Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

his evening meal, and the next, he became aloof, hard—distant.
    She wasn’t fooled when he relaxed, settling deeper into the sofa. Everything about him screamed high alert. Lifting a foot onto his knee, Liam picked an imaginary bit of lint off his slacks then sat back and trapped her with a look.
    “I think we both know why your little fashion magazine is now part of BPG’s holdings.”
    Uh . . . what? Did that asshole just refer to one of the top selling hard copy publications still on the market as a little fashion magazine? What. A. Dick. Clearly, not much had changed in Liam Ashforth’s world. He was still a cocky bastard.
    Bristling at the put-down, she ignored the bigger part of what he’d admitted and focused on the attitude instead.
    “I’m good at what I do, Liam. And Passion is no little fashion rag.” She dialed back the outrage in her tone but only slightly and tried not to cringe at the way she made her point, complete with a belligerent hair flip.
    She watched his eyes narrow and noted the slight flaring of his nostrils. Uh-oh.
    “Oh, I know all about how good you are, sweetness,” he informed her with a grim expression.
    Fuck. She’d walked straight into that one. Without thinking through what she was doing, Rhi jumped to her booted feet and took off at a mad clip for the door. Okay fine—fight or flight. She chose flight. Seemed safer. For her.
    “I can’t do this, Liam,” she snapped. “I’m not your sweetness, and as I recall, you rather brutally told me that I was nothing more than some silly little girl you fucked to kill time. What was it you said? That I didn’t know you at all? You were right. I didn’t. Something I regret more than you’ll ever know.”
    Rhi had made it to the door before he caught up with her. Dammit if there weren’t tears stinging her nose and swimming in her eyes. She’d loved him. Had she been too eager? Too wrapped up in the seductive nature of their clandestine activities? Oh, probably. But when he’d thrown the fact in her face, she’d crumbled. It hurt then, and it still hurt now. He definitely had balls calling her sweetness.
    Catching her around the waist before she could yank the door open, Liam spun her to him, fisting his hands in the soft fabric of her sweater dress.
    “ Milaya moya, ” he growled—his eyes burning bright.
    Rhiann groaned at the old endearment. Milaya moya meant ‘my sweetness’ in Russian. He’d called her that—a term shared with them by the kindly curmudgeon who ran the foreign languages department one evening when they ran into him at the university library.
    Liam had been showing her a beautiful book he’d come across with gilded edges and fantastic illustrations of life during the Czar’s time. She recalled that his love of books was nearly as consuming as her father’s had been and that they spent countless hours poring over dusty manuscripts and classic texts.
    Old Professor Gravrikov had a soft spot for Liam—one of the few people she ever saw him interact with. He noted the book they were enjoying and told them it was a love story. A tragic one. And that the hero had gone to his grave calling out for his long lost lover. Milaya moya. Milaya moya. Why in the hell was he bringing this up now?
    “No,” she cried huskily. “Don’t. . . . .”
    And then he kissed her. His lips were rough. Demanding. Fierce. The stubble on his face, so much a part of the contradiction that was Liam Ashforth, abraded her skin. It damned her that she responded. How could she not?
    In seconds, they were out of control—breathing heavily—his hips pinning hers to the door at her back.
    From somewhere, she found the wherewithal to get the hell out of there. Frantically reaching behind her for the doorknob digging into her bottom, Rhi held on tight and pulled the door open. Their mouths jerked apart. His eyes narrowed, but he stayed silent.
    Rhi wanted to say something but didn’t trust her voice so she simply turned on her heels