Rapture in His Arms Read Online Free PDF Page B

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    Lowering himself to the mattress, Donovan curled beside the sleeping beauty. He steeled himself not to be swayed by her loveliness, but like a moth drawn to a flickering, bright flame, Donovan slowly and seductively kissed her soft, pink lips. He couldn’t help himself. They tasted sweet and warm like sugar syrup. His intention had been to kiss her just a few times, only to waken her, but once he’d tasted her lips, Donovan found he didn’t want to stop kissing her. This was one Englishwoman he’d enjoy loving very much, he decided, if the rest of her body tasted as wonderful as her mouth.
    He moaned softly, his manhood swelled anew when she stirred a bit and lifted her hand from the mattress to graze his bare shoulder in what he took for a submissive gesture. Aye, he thought to himself in a passion-shrouded haze, I want this woman, I have to have her, no matter that she’s a whore at heart.
    Something wonderful and nice—and very strange —invaded Jillian’s dream. She’d been dreaming that she was seated by the river; once again, she was a young girl of fourteen, with a large and mangy yellow mutt she’d named Foxglove. In the dream she’d thrown a stick to the dog and he came bounding back with it in his mouth to proudly present it to her. She laughed and stroked his head, and the dog licked her chin. But then Foxglove disappeared, and a man’s shadowy figure took the place beside her. He kissed her, taking the breath from her until she clung to his broad shoulders to keep from falling, to keep him close to her. Something odd was happening to her, something strangely wonderful. Jillian didn’t resist his kisses but reveled in them, wishing them never to end. The dream seemed so real; she even felt his arms wrapping around her and pulling her against his chest, which she realized was bare and musky-scented. She felt the wild beating of his heart against her breast, even dreamed that his fingers had found one of her nipples and expertly kneaded it until she couldn’t do anything but moan in unabashed pleasure. Indeed, strange and unusual sensations coursed through her woman’s body—a body untouched by any man.
    Was this man Edwin? she asked herself, and tried to see him, but her eyes wouldn’t open. No, this wasn’t Edwin, she decided, but if not Edwin, then who was her phantom lover? “Who—are—you?” she asked the man in her dreams, not daring to open her eyes in fear that he’d disappear, but she heard her voice, breathy and unreal to her own ears, ask the question.
    “’Tis Donovan,” came the husky and passion-drenched reply. “What would you have me do to please you, lady? Would you like—” And then the deep male voice whispered something to her which was so outrageous and so sinful that Jillian’s eyes opened in wide and acute shock. This was no dream. There was a man in her bed! And not just any man, but Donovan, the white slave.
    The weight of his body woke her entirely. Her gaze found his reddish-gold head which was moving to her breasts. His tongue flicked through the gauzy material of her gown to find her nipple, and he suckled the bud, which was as hard as a pearl. He groaned as he did this, and it was the lusty sound that made Jillian start and bolt upright in absolute and complete horror.
    “Get—off! Get—away!” Jillian pushed him off of her, so terrified that her voice sounded like a shriek. Donovan instantly left the bed and stood up while Jillian grabbed for the sheet and pulled it to her neck. She, too, got up from the bed but on the other side, and she backed up to the wall, resembling a spitting kitten cornered by a ferocious hound. “What—what do you want? What are you doing here?” Donovan made a movement toward her, but she grabbed a heavy, gold candlestick and waved it at him. “Take one more step and I’ll kill you!”
    “What is wrong with ye, lady? What have I done?” he asked in apparent confusion. “’Tis a game ye’re playin’ with me