Raine. Elizabeth Amber

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      Her dark eyes were laced with fear, her breathing was fast, and her body was heated as though she’d been running. Over her head, he surveyed the streets around them. They were dark and deserted except for the occasional straggler. The Grand Canal was quieter now in the evening hours. Where had she come from?

      She punched his back and elbowed him repeatedly. “Let go of me, you dolt.”

      He ignored her. Since no one else stood nearby, it had to have been this creature that had brought the scent with her. He couldn’t take the chance of letting her go until he knew for certain.

      He clasped her arm before she could aim her weapon at a more vulnerable part of his anatomy. “Hold there. I mean you no harm.”

      Nimble hands groped under his coat, pinching at him and poking for his crotch with hard knuckles. He turned so she couldn’t reach her goal.

      “Hold, I say.”

      She only squirmed in response. Was she Faerie or merely a comely prostitute? Or both?

      “Let go of me.” Her voice was cultured. Throaty. Sexy.

      His cock swelled. “Who are you?”

      “Who are you?” she countered, trying to yank herself away.

      He grabbed both of her forearms. Bacchus! Though she wasn’t aware of it, the cloak shifted and he caught a fleeting glimpse of a breast. Underneath, she was naked.

      She tried to knee him. He angled away, causing her to tumble forward and grab at his hips for balance. Her hand lodged in his pocket by accident, ripping it.

      Abruptly she stopped struggling against him. She was staring at the ground now, transfixed.

      What the devil? Raine glanced down and saw that the ribbons he’d stuffed into his pockets earlier that day had tumbled free onto the tiled street.

      The woman shook off his hold, knelt, and picked them up. She stood again, holding them cupped in her palms and studying them as though they were priceless treasures.

      When he automatically reached for them, she closed her hands into fists and snatched them back. He caught the straggling ends of several ribbons. Winding the strands crossways around his palm until he had a firm grip, he used them to pull her against him.

      The woman held on to her prize, refusing to let go. And for a moment they were linked, tethered by rainbow threads of satin. He stared into the black pools of her eyes and saw they were flecked with gold. Her lashes were cobwebby, casting shadows on the bronze cheeks of her mask. Her breasts were soft against him. His desire for her ratcheted higher.

      “How old are you?” he demanded in a level tone.

      She wriggled, trying to look around him, first to one side, then the other. She frowned, obviously not finding whatever it was she wanted. “Where’s violet?”

      “What?” Was she simple?

      “You only have six ribbons,” she explained, gazing at him with brittle patience as though he were the simple one. “You have only six colors of the rainbow here. Where’s violet? It’s missing.”

      “I don’t know. Who the hell cares? I bought them for my sister-in-law and her younger sister,” he explained needlessly, then felt annoyed that he’d revealed even that small bit of himself.

      He gave the ribbons a jerk and repeated his earlier question. “How old are you?”

      She shrugged, irritated. “Nineteen. What does it matter?”

      Relief filled him, but he was careful. “Don’t lie. I won’t seek my pleasure with girls not yet become women.”

      “Pleasure?” She stilled, lifting her eyes to search his. “I’m nineteen,” she said slowly.

      He looked skeptical.

      “I’m quite sure of it because today is my birthday. And how old are you?”

      “Twenty-seven, as if it matters a whit. What’s your price?”

      Dark eyes studied him, weighing. They were beautiful, as deep and unfathomable as the lagoon. He could drown in such eyes, lose his head.

      He let go of the ribbons and stepped back, feeling ridiculous. The only thing he wished to drown in her was his cock.

      “Never mind,” he told her. “I’ll meet any price. Come if you’re willing. Otherwise—keep the damned ribbons, and I’ll find another woman.”

      With that, he wheeled around and stalked toward the docks, hoping she’d follow. Otherwise, he’d have to go back for her.

      Jordan blinked, watching his tall, erect form move away.

      He’d called her a woman! It was the first time in her life anyone had ever done so with such certainty.

      In spite of her unfashionably short hair, and though he’d seen nothing of her body under Salerno’s cloak, this beautiful man had assumed she was female. And he was seeking to engage her in some sort of carnal encounter for which he actually planned to pay her. A giddy thrill coursed through her.

      She glanced to her left. From beneath the bridge, the hollow eyes of the beggars and whores pierced her. Some were sad, some greedy. All were desperate. Once the man departed, would they do her harm? The cloak she wore was obviously costly and could be sold. If they took it and her mask, she’d be left naked. Defenseless. Even if she escaped them, she could encounter all manner of dangers as she continued to make her way home alone at this hour.

      Ahead, she watched the man hail a boatman on the gondola she’d seen earlier.

      “I’m coming,” she called, skipping after him. She quickly reached his side, tucking her hand in his.

      He halted midstride, jerking away from her hold. His silver eyes were wary now. Why, she wasn’t sure.

      What sort of encounter did he envision between them if he didn’t want her touching him? She toyed anxiously with the ribbons, wrapping them around her palm until their ends were caught under her folded fingers.

      When she noticed him observing the action, she sheepishly tucked the ribbon-wrapped hand in the pocket of her cloak. Though they were his, she refused to part with them. They somehow made her feel safe.

      “I’m sorry. I won’t take such liberties again,” she said.

      He didn’t comment, only nodded and turned to lead the way to the single elongated gondola at the quay. It was graceful and slender, with a gondolier on either end and a boxlike cabin in the center that enclosed the passenger seats.

      Called a felze, the enclosure was decorated with ornately carved gilding. With their convenient doors and windows on every side, such compartments were used either to display or conceal as the occasion required.

      In the spring, their doors and windows would be flung wide for happy brides seated within, fresh from their weddings, СКАЧАТЬ