Warrior's Embrace Read Online Free PDF Page A

woman by turns tender and
bawdy, gentle and fiery. She felt fulfillment and hunger at the
same time.
    For the beautiful moments they lay together
in her bed she believed that all she had to do was reach out and
Bolton would be there, all she had to do was call and he would come
running, all she had to do was wish for this magical joining and he
would make it happen.
    But when the loving was over, when they lay
tangled together on her sheets, she knew that she was being the
worst kind of fool, the kind who believed in miracles. She’d
learned long ago that the only miracles were those earned by sweat
and toil and intelligence and perseverance and sacrifice.
    Bolton laced their fingers together and
squeezed. She could almost see him gathering his wits to make a
pretty speech.
    “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t say anything except
the truth.”
    “What truth?”
    “I needed this but now it’s over and done
with and neither of us has to pretend it was anything except great
sex.”
    “That’s not the truth, Virginia.”
    She pulled away from him, put on her robe,
and curled up on the chaise longue.
    “I’ve been called worse names than a liar.”
She folded her hands tightly together to keep them from betraying
her with their awful shaking.
    Without a word Bolton got off the bed, knelt
beside the chaise, and gently unfolded her hands. Then he kissed
her fingertips, one by one. His actions were far more revealing
than denials.
    “If what we had was just good sex, why are
you trembling?”
    “I didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’m an
insomniac. It happens with age.”
    He said nothing, merely lifted one caustic
eyebrow.
    She stared at him, waiting for him to fill
the silence with excuses, waiting for him to push her into anger.
She
was
mad, unaccountably mad, and she wanted some reason
to show it. Tilting her chin up, she dared him to give her a
reason.
    Bolton remained as implacable as the mountain
from which he had come. Still kneeling, he began a slow, erotic
massage of her feet. That alone was enough to make Virginia forget
her anger and confusion, make her forget that he might be after her
money or her secrets or both, make her forget the horrible age gap
that separated them. When his hands moved over her legs, she knew
she was lost and nothing else mattered except his touch.
    Closing her eyes, she let herself go limp. It
felt amazing to be spontaneous and reckless and absolutely
feminine.
    “That feels so good,” she whispered.
    “Yes, it does.”
    He untied the sash and opened her robe so
that she lay upon the chaise like a fallen flower. He tasted her,
lingering so long that she lost all reason. When she was finally
limp and satisfied, he lifted her into his arms and held her
against his chest.
    “This is not about your money,” he said, as
if he had read her mind. “It’s not about your profession and mine.
It’s about us, Virginia.”
    She was too far gone to argue with him. She
laced her arms and him and leaned on cheek on his chest.
    “Take me back to bed, Bolton.”
    “And then what, Virginia?”
    “You know....”
    “Say it.”
    “Are you going to make me beg?”
    “No. I want to hear you say the words.” His
eyes were so intensely blue, she was almost blinded by them. “Say
the words, Virginia.”
    “They’re just words.”
    “Say them.”
    She closed her eyes, but even then she could
see his face, naked with emotion.
    “They’re just words,” she repeated, closing
her eyes to shut out his face. His lips brushed hers softly,
tenderly. And she was lost.
    “Make love to me,” she whispered.
    “Yes. I will love you.”
    He lowered her to the bed. Pinioned against
the sheets, she looked up at him. There was no triumph in his face,
no sense of victory, only passion, raw and pure.
    “And you will love me.” It was the last thing
he said to her, the last thing that needed to be said.
    What they did in her bedroom needed no words.
What they did was too beautiful for words, too