The Eden Tree Read Online Free PDF Page A

wouldn’t be modeling for Esquire anytime soon; he was too primitive, too original for that. But Linn had the feeling that once you met him you never forgot him. He was definitely memorable.
    She stopped short at the foot of the stairs. A comfortable Bentley was parked in the yard.
    “Is that my grandfather’s car?” she asked.
    He opened the door on her side and once she was seated, leaned in to reply. “It is not. Some things about the place are actually mine.” He slammed the door shut and walked around to the driver’s side.
    Damn. She had said the wrong thing. She hadn’t meant to insult him.
    He got in beside her and started the car, looking over at her. She couldn’t meet his gaze. She bent her head and her hair fell away from her collar. She almost jumped out of her seat when he reached across suddenly to touch her neck.
    “I didn’t know I was so rough,” he murmured. “I’m that sorry.”
    He had seen the marks on her skin. She recoiled from his touch as if burned. If he did that again she would make a fool of herself. But then, she had already accomplished that the previous night.
    “It’s all right,” she said. She forced herself to meet his eyes. She would have to deal with this and now was as good a time as any. Pretending that nothing had happened between them was ludicrous.
    “You don’t have to be sorry,” she went on. “Last night was as much my responsibility as yours. You didn’t force anything on me.”
    His blue eyes were fastened on her face. The car idled beneath them. He didn’t move.
    “You probably won’t believe this but I don’t do that sort of thing. I mean, that never happened to me before.”
    His expression was unreadable. Did he believe her? Had it been the same for him, unequaled, unprecedented? She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
    “Maybe it was because I was scared, maybe it was the fatigue from the trip, oh hell, maybe it was the moon. I don’t know. But can’t we just forget it?”
    “ Can we just forget it?” he asked. His voice was very soft.
    Linn didn’t respond. His eyes moved over her, hot indigo, heavy, rendering her speechless. They harbored sensuality the way a scent laden summer breeze suggests a coming storm. No, they couldn’t forget it.
    “I don’t want you to think badly of me,” she finished miserably.
    “Why should you care what I think of you?” he said neutrally. “The good opinion of the groundskeeper can hardly matter to the owner of the house.”
    Linn clasped her hands in her lap. They were shaking.
    “Shall we be off?” he asked curtly. The wall had formed again.
    She nodded, swallowing.
    He put the car in gear and they drove away.
    * * * *
    Ballykinnon, County Clare, was nestled in the green rolling fields of southwest Ireland like the smallest jewel in a rich emerald tiara. The sea was not far distant and on days when the wind was right there was salt in the air. Ildathach was located about four miles outside the town itself. The estate was connected to the main road by a country lane, which wound through the trees up to the house. The entrance was guarded by a pair of wrought iron gates. Clay stopped the car and got out to open them.
    Linn studied him as he lifted the crossbar and swung back the heavy metal barriers. He was turned to the side. His nose, like Barrymore’s or Redford’s, was not quite straight, not quite perfect, and all the more distinctive for the slight arch at the bridge. She had noticed that he had a habit of inclining his head which threw his chiseled profile into sharp relief, as if he knew the effect it created. Maybe he did. He was certainly aware of his physical appeal; he moved with the ease, the assurance, of a man at home in his body and accustomed to admiration. Linn watched the play of muscles across his back as he reset the lock, shoving the bolt home, and wondered where he had been wounded. She hadn’t seen any scars the previous night.
    Clay slid in beside her and gunned the motor,