A Husband For Christmas. Emma Richmond

Чтение книги онлайн.

      CHAPTER ONE

      THICK dark hair hung to her waist in a loosely woven plait, big brown eyes surveyed the world without interest. Beautiful, introspective, sad. Oblivious of the Christmas jingle that played endlessly over the loudspeaker, the noisy chatter, Gellis stared inward, wrapped up in her own thoughts. The opening of the café door brought momentary awareness—and then shock.

      Déjà vu—except it wasn’t. Unable to tear her eyes away, rigid with disbelief, uncomprehending, she stared at the tall, dark-haired man as he took the table next to her own. Hard and tough, fit. Ruthless. He had a badger stripe at his left temple, but it was Sébastien. Hazel eyes with those startling flecks of green stared dismissively round—until they found Gellis. And then they stopped. With a leisurely, almost insulting examination of her exquisite face, he gave a cynical smile of appreciation.

      She didn’t smile back. Couldn’t smile back. There was no warmth in that glance, no humour. It was Sébastien, but not the Sébastien she had known. Loved. That Sébastien’s eyes had been filled with laughter, and he had looked what he was—what she had thought he was, she corrected with bitter anguish—a humorous and honest man. And his dark hair had had no streak of white.

      Eighteen months ago, in another café, another place, they had exchanged glances—and love had been born. Not immediately, not instantly, but it had been born. And consummated.

      Frozen in place, she continued to stare—and he raised one eyebrow in mocking question.

      She was unable to respond, unable to do anything but sit there like a fool. He frowned, asked harshly, ‘You know me?’ And when she didn’t answer, merely continued to stare at him in shock, he reached out, grabbed her forearm, hard. ‘I asked if you knew me!’ he gritted.

      A catch in her throat, a little sound of distress; she lurched to her feet, prepared to flee.

      ‘Sit down,’ he grated. ‘Sit down!’ With a ruthless disregard for any pain he might be causing her, he dragged her down to her seat. Face thrust forward, eyes hard, mouth a grim line, he asked with menacing softness, ‘Who am I?’

      ‘Don’t do this,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, please don’t do this.’ And his frown deepened, making carved, ugly grooves between his brows.

      ‘Do what? Do what?’ he repeated savagely. ‘Where do you know me from? When?’

      ‘You know when!’ she cried.

      ‘No, lady, I don’t! So when?’ he demanded urgently. ‘More than four months ago?’

      Throat tight, the most awful ache in her chest, eyes fixed on his in disbelief and pain, she gave a jerky nod, and he let out a shuddering sigh, briefly closed his eyes.

      ‘And my name is?’

      ‘What?’ she asked in a frightened little whisper.

      ‘What’s my name? What’s my name, dammit?’

      ‘Sébastien.’

      ‘Sébastien,’ he echoed, and his free hand curled into a tight fist. ‘Sébastien what? Sébastien what?’ he repeated menacingly when she didn’t answer.’

      ‘Fourcard.’

      ‘French?’

      ‘Yes. Yes!’ she shouted in distress.

      ‘From?’

      ‘Collioure.’ And he closed his eyes again, let out a breath that seemed to Gellis as though it had been held for a very long time.

      ‘Sébastien СКАЧАТЬ