rays of a relentless sun. Her legs were long and shapely; her narrow hips softly curved. Her waist was so tiny he was certain his hands could easily span it. Her breasts were small, rounded, and perfectly formed. She lifted her face to the moon. He studied the white column of throat, and found himself wondering what it would be like to press his lips there and feel her pulse throb. Her hair spilled down her back in a tangle of soft waves and he longed to plunge his hands into it and feel its texture.
    His hand tightened at his side. He was no saint. There was no way he could turn away from the sight of her. And he hadn’t a shred of decency, he admitted. He was glad he was concealed here in the shadows.
    She picked up the soap and dipped a toe into the cool water. In the moonlight he saw her draw her foot back for a moment. Then with a laugh, she walked boldly into the swollen creek and dipped below the water. Shaking her head, she splashed and frolicked like a puppy, kicking her feet, then rolling to her back, floating soundless for long silent minutes.
    A cloud covered the moon and Rourke cursed the darkness. He strained, seeing only her darkened form, silhouetted against the blackened water. Then the cloud lifted, and he sucked in his breath as she stood in the shallows and began lathering her hair. The scent of bayberry drifted to him, and he inhaled the wonderful fragrance. When her hair was covered with soap, she dipped beneath the water, shaking her hair until she could no longer hold her breath. She came up sputtering and shook her head, sending the fiery mane dancing out before settling down around her like a cloud.
    She extended one delicate arm and lathered it, then the other. Moving the soap along her throat, she sighed before stroking it across one breast, then the other, and then across the soft white flesh of her stomach. When she struggled to lather her back, Rourke had to force himself not to go to her and offer his assistance. A smile of pure appreciation lit his features. Then he saw it. The thin dark scar left by her father’s whip. His smile fled. He felt a cold, hard fury settle in the pit of his stomach. He hated the man. Loathed him. He could kill him for what he did to her. For as long as that line marred her young flesh, he would hate the man who put it there.
    Sitting in the shallow water, she lifted first one leg, then the other, while she lathered and soaped. Reaching for the pile of clothes, she washed them, wrung them out, and tossed them into the grass. Then she turned and settled once more into the water for a final swim.
    Following a ribbon of moonlight across the water, Abby glided noiselessly along, feeling a sense of freedom, of exhilaration she rarely enjoyed. She was alone in the universe. In this weightless environment, her muscles no longer ached.