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She sat down, re-read the last paragraph she'd written then hit the page break button to
begin the next chapter.
Lady Summer ran her hands over his rock-hard body as he lay panting beside her. A fine
sheen of sweat covered the carved muscles of his abdominal muscles.
"I think you wore me to a nubbin," he complained.
"I should have used my dagger on your manhood while you slept," she said, spiking her
fingers through the wiry curls covering his chest.
"Then what would you have had to play with?" he asked. He laid his hand atop hers then
pushed her palm down his body to the growing erection at the juncture of his thighs.
"Lord Chance's cock?" she answered.
At the mention of his hated rival, Pax released her hand and sat up. "You don't play fair,
Summer," he said and swung his legs from the bed. He bent to snatch his pants from the floor.
"If you want the weasel, be my guest."
She watched him drag his clothing up with angry little jerks, smiling at his manly pique.
She liked to torment the handsome brute simply because she could. He was putty in her hands
and what was more he knew it.
"You have a delicious body, Pax, but a rather one-track mind," she said. "Your jealousy
of Chance is a prime example."
Pax snorted. "I'm not jealous of that spineless wonder," he told her as he sat in her
boudoir chair to put on his socks.
"Green-eyed with jealousy," she commented.
"In case you forgot, my eyes are brown," he grumbled, casting her an irritated look.
"Amber, actually," she said as she turned to her side and propped her head on her hand
to watch him as he tugged on his boots. "Eye color not withstanding, you are jealous, envious,
and resentful that Chance has everything you believe is rightfully yours."
"I'll get back what is due me," the pirate stated through clenched teeth.
WINDS THROUGH TIME Charlotte Boyett-Compo 21
"You've lost one thing you won't get back," she said as he stood. She felt a chill shivered
down her body as he turned his angry gaze to her.
"And what's that?"
She smiled. "Me."
He took two steps to reach the bed, shot out his sword hand to wrap his fingers around
her slender neck. Leaning over her, he put his face in hers.
"I've not lost you, sweeting, nor will I." He tightened his grip on her neck as he stared
into her green eyes. "Play your games all you like, Lady Summer. Pit that dickless wonder
against me all you will. In the end, we'll see who the better man is!"
Summer took his hard kiss reveling in the ruthless lips that covered hers without
giving away the weakness this brutal man always stirred within her. She loved him as she never
would another but knew she could never reveal that obsessive love to him. She could not allow
him to see just how completely he wrecked her self-confidence and shook her resolve. There was
no doubt in her mind should he ever discover how easily he could play her, he would use the
power against her.
His tongue thrusting savagely into her mouth to give rise to her desire, the warm,
masculine scent of him clouding her judgment, all but cast aside Summer's dogged determination
to bring him to heel.
Not that she believed she could ever tame the wild streak in Paxton Drake. She wasn't
sure she really wanted him tame and docile.
"You don't," he said and released his hold on her neck to slide his hand to her breast. He
kneaded the full globe firmly. "You really wouldn't like me domesticated."
One final commanding squeeze and he removed his hand, turned his back on her and
walked to the door. Her last sight of him was the broad back with its powerful width of
shoulders as he closed the portal behind his departure.
Wynter paused with her fingers grazing the keyboard.
"Two men," she said. "Two glorious, imposing men fighting over her." She sighed.
"Lucky bitch."
Butterbean sneezed then sneezed again as though such a thought had greatly disturbed
him. He sprang from the desk and hurled himself from the room, running as fast as he could.
"No boogety-boggeteying, Bean!" she called out as she heard the flap on the pet door
swing open.
After making a few notes on the progression of her novel on the ever-present notepad she
kept beside her mouse pad, she began doodling as her mind worked over plot and dialogue and
character creation.
"What does Lord Chance look like?" she asked, using the pen like a drumstick on the
paper. "Tall. Well-built. Hair color?"
Pax, of course, was the man she'd met earlier in the day right down to the cleft in his
chin but what about his rival?
Leaning back in the chair, she began to picture actors whose work she admired and
whose faces she found distracting. As the names came to her, she tried to picture the men but [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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