The Sapphire Pendant Read Free Page A

Kenneth demanded, shoving a glass of juice in her face.
    “But I’m not—”
    The glass was on her lips before she could finish her protest. She had the choice to either drink or choke. She chose the former. When she was through, she glanced around and realized she was sitting on a green camelback settee in the hallway, resting against Kenneth. She abruptly straightened.
    “Put your head between your knees,” he said.
    “I’m not going to faint.”
    “You just did.”
    “I felt a little weak, but I was fine.”
    He folded his arms and rested back. “Hmm, I suppose admitting that you fainted would be too feminine for you.”
    “I have nothing against femininity. I am a woman, after all.”
    He measured her in one unflattering glance. “Not yet.”
    “What do you mean?”
    He rubbed his chin, suddenly regretful. “Never mind.”
    “Say it.”
    He frowned, doubtful. “Do you really want me to explain?”
    “If you can.”
    “Just look at yourself. You’re not…” He didn’t know how to complete the statement. She wasn’t plain. Her skin was a rich dark brown, and her mouth was soft when she laughed, which she never did when he was around. But her eyes were killers, and whenever they flashed in his direction, a rush of heat would shoot through him. Why, he was never quite sure. Fortunately, he always managed to cool it.
    No, she wasn’t plain, but she wasn’t pretty either. In a quick gesture, he lightly fingered the hair floating around her head. Even though she had attempted to pull her hair back in a braid, a few rebellious strands had broken free. He shook his head. “My belle laide ,” he said in a half-whisper.
    “What?”
    “Are you still reading Madeline to practice French?”
    “I graduated to Le Petit Prince . Now, are you going to explain yourself or not?”
    “You don’t revel in being a woman. Your hair is always a mess, you hide your body in androgynous clothing—”
    “This is a uniform, you idiot.”
    It hung on her like a sack; the arms were too long, as were the trousers. “And only you can make it look bad. It’s like you don’t even know the power of a woman’s...attributes.”
    “I don’t like fitted tuxes.”
    “Aside from the way you dress, any man who might be interested in you has to deal with your sharp tongue and nasty temper. The thought makes most men shudder.”
    “I see.” She blinked back stinging, hot tears. It was her own fault. She had asked for honesty and received it in full. “It’s nice to know what you really think of me. It explains everything.”
    He softened his voice, seeing the floating tears. “Jasmine—”
    Her voice hardened. “Don’t call me Jasmine.”
    He cradled her injured hand in his—a warm, solid hand that managed to make hers look small, helpless, almost delicate. Oh God, he was touching her, and her traitorous body enjoyed it. “We need to talk,” he said.
    She didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t want to forgive him, like countless other brokenhearted females had. She hated how she had been weakened into bringing up the past in the first place. She had given him permission to carelessly tear at her wounds.
    She hated that he could tap her weaknesses, while he kept his well-hidden. He could taunt her or make her feel foolish, but he could never know or understand how it felt to be her—not when he’d been given everything and had taken even more. He was a cunning illusion, trying to make her forget who he truly was. But she never would. She would not be another silent conquest of his deception. Without warning, an overwhelming need to hurt him, as he had hurt her, rose inside her.
    She slapped him across the face so hard that her hand stung from the impact. She felt a secret delight when she saw his face become a violent storm, his eyes flashing with uncontrolled rage.
    “Go on. Hit me back,” she challenged. “I’m woman enough to take it. I know how much you want to. How much you truly despise me, because I