Dark Knight: A Loveswept Romance Classic Read Free Page A

already lost their battles.
    He grumbled something, then wrenched onto his stomach as if some invisible force had shoved him. Her mouth went dry. A coil of white linen between his legswas all that covered him. Somewhere she found enough spit to swallow. But she couldn’t dredge up a denial. She wanted that sheet gone. In fact, she curled her hands into fists against the temptation to step into the room, grab the sheet, and tug it the rest of the way off of him.
    The man was simply too glorious to be covered. He deserved to be naked. He had the kind of sprawled grace that would make artists of any medium salivate.
    “Sarah.” The rasp of a name sounded as if it had been dragged over hot coals before escaping from his lips.
    All thoughts of artistic appreciation fled. She watched, a visual captive, as he clawed the sides of the mattress, the muscles in his shoulders and back bunching under the intensity of his grip. She could hear a pulsing sound and only absently acknowledged it was her own heartbeat thrumming in her ears.
    Then he began to move. Writhe was the word that came to mind. His hips lifted slightly, then pressed deeply into the bed. He groaned in his sleep, turning his head from side to side, a tumble of black hair obscuring his face. He dug his knees and toes into the mattress, then ground his hips down again; the sounds he made were a tumble of dark, guttural need mixed with anguish. “Sarah … no. Don’t! Need … you.”
    Scottie felt her nipples tighten in automatic reaction and found herself wondering who in the hell Sarah was … and why she was jealous of a woman she’d never met.
    She strangled her libido, which had chosen a highly inconvenient time to come out of hibernation, then quickly unzipped the small leather case. He thrashed again, moaned something unintelligible, then quietedonce more—except for his hips, which slid again and again along the smooth white sheet. Scottie forced herself to concentrate on prepping the syringe. It took a considerable amount of self-control.
    The task complete, she depressed the plunger until the contents beaded at the end of the needle, then turned to her quarry. Good Lord but the man was a beautiful creature. She stepped closer to the bed, thinking it was almost a shame she was going to have to dress him later.
    She moved the last step, then stopped dead when he suddenly twisted onto his back. His chest was sheened with sweat now, rising and falling rapidly. She darted her gaze to his face. Still dreaming.
    “Sarah,” he said with a groan, then reached down and tugged at the sheet between his legs.
    Scottie gripped the syringe so hard, she was surprised she didn’t snap the casing. She bent over and aimed the needle at the hard curve of his buttocks. “Sorry I can’t let you finish this,” she said under her breath, “but I have my orders.” There was no escaping watching his continued motions. “Really sorry,” she added silently.
    He arched up and yanked hard, a low growl ripped from his throat. The sheet whipped off the bed like a white lash.
    She pulled back just in time, then froze. He was gloriously naked … and gloriously erect. Her gaze was riveted to him as his thighs relaxed, then flexed again. His neatly carved abdominal muscles rippled like a wave as he hunched forward. Nothing short of sudden death could have stopped her from watching him. It was an elegant, erotic ballet of sinew and muscle, controland leashed power. Her hand shook slightly, and she had to lock her knees against the shockingly sudden hot clench of need that gripped the muscles between her thighs in a painful fist.
    Then, without warning, his eyes flew open and locked on hers. In one lightning-quick motion his hand flashed out, grabbed her arm, and yanked her down.
    Caught badly off balance and even more off guard, Scottie pitched forward. She landed hard across his chest and legs, barely managing to swing the hand with the syringe wide. She held on to it, even