Merline Lovelace

Merline Lovelace Read Free Page B

Book: Merline Lovelace Read Free
Author: A Savage Beauty
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her chest, she glared up at him.
    She was a good bit older than the stripling he’d first thought, he saw. Closer to a woman than a girl. Despite her slender build, the breasts mashed against his chest felt full and round, her flanks long and firm. And she had the damnedest eyes. As deep and blue as a high mountain lake.
    Chartier must have passed them to her. The trapper’s eyes had been blue, too, but not the same mesmerizing shade of his daughter’s. Fringed by thick, ink-black lashes, they drew a man in and left him to drown.
    For a moment, Daniel forgot he was deep in uncharted territory, forgot the troop of hungry soldiers waiting for him. For the oddest space of time, he saw only a backdrop of white snow. A spill of hair as black as obsidian. Full, red lips set in a defiant line. A blaze of blue fire. She was as wild and dangerous and beautiful as the land that had bred her. Shaking his head, he broke the spell.
    “ Parlez English?”
    She didn’t respond except to set her jaw. Daniel gave her hair another yank.
    “Do you talk English?”
    “Yes!” she hissed. “I have the anglais. Also a little of the español. ”
    “Good.”
    Very good, since Daniel had pretty much used up his entire repertoire of foreign phrases.
    “I didn’t kill Chartier,” he said, spacing each word slowly and distinctly. “It was a mountain cat. Puma. Cougar.”
    Jaw tight, she eyed him for a long moment. “Is that the cry I hear?”
    A panther’s scream could carry for miles on this thin, cold air. He should have realized the girl would hear it and wonder whether it had been made by man or beast.
    “Yes, that was the cry you heard.”
    “You say… You say this cat kills Henri?”
    “I brought the claws to prove to you I speak the truth.”
    “Show me.”
    He knew better than to react too quickly to that imperious demand. The fight wasn’t gone out of her yet. Or the suspicion. The moment he rolled away from her, she’d have her razor-edged blade to his throat.
    “I’ll show you,” he countered, “when you let loose of your knife.”
    Her black brows slashed together. Her body tensed under his. They lay in the snow, chest to chest, hip to hip, while she mulled over her choices in the matter. Finally she realized she had only one. Her fingers loosed their grip on the skinning knife.
    Releasing her hair, Daniel took possession of the weapon. The handle was wrapped in bits of rawhide woven with red yarn and fit awkwardly in his hand, but he kept a sure grip on it as he levered himself up. Freed of his weight, the woman drew in a long, shuddering breath and struggled upright. Regret lanced into Daniel when he saw the angry marks banding her wrists. He hadn’t intended to bruise her like that.
    He reached down a hand to help her up. Spurning his aid, she scrambled to her feet, dusted the snow from her backside and snatched up her buffalo robe. With the heavy hide draped over her shoulders to block the cold, she reissued her imperious demand.
    “Show me.”
    He dug the claws out of his cartridge case. They lay in his palm, curving, sharp-tipped bits of black still streaked with the blood of the cat and the man it had savaged.
    She reached out and closed a hand over the gory trophies. Clenching her fist, she brought it to her breast. Her extraordinary eyes showed no trace of emotion, but the skin stretched taut over her high cheekbones and moved Daniel to pity.
    “I buried Chartier up there,” he said gruffly, “on the bluff.”
    Her glance went to the snow-covered ridge. “It is where he wished to lie.”
    “Your father asked me to take care of you.”
    Her gaze slewed back. “What do you say?”
    “Your father. With his last breath, he asked me to take care of you.”
    “You think Henri is my father?”
    “Isn’t he?”
    “ Imbécile! He is my husband. For five winters now.”
    “The hell you say!”
    The old buzzard must have taken her into his bed before she’d laid aside her corncob dolls. Disgusted,

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