StrokeofMidnight Read Online Free PDF

the
no-the-hell-he-didn’t level.
    “You’re yelling,” he pointed out.
    “Damn right,” she snarled and stabbed a finger toward the
front door. “You can go now.”
    “Oh, I intend to,” Darius agreed and slid a hand in the
front pocket of his black pants, the coffee he’d bought for himself in the
other. Unfortunately the loose fit did nothing to detract from his narrow
waist, the strength of his muscled thighs or the impressive bulge under the
zippered panel. “As soon as you change, we’ll leave.”
    Rowyn tightened her grip on the cup while fisting her other
hand at her side. Ten, nine, eight, seven…
    “Are you growling?” That fucking brow again ? By God
she was going to snatch it off his forehead!
    “I. Am. Going. To. Work.”
    “Hmmm…” He lifted the insulated coffee cup to his mouth and
studied her over the lid. He sipped the coffee, the muscles of his throat
working. Even the man’s Adam’s apple was sexy. “I can spend this day with you
or I could accept Daniel’s lunch invitation, followed by a round of golf. Of
course I don’t play, but I’m sure we could find all sorts of fascinating
topics to discuss…”
    Rowyn had grown up with Pamela as a mother so she understood
anger. But never had she experienced the primal urge to kill. Maim. Dismember.
    “Blackmail is not attractive,” she snapped.
    “Ah.” He tapped a finger against his bottom lip. ”But is it
effective?” Darius smiled and she suspected he didn’t try to conceal the
satisfaction in his expression or tone.
    He’d won this round and they both knew it.
    “I’ll be right back.” She shot him a glare of disgust, and
then wheeled around to head back up the stairs, warm cup still clasped in her
hand.
    And they accused her of having brass balls.
    * * * * *
    “Admit it. You’re having a good time.”
    Rowyn slanted a glance at the man walking beside her. The
hot afternoon sun beamed down on the walking trail next to the Charles River,
highlighting the lighter shades of brown in his hair. The dark curls were long
enough to form a sexy cap around his well-shaped head, but short enough to
emphasize his patrician features. In a nutshell, he looked like the gorgeous
Roman emperor he most likely descended from.
    But the impression didn’t stop with his appearance. His
commanding presence, confident tilt of his chin, long-legged stride—they all
attested to a man accustomed to leading and inspiring others to follow. The man
had established a clothing empire that dominated the northwest and western
markets. That kind of success took a special kind of grit and determination—not
to mention brilliance.
    And to top it all off, he could fuck as if he’d invented it.
    “C’mon, Rowyn.” He tipped his half-eaten strawberry ice
cream cone in her direction. “’Fess up. You’re enjoying yourself. You took a
day off work and the world market didn’t crash, California didn’t plummet into
the sea and the earth’s core didn’t implode.”
    She scrunched her nose. “Fine. It hasn’t sucked.”
    Darius laughed, the rumble low and earthy. She couldn’t help
but smile in return. The day hadn’t stunk. She swept her tongue over the
banana ice cream topping her sugar cone. It had been wonderful. Though Rowyn
had been ready to wipe the floor with him earlier, her anger had soon given way
to the secret thrill of being with him.
    In the dark, hidden place that was accessible only after
several glasses of wine, she owned up to a shameful delight that he’d taken the
choice of spending the day with him out of her hands. He’d made her concede to
the desire her heart hungered for but her head denied.
    The thought would undoubtedly get her women’s lib card
revoked, but Darius overrode all rational decision making.
    They’d spent hours visiting such tourist traps as Faneuil
Hall Market Place, Fenway Park—she shuddered in revulsion—the Bull and Finch
Pub, better known as the Cheers bar, as well as the many shops and
stores