Loving Lies. Tina Donahue

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ render her helpless. During her abduction, Isabella’s captors had forced her to drink a foul-tasting liquid to put her to sleep. By the time she awoke, she was in Granada, stripped, women preparing her for sale. Perhaps this man meant to violate her before bringing her back to Don Rodrigo. “You tell me.”

      “How could I drug an orange you have yet to peel?”

      “Perhaps you put the potion on the peel.”

      “Are you always this disagreeable?”

      “Don Fernando would know.”

      He stared and shook his head. “Very well, you are disagreeable and probably always have been. Eat the orange on your own, unless you want me to feed it to you.”

      “If you force me to eat it, your plan must be to drug me, as I want none of what you offer.”

      His gaze dropped to her traitorous belly as it growled for any food, even his. “What a liar you are.” He took the fruit. “If I release you, will you promise not to flee?”

      “Will you promise not to pursue me if I do?”

      His smile was slow and filled with raw male lust. “I would run you down to the earth in a moment and take my pleasure with you.”

      She went dizzy at the images his words created, ones she’d overheard married women discussing. His powerful body pressed against hers. His long fingers stroking her bared flesh. His stiffened shaft plundering and arousing. She flushed with excitement and fear, while prudence warned her to respond with casual indifference. “I give you my oath not to flee.”

      He tapped his foot and, at last, released her wrist. Once he’d peeled the orange and separated the slices, he ate the first piece, no doubt to prove he hadn’t drugged the fruit, then slipped the next between her lips.

      “Eat.” He drew his forefinger over her bottom lip where juice had spilled.

      Her mouth tingled beneath his skilled move. She stopped chewing as he brought his finger to his lips and licked the tip slowly. Quite seductively.

      “You must eat.” He ran his other forefinger beneath her chin.

      Her throat quivered, his touch sending waves of delight clear to her scalp. She forgot to chew, swallowed fast, and inhaled deeply as he slipped the next slice between her lips. After she’d finished the piece, he licked the corners of her mouth, catching stray juice. Her lids slid down. His tongue was wonderfully hot, his breath so sweet she had to bite back a moan. She parted her lips inviting him to slip the next slice inside her mouth. Once she’d eaten it, he offered the next slice, and the next, pausing only to stroke her cheek and throat.

      His exquisite touch and playful attitude made her want far more. How she hoped he wasn’t her uncle’s agent. How she wished he wasn’t Sancha’s betrothed. As one or the other was the only possibility, the moment the last piece was in her mouth and he recaptured her wrist, she refused to move forward.

      “What now?” he asked.

      After finishing her bite, she ran the back of her hand over her lips.

      He grinned. “Such a lady.”

      Isabella pulled her wrist away and retreated several steps.

      “Ah, so now you intend to flee.” He planted his hands on his lean hips. “Excellent. After I capture you and pull you beneath—”

      “How can I believe you?”

      “—me—what?” He shook his head. “Believe me concerning what? Capturing you? Pulling you beneath me? Enjoying you? Having you enjoy me?”

      Her head swam with wicked images of their legs entwined, naked bodies nestled together, their lewd cries. She nearly moaned. “Your claim to be Don Fernando. How can I possibly believe you?”

      He frowned. “Have you forgotten the day of our betrothal?”

      Her cheeks warmed. “You expect me to recall someone from so many years in the past?”

      “Someone?” He huffed. “You find me forgettable?”

      She regarded his rich mouth and glorious eyes. She recalled his rumbling voice. Only death would make her forget him or this day. “And what of me? Am I memorable?”

      He glanced past her and made a great show of looking around, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

      The weapon would protect him from intruders but not the truth. He had forgotten what little he knew of Sancha, unless he had never met her. “You claim to be Don Fernando. Prove it.”

      He squared his shoulders. “What other man would be mad enough to risk his life to save a young woman as headstrong, obstinate, and disobedient as you?”

      Isabella curled her upper lip. “Your insults and flawed logic hardly sway me. I followed each of your orders in the marketplace and led you through the tunnel to safety.”

      “Led me? Could I have trusted you to follow?”

      “Can I trust you to tell the truth? If you are who you claim to be, I demand you prove it.”

      “Oh, you do.” He advanced a step and smiled. “It seems the señorita wants another kiss to prove my claim on her.”

      Isabella wanted another kiss for no other reason than the joy the last had given her. Of course, a man could kiss a woman, swear his undying love, then turn around and betray her without as much as a second thought or a first regret. “Tell me what you know of my family. How many sisters do I have?”

      He leaned away. “There are more who are cut from the same cloth as you?”

      “How many, señor?”

      “Allow me to consider the matter.” His expression grew thoughtful. He curled one finger after the other into his palm with each digit supposedly representing a sister.

      The moment he ran out of fingers and glanced at his booted feet, presumably to count his toes, Isabella laughed. “There are surely not so many.”

      “Are you quite certain?” He frowned. “It was my belief you had at least twenty of—”

      “No more than three.”

      Despite the greatly reduced number, he still seemed wary. “Three you say. Do they resemble you?”

      “Not in the least. My sisters are exquisite. All have flawless complexions more radiant than the finest pearl. Each has auburn hair threaded with gold. Two have warm brown eyes, the youngest the purest green. Their natures are sweet, their—stay where you are.”

      He kept coming, forcing Isabella to scoot back until a mulberry tree stopped her. With her palms pressed against the trunk, she looked at him.

      He offered a roguish smile as he eased close. “Exquisite, you say?” He rested his hand against the trunk near her head. “Skin to rival the finest pearl?” He leaned into her. “Hair the color of an Andalucían sunset, yet also threaded with gold?” His voice had grown even huskier. “And СКАЧАТЬ