Pearl on Cherry Read Online Free PDF Page B

entire adult life.
    As a gentleman of thirty-six years, he should know how to deal with these types of feelings, but he was at a loss for how to react.
    Before he could think, he had his lips on hers, and she was opening her mouth to him.
    He pinned her up against the cushions, then pushed her down to lying back.
    His fingers quested after her tight cunt, but she pushed his hands away, making sure to keep him out of the man’s trousers she wore.
    “No, no!” She turned to her side, and he kept her beneath him.
    He sucked at her ear, then whispered, “By God, do I want you. And I don’t want for anything. I get what I desire, Cherry girl.”
    “This cherry is not for sale, just as I did not give you my pearls for purchase. How well did that fare for you when you snatched at them? Instead of getting the whole strand intact, you took only one bead with you. I am much the same.” She turned her head to face his. “You can force yourself on me, but will you really have me?”
    He blinked and shoved himself off her, feeling dirtier than he ever thought possible.
    “Do you realize you are speaking to William Ber—”
    “And do you realize you are speaking to no one of consequence—only a girl with a love for the stage, so she can hide away in plain sight? Why take that from me? Why get in my way?”
    He grunted and dropped his head, taking a deep breath.
    Did she have to smell so fragrant and luscious?
    “I should care about what you want?” he asked, snorting. Why did his chest sting like she’d thrust a sword into his ribs? Why should he care about anything she thought or felt? He barely knew her.
    “You do what you like, since I am sure that is what you are good at.” She began unbuttoning her shirt, looking resigned and completely miserable about it.
    “You keep it on. When I take you, it will be because you beg for it, not because you lack choices.”
    He pounded on the side of the carriage wall, then opened the window and shouted for him to stop.
    She tensed, and her eyes filled with dread.
    “Cherry girl”—his jaw tightened—“you get yourself home safely. Do that , and we shall talk again soon.”
    He stepped out of the carriage and paid the driver even more to deposit her safely at her door.
    Uncharacteristically, he tacked on at the end, “And if you so much as touch her—I shall dismantle you and this carriage, bit by aching bit.”
    The man nodded, and William, for once in his life, walked home, rather than taking the luxurious option of being driven about at his whim.

Chapter 3
     
    William was agitated and short-tempered. No matter what he did over the last two weeks since being in that carriage with the cherry girl, no matter which starlet he spoke to, he burned inside, aching for God knew what. He certainly did not know why he was so cantankerous, barking at everyone he was near. His knuckles kept popping as he made unrelenting fists at no one in particular.
    She was ignoring him.
    She hated him.
    He watched her out of the corner of his eye while she toiled away off to the side of the stage.
    She never looked at him, and she acted like he didn’t exist.
    Fine. He had things to do. He was busy, dammit.
    Only . . . His eyes flitted over to her once more.
    She was bent over a prop, cleaning it with a rag.
    That damn cherry girl thought he’d meant to take her against her will in that carriage ride.
    Maybe if he explained.
    Wait. He didn’t explain himself to anyone. He was William Berling Ferrismore III—a man of privilege and means.
    He could have taken hold of her womanly flesh if he had wanted to without anything ill befalling him afterward.
    But why would he do that? Forcing himself on a woman was not his way. And why did he still care all these days later what she thought about him?
    He had plenty of women at his disposal. Surely he could find one somewhere that would be all too happy to bend over and suck it for him if he told them to. But she . . .
    He swiped his hands down his face