Taming Charlotte Read Online Free PDF Page B

grinning.
    Charlotte glowered at him. “It is not proper for you to be in here,” she pointed out.
    He laughed. “Wrong. It’s not proper for
you
to be here, goddess. These are, after all, my quarters.”
    She pulled the covers up to her cheekbones. “You slept in this bed,” she accused, her voice muffled by the blankets.
    “I often do,” Patrick conceded blithely. “Feeling better this morning?”
    Charlotte remembered the disturbing excitement she’d felt a few minutes before, and her cheeks grew hot again. “I’m fine. Now, if you’ll just send me home—”
    “Gladly.” There was a tray on the desktop, Charlotte noticed, and Patrick was engaged in pouring fragrant Turkish coffee into a cup. “All you have to do is tell me your name.”
    It still rankled that he didn’t remember, but she supposed she couldn’t hold that against him forever. “Charlotte,” she said. Instinct stopped her from adding her surname. The Quade name meant wealth and power in Washington Territory, and it was possible that Patrick was not merely the dashing captain of a clipper ship, but a slave trader and kidnapper in the bargain.
    If he realized what a high ransom she would command, it might be just the start of her troubles instead of the finish.
    He brought the steaming cup to the bedside and offered it, and Charlotte reached out to clasp the handle, being careful to keep the blanket in place at the same time.
    “Charlotte,” Patrick said, musing over the name, as though it were some ancient riddle he was anxious to solve. “Charlotte what?”
    “Just Charlotte,” she responded, after taking a cautious sip of the strong, hot brew he’d given her.
    He narrowed his indigo eyes at her for a moment, and she thought he meant to argue, but then he must have changed his mind. He treated her to another of his bright smiles.
    “You’re making this very difficult,” he said pleasantly. “Ihave half a mind to sell you when we dock, or hand you over to my friend, Khalif, for his harem.”
    Charlotte nearly dropped her coffee. “It is reprehensible of you to make jokes about such things! Don’t you think I’ve been through enough as it is?”
    Patrick rolled his eyes. “Not only are you a saucy little wench, and all too friendly of a night, when a man’s trying his best to sleep—”
    The cup rattled against the bedside table as Charlotte set it down. “I beg your pardon?”
    He laughed and folded his gracefully muscular arms. “I thought that would catch your attention. You and I slept together last night, darling Charlotte, and damned if you didn’t reach out and grab a round place on my anatomy.”
    For the first time in her life and, she sincerely hoped, for the last, Charlotte blushed so hard that her face hurt. “I would never do such a thing!” she hissed.
    Patrick smiled. “Yes, you would. You did. You’re just lucky I’m such a gentleman, that’s all.”
    Charlotte could not believe his audacity; it evidently had no limits. Mr. Patrick Trevarren was decidedly
not
the man she’d spun so many lovely dreams around for ten long years. Her logging camp vocabulary came back to her in a rush.
    “Don’t you dare call yourself a gentleman in my presence, you bloody bushwhacker—you sorry son of the devil’s donkey—”
    Patrick gave another startling burst of laughter and bowed low. “Why, you’re very welcome, Miss Charlotte No-name. No need to regale me with your thanks!”
    “Get out!” Charlotte screamed.
    “This is my cabin,” Patrick replied, unruffled. “If anybody gets out, goddess, it’s going to be you.”
    “Gladly! Just give me some clothes and I’ll be gone so fast, you’ll think you imagined me!”
    Her fury seemed to amuse Patrick, which only made her angrier.
    Whistling, he opened a chest in a corner of the compact room and took out a pair of black breeches and a wide leather belt. He flung the items to her, and they landed askew on the bed.
    “Trousers?” she