Simply Shameless Read Online Free PDF

Despite her disarray, she reminded him of the porcelain figurines on his mother's mantelpiece.
    They'd coupled all night in every conceivable position and found a closeness that had so far eluded him in his life. Her body craved his with an intensity that humbled him. Even as he studied her, his cock rose in anticipation.
    With a groan, he set the tray down on a small table and climbed between the sheets. He tickled Helene behind the ear.
    "Are you hungry?"
    "For you? Always."
    He chuckled. "Not this time. I meant for food."
    Her nose twitched as she caught the scent of the feast in store for them. She yawned.
    Philip leaned across to plump up the pillows and pull her into a sitting position. Her breasts came into view over the top of the covers, and he stared at their rosy tips. His cock grew even more.
    Helene brushed the hair out of her eyes and accepted the mug of ale he handed her. She shuddered as she drank and then put her cup down.
    "English ale is so weak. How can you prefer it to wine?"
    Philip toasted her with his mug. "Because I'm English?"
    Her smile made his heart clench, made him want to cover her with his body and protect her from every ill. There was Something fragile beneath her astonishing beauty that called to him at a primitive level.
    "Whereabouts in London are you staying, Helene?"
    The question escaped him before he considered the implications. He cursed himself for a fool as her face became guarded. Why couldn't he just accept the here and now? Why did he have to spoil it? He finished his ale, poured himself another cup, and then balanced the tray of food on his knees.
    "Eat, you must be hungry."
    To his surprise, she took him at his word, eating with a serious thoroughness that made him question whether food had always been freely available to her. The thought of her wanting for anything made him curiously angry. He focused his gaze on her hands, not wanting her to see his unguarded expression.
    With a soft curse, he encircled her left wrist with his finger and thumb, making her drop her bread. He turned her arm over to display the rough marks on her inner wrist.
    "Who hurt you?"
    "Why do you ask?"
    She went quiet, her breathing so shallow he wondered if she might faint. He squeezed her flesh, felt small bones flex and yield beneath porcelain skin.
    "I've seen the scars manacles make on skin before."
    She sighed. "My family was caught up in the revolution. I was imprisoned for a while."
    Philip simply stared at her as he grappled with the appalling images her simple statement brought to life. Despite his exile in India, he knew all too well the horrors that had accompanied the French Revolution. Helene wrenched out of his grasp and clasped both hands to her breast. She retreated to some private place he sensed he would never be allowed or able to enter.
    She took a ragged breath. "I do not wish to talk about it. I survived and I wish to move on with my life."
    Philip nodded. She was only eighteen. He might complain, but what had her short life been like, compared to his indulged and cosseted existence? He felt far too inadequate to ask about the suffering mirrored in her fine eyes.
    He picked up his ale. "Then here's to life."
    She glanced at him, her expression still distant and wary. He reached across, handed her back her mug of ale, and raised his eyebrows. To his intense relief, she managed a tremulous smile. His heart softened, melted, and came to rest at her feet.
    "Life," she said, raising her mug.
    Philip smiled back and returned his attention to his plate, reasoning that if he could fill his mouth with food, he was less likely to say anything stupid. And as soon as Helene finished eating, he'd show her exactly how far he was willing to go to remove the hurt from her gaze.
    Much later, when the room was a series of shadows and distorted gloomy shapes, Helene stirred in her sleep. The old feather bed sagged in the middle and made them a perfect nest. Behind her, Philip lay on his side, one hand