Passion's Joy Read Online Free PDF

one eye.
    Alarm rose not from any one of the recklessly handsome features but by the complete impression. She had no strength, depended solely on her wits, and what frightened her the most was the sense that he also had an intelligence so quick and sharp it could swallow hers in a bite.
    She had yet to take a breath when he moved toward the captives. The pounding of her heart produced the idea of remaining silent and not alerting him to her presence. It was no use; surely he'd spot Libertine and then her. And oh God, where had her senses fled? If he should be allowed to rouse the captives, all would be lost.
    A long jeweled dagger, pearl inlaid and sparkling with rubies and emeralds, appeared in his hand, and when she saw this, she found her voice. "Hold it right there, mister! Or I'll blow you to bits!"
    Ram stopped and froze, his normally quick mind requiring several long seconds to give reality to the squeakiest, queer voice he had ever chanced to hear. He turned slowly and found the owner of this voice perched in the tree like a parrot. Surprised by so unlikely an event as being held at gunpoint by a small brat and out in the middle of nowhere, his amusement took some seconds to overcome his incredulity.
    "What mischief is this?'
    Joy Claret knew the exact moment laughter warmed the cold, dark gaze. The man's amusement, to say nothing of the arrogance of his demand, spoke wagonloads for her trouble. "Whatever it is, mister, it is not your concern!''
    Simultaneously, both their gazes turned to Rake. The huge monstrosity of a dog maintained an attack stance on the two bound men, completely ignoring what anyone else might think a real threat to his master. This brought Ram's gaze back to the tree, and with sudden renewed interest, he started toward her.
    "Hold it!"
    He stopped, now only four paces from her.
    "That's right, just stand still while I reason out your fate."
    A dark brow lifted. "Indeed!" He chuckled. "I hardly intend to rest my fate in your ah, trembling hands." He watched the sky-blue eyes look to her hands, as if to ascertain the reality of the assertion.
    Joy desperately attempted to steady her aim.
    "I’ll tell you once, brat," he said more gently. "You'll fare far better if you drop to the ground now and start explaining this mishap."
    Anger flushed her cheeks. She couldn't believe it, him, his unequaled arrogance! "News to you—you nefarious scoundrel—I have a pistol pointed at you!"
    Dark brows drew together with confusion. Nefarious scoundrel? Hardly the curse words of a backwoods brat. Damn that voice too, so curiously feminine, as though the lad was a recent audition for the Vienna Boys' Choir—
    The thought brought a quick appraisal of the boy's hands. In all his years, he had yet to see a boy—any boy—with clean and manicured nails, let alone fingers so obviously thin and feminine.
    He stared long and hard at the delicate and lovely features that were suddenly far too feminine, even for a pretty boy. Quick anger arrived, controlled only by a sudden—and for him, rare—curiosity. He would play her game only long enough to know where it led.
    "Now—" she desperately attempted a gruff, mean, and male tone that remained infuriatingly out of reach. "You just sit where you stand, while we wait."
    "Wait for what?'
    "For my friends. I can't very well keep a pistol to you and tie you up at the same time, can I?" she explained. "So, we'll just have to wait for my friends.''
    "And how many, ah, friends are we expecting?"
    Two—I mean twenty!" She quickly changed her mind. She had to sound meaner, much meaner. "So sit, mister!"
    "You shouldn't threaten a person with a gun if you don't have the necessary inclination to
    use it."

    Her gaze narrowed. "What makes you think I won't use it?”
    "Had you or your, ah, twenty friends been murderers, no doubt those two fools there," he
    motioned, "would have bullet holes where only bruises show."
    Disarmed by his quick reasoning, Joy tried to dissuade him from