Princess From the Past Read Online Free PDF

shocking?” Leo asked in that way of his that felt like a slap, as if she was too foolish, too naïve. It set her teeth on edge.
    “Are you so grand that you cannot ring the doorbell like anyone else?” she asked more fiercely than she’d intended.
    It did not help that she had not slept well, her mind racing and her skin buzzing as if she’d been wildly over-caffeinated. Nor did it help that she had dressed to pack boxes today, in a pair of faded blue jeans and a simple, blue long-sleeved T-shirt, with her curls tied up in a haphazard knot on the back of her head. Not exactly the height of elegance.
    Leo, of course, looked exquisite and impeccable in a charcoal-colored buttoned-down shirt that clung to his flat, hard chest and a pair of dark, wool trousers that only emphasized the strong lines of his body.
    He leaned against the doorjamb and watched her for a simmering moment, his mouth unsmiling, those coffee eyes hooded.
    “Is your lot in life truly so egregious, Bethany?” he asked softly. “Do I deserve quite this level of hostility?”
    Something thicker than regret—and much too close to shame—turned over in her stomach. But Bethany forced herself not to do what every instinct screamed at her to do: she would not apologize, cajole or soothe. She knew from painful experience that there was only one way such things would end. Leo took and took until there was nothing in her left to give.
    So she did not cross to him. She did not even shrug an apology. She only brushed a fallen strand of hair away from her face, ignored the spreading hollowness within and concentrated on the box in front of her on the wide bed.
    “I realize this is your house,” she said stiffly into the uncomfortable silence. “But I would appreciate it if you would do me the courtesy of announcing your arrival, rather than appearing in doorways. It seems only polite.”
    There were so many land mines littered about the floor and so many memories cluttering the air between them—too many. Her chest felt tight, yet all she could think of was her first night in Italy and Leo’s patient instructions about how she would be expected to behave—delivered between kisses in his grand bed. He had grown less patient and much less affectionate over time, when it had become clear to all involved that he had made a dreadful mistake in marrying someone like Bethany. Her mouth tightened at the memory.
    “Of course,” Leo murmured. His dark gaze trackedher movements. “You are already packing your belongings?”
    “Don’t worry,” she said, shooting him a look. “I won’t take anything that isn’t mine.”
    That muscle in his jaw jumped and his eyes narrowed.
    “I am relieved to hear it,” he said after a thick, simmering moment.
    When she had folded the same white cotton sweater four times, and still failed to do it correctly, Bethany gave up. She turned from the bed and faced him, swallowing back any fear, anxiety or any of the softer, deeper things she pretended not to feel—because none would do her any good.
    “Leo, really.” She shoved her hands into her hip pockets so he could not see that they were curling into fists. “Why are you here?”
    “I have not visited this place in a long time,” he said, and she hated him for it.
    “No,” she agreed, her voice a rasp in the sudden tense air of the room.
    How dared he refer to that night—that awful, shameful night? How could she have behaved that way, so out of control and crazed with her heartbreak, her desperate resolve to really, truly leave him? And how could all of that fury and fire have twisted around and around and left her so wanton, so shameless, that she could have …
mated
with him like that? With such ferocity it still made her shiver years later.
    She’d had no idea of the depths to which she could sink. Not until he’d taken her there and then left her behind to stew in it.
    “I have news,” he said, his gaze moving over her face, once again making her wonder