Witch's Harvest Read Online Free PDF Page A

something softly in his own language, and for a moment his hand stroked her hair back from her damp forehead. The
    unexpected caress almost unnerved her. It made her want to cling to him, to tell him everything she felt for him in her heart, and that was impossible.
    She saw his dark face tauten, felt his possession of her quicken, deepen almost to savagery, heard a hoarse cry of satisfaction
    torn from his throat, and then it was over. Vasco collapsed beside her and lay breathing raggedly, his face buried in his folded
    arms.
    Abby lay still, staring up at the ceiling. She felt bemused, cheated, every inch of her body crying out for the fulfilment she had denied it. The risk of self-betrayal now seemed small, compared with the agony she was currently experiencing, but it was still
    real, and his continuing presence beside her was a threat to her self-command.
    Swallowing past the knot in her throat, she put out a tentative hand and touched his sweat-dampened shoulder.
    'Will you go now, please?'
    There was a silence, then Vasco lifted himself up on to an elbow and stared at her, the dark brows twisted in a frown.
    'We need to talk,' he said brusquely.
    'No!' The sound was almost violent, and Abby made a grab for an appearance of composure at least, when she saw the
    astonishment in his eyes. 'There's—really—nothing to talk about, and I want you to leave. Now.'
    For a long moment he watched her broodingly, then the bronze shoulders lifted almost negligently in a brief shrug. 'As you
    wish.'
    He threw back the covers and got out of bed.
    For a few heart-stopping seconds Abby's eyes drank in every strong, supple line of his magnificent body, then she turned
    resolutely on to her side and lay, eyes closed, listening to the small sounds of him dressing.
    Then there was silence, with Abby desperately conscious that he was standing beside the bed, looking down at her. She lay
    rigidly, eyes clamped shut, nails curling into the palms of her hands.
    Let him think she was asleep, she prayed soundlessly and absurdly. Let him—just go.
    At last she heard him sigh, and move away towards the door. Then his voice, quiet and almost mocking. ' Adeus —handmaiden.'
    She didn't reply, or give the smallest sign that she was aware of his departure. Only when she heard the flat door open and
    close behind him did she dare relax, and allow herself the luxury of her first slow, bitter tears.
    She awoke late the next morning, and lay for a long time, trying to summon the energy to get up and tackle the usual weekend
    chores.
    The other tenants were away, spending the weekend with their parents as usual, so Abby was able to spend a long time in the
    bath, washing her skin and her hair as if she was taking part in some ritual cleansing ceremony. As she dried herself, she
    inspected herself almost clinically in the mirror. It seemed impossible she should look the same after what had happened, yet
    she did, apart from the shadows under her eyes, and a few reddened patches on her body where Vasco's rougher skin had
    grazed her.
    They would fade soon, she told herself vehemently. Then there would be nothing to remind her what an abject, appalling fool
    she'd made of herself.
    For once she didn't bother to get dressed. She just put on her robe, while she started straightening her small domain, starting
    with her sleeping quarters. She dragged the sheets and covers from the bed, turned the mattress, and re-made the bed
    completely and immaculately, before embarking on a thorough dusting, polishing and vacuuming. She had to push herself to
    do it, but it seemed the only way in which she could exorcise Vasco's presence from the room. And she needed to do that if she
    was to preserve some kind of sanity.
    Last night had been madness, from that first moment when she had walked towards him across the crowded bar. In some
    secret compartment of her mind, she'd known what would happen. She'd wanted it to happen—had created it perhaps from her
    own need. And