Ritual Sins Read Free

or care who she was.
    By the time she gave up and headed back forher room her mood had not improved. She was hungry, she was hot and tired, and whether she liked it or not she was going to change out of her city clothes into something more comfortable. She wasn’t certain that she’d brought anything suitable, and she’d go around stark naked before she’d dress up like the karate kid, but a shower would revive her for her quest. A quest she had no intention of failing.
    It was late afternoon, and her room was filled with shadows when she reached it. There was no light switch on the wall, and she cursed beneath her breath as she stumbled into the gloom, the door swinging shut behind her, sealing her in.
    “Goddamn place,” she muttered. “No goddamn light switches, no goddamn meat, no goddamn messiah when you go looking for him.” She flailed around for a lamp on the bedside table. She found one, only to discover that it was an oil lamp.
    “Shit,” she said out loud. “And no goddamn electricity.”
    The flare of the match was dazzling in the inky darkness, and Rachel uttered a little shriek, mesmerized by the light as it traveled toward a lamp. A moment later a dim illumination filled the room, growing brighter by the moment, and the man shook the match out and tossed it in the round stucco fireplace.
    “You were looking for me?” Luke Bardell said.
    She would never forget nor forgive her initial moment of panic. She’d gone in search of him, to face the lion in his den. And instead he’d invaded hers.
    He was as mesmerizing close up as he was from a distance. It wasn’t something as simple as physical beauty, though he had that in abundance. An elegant, narrow face, wide gray-blue eyes that looked at her with astonishing compassion, a nose and chin strong enough to give his angelic face masculine character, and a mouth that could seduce a saint.
    He sat on her bed, ignoring the straight-backed chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He was wearing one of those baggy cotton outfits, though his was pure white instead of the pale colors the others wore. He had one of those tall, lean bodies that looked almost gaunt, and yet only a fool would underestimate the strength and power beneath the loose-fitting white tunic. His hair was very dark and very long, and it flowed down his back, and he watched her with his large, elegant hands folded quietly in his lap, watched her with faint curiosity and not the slightest hint of apprehension.
    “How’d you get in here?” she demanded, not caring how hostile she sounded. “You scared the hell out of me.”
    “We have no locks at Santa Dolores,” he said ina tranquil voice. “We don’t use harsh or profane language. It’s an infectious poison, just as surely as drugs and alcohol and animal flesh are.”
    She resisted the impulse to tell him to fuck himself, she wasn’t sure why. “Sticks and stones may break my bones,” she murmured.
    He raised his eyes to look at her, and she met his gaze with complete self-control. No wonder he was able to have otherwise intelligent adults eating out of his hand. Those eyes of his could make an iceberg melt.
    But Rachel was frozen harder than an iceberg, and thoughtful looks and soulful eyes left her unmoved.
    “You’re very angry with the Foundation of Being, aren’t you?” he said, not moving from her bed. “You think we took advantage of your mother.”
    “No.” She began unfastening her silk jacket, determined not to be intimidated by him. “I think
you
took advantage of my mother. You seduced her, convinced her to leave her money away from her only child, and then you act as if you’re the misunderstood victim.”
    His smile was slow and oddly unsettling. “I’m celibate.”
    “So they told me. I don’t believe it.”
    “You were asking, Rachel? Why did you want to know?”
    The dark wouldn’t show the faint color thatrose to her cheeks, she thought with sudden gratitude. “They volunteered the