Rude Awakening Read Online Free PDF Page B

could only guess that she must be hungry.
    She shuffled into his peripheral vision then, once more wrapped in the tartan blanket, only this time she’d secured it beneath her armpits. A towel covered her head turban-style, and the redness around her collar didn’t look so pronounced now her skin had gained a rosy glow from her hot bath.
    “Hello,” she said, walking to the kitchen table with small steps and sitting with her back to the wall.
    “Hello.” Harry smiled and took the food-filled plate to her, setting it on a mat and placing a knife and fork either side. “I suspect you’re hungry?”
    She nodded and ignored the cutlery, picking up a hunk of bread and stuffing half of it into her mouth. Where the devil had she come from? He turned away so she couldn’t see his deepening frown, could eat in peace without the embarrassment of him watching. He busied himself making hot chocolate, taking an overly long time to stir each drink so he could compose himself. Something about her tugged at him, made him want to rush over and crush her to his chest, but he sensed his attentions wouldn’t be received too well. What woman—dressed as she was, in the house of a stranger—would accept a hug from a man she didn’t know?
    He sighed deeply, blowing air out in a long, quiet stream, and picked up the steaming cups. With his gaze averted, he placed a cup before her and sat opposite, staring at the kitchen door in a bid to make her feel comfortable in his presence. He watched her from the corner of his eye, noting raised scars on her forearms, as though she’d been wounded with a knife. Or had she done that? Did she self-harm?
    “I can see you looking, you know,” she said, lifting the triangle of quiche and holding it in front of her mouth. “And yes, someone did that to me.”
    He whipped his head around at her confession, and she blushed, taking a large bite and looking at the back door.
    “I think,” she added quickly after swallowing. “I mean, I saw these scars when I was in the bath and just assumed someone had hurt me. It’s not like I know for definite or anything.”
    She was playing him for a damn fool, he was sure of it, and who could blame her if she was running from someone who had made those hideous marks? But he wouldn’t allow this charade to continue. If she wanted to stay, she would have to admit she hadn’t lost her memory, and if it meant him threatening to oust her from his home, then he would do it, guilt be damned.
    “You may as well just admit it,” he said, raising his cup to his lips and avoiding eye contact…for now. He took a sip then cradled the cup in his lap. “It’s in your best interests, after all. It means you get to stay longer.”
    “Fuck!” she said, dropping the quiche to her plate.
    He winced at her language, his suspicion that she wasn’t a woman from his circles confirmed. Oh, he wasn’t averse to bad language. Far from it—he enjoyed using it and hearing it in the bedroom—but he wasn’t used to women he dated using it in everyday speech.
    But this isn’t a date, so what does it matter how she speaks?
    “Come on,” he said gently. “It’s obvious you have a Master. You may as well tell me about it—him, your situation. Perhaps I can help.”
    She snorted and picked up her fork, toying with the cuts of meat. “What the hell would you know about Masters?”
    He smiled, took a sip of his drink and eyed her over the cup rim. “More than you might think.”
    She widened her eyes, realisation dawning, and let her fork go. It landed on the plate with a clatter, and she stared at him open-mouthed. “Oh, fuck me. Don’t tell me you’re a bloody Master?”
    He almost choked on his chocolate. “I am, and I sense yours isn’t a good one.”
    She lifted her hand to her collar and stared at the back door again.
    “I also suspect that collar should come off. Keeping one placed about your neck by a deviant isn’t advisable. Have you been mistreated?”
    He knew