The Darkest Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

rapidly. He was working closely with an Irish sergeant named O’Malley. O’Malley’s feelings for him changed instantly one day when they encountered a war party and became engaged in vicious combat. Jack fought tirelessly at O’Malley’s side, then risked his life to drag a young, wounded soldier to safety, getting shot himself in the thigh in the process. After that, O’Malley became his first real white friend—they shared many evenings together in the local cantina—and Jack’s reputation soared throughout the fort and among all the troops.
    Although he was living somewhat successfully on the fringes of the white man’s world, he was always aware that therespect he gained for his skill and courage and intelligence was always accompanied by uncertainty and fear.
    He might have white blood flowing in his veins, but it meant little to anyone except himself. To the world he was an Apache breed. Just like he was to this girl, Candice Carter. He turned his head to look at her.
    She had fallen asleep. Her full lips were parted slightly, and a graphic image rose to mind-his mouth on hers, thrusting his tongue into her while he drove himself deep and thick and urgently inside her. His loins stirred again. It had been too long.
    But he could never touch her.
    They would hang him if he even tried.

CHAPTER SIX
    She blinked into bright sunlight. Candice was instantly aware that she was alone—that he was gone. She sat abruptly upright, blanket in hand, her heart thudding with the possibilities.
    “Good morning.”
    She gasped, twisting to see him near a stand of ancient saguaro. Then, noticing where his hands were—fastening the drawstring of his pants—she went red. And looked away.
How am I going to escape?
    “Are you hungry?”
    She looked at him again, and to her relief, he was finished with what he had been doing, standing very relaxed not far from her. In the bright desert light, she was struck by many things at once. His hair wasn’t black, but a rich, dark sable; in the sun it glinted with warm highlights. His eyes were paler than any she’d ever seen, a silvery gray. His features were even finer by daylight—as if sculpted by an artist. His torso, still bare, was just as carefully sculpted, but with hard sinew, not bone. When he shifted, his wet muscles gleamed and rippled. The buckskin pants were indecently soft. They molded powerful, near-bulging thighs. They also cupped his prominent sex. If he wasn’t a half-breed he would be considered a stunning man. Candice glanced away. Her face was warm.
    “You have hungry eyes,” he said, low. He was stiff, tense—and angry.
    “What?”
    “Are you as hungry as those eyes of yours?”
    “I don’t understand.” Candice drew back.
    “No? Maybe you don’t.” He stared at her.
    “Wait!” She cried. “Where are my clothes?”
    For a moment he just looked at her, then he nodded to his right. She followed his glance and saw her things hanging to dry on boulders and two cactus arms. Seeing her lacy pantalets and the sheer chemise made her blush—it was indecent. She didn’t want to look at him again, didn’t want his unsettlingattention, but she had to know. She just had to. “Did—did you …?”
    He
had
been looking at her undergarments, as if reading her mind. Now he gazed blankly at her. Her color rose. “Did you?”
    “I have no idea what you’re asking me.”
    Her heart picked up its tempo. Everything was bad enough … being stripped naked, forced to remain that way, having her intimate clothes hanging out … his looking at her as if he could see through the blanket she was wearing, then looking at her clothes as if he could see her in them. But not knowing what she was asking? Was this a poor attempt at a joke? “Did you—while I was unconscious—did you—” she choked. “Did you ravish me?”
    His expression went black.
    She could barely look at him.
    And then she had no choice, because he pounced on her, grabbed her bare shoulders,