The Widow Vanishes Read Free Page A

pushed it away with the force of habit. Laura would never be his, and thinking of her—of the life he'd left behind years ago—only made bitterness well up again. By nature, he was quick to anger and equally quick to forgive ... except when it came to betrayal.
    The Scotsman in him—the man in him—could not abide disloyalty.
    Especially when it had come as a double blow. Delivered by the woman he had loved and the man with whom he shared a father. Though he and his older half-brother Alaric had never been close—the latter being a cold, controlling bastard—Will had never guessed that his own kin could be capable of such duplicity. Through a series of deaths and misfortunes, Alaric had inherited a title and wealth, and yet that still hadn't been enough.
    He'd taken the one thing Will wanted.
    And Alaric had had the gall to send a letter this week. 'Twas the first contact that Will had received from his brother in years. He'd held the missive, run his thumb over the majestic Strathaven seal ... but he hadn't opened it.
    Wasn't it enough for Alaric to have everything: a distinguished title, Laura, and a son and heir to boot? Why did he insist on rubbing Will's nose in those facts?
    Drawing a breath, Will forced himself back to the present—which was a damned sight more appealing than wallowing in the past. He wanted nothing to do with Alaric's machinations: he'd worked hard to be his own man, independent and free. Tonight, he wanted to forget everything but the pleasure of a woman in his arms. He wanted to lose himself in earthly delights. Eyeing the beauty in front of him, he did not doubt that the oblivion would be sweet.
    He offered her his hand. "Shall we get more comfortable?"
    Bella gave a nod, and after a moment, her hand slipped into his. He was surprised by her chilled fingers—nerves, mayhap? Was that common for those in her trade? For though her fingers were long and slender, they had a firm, capable grasp that did not belong to a lady of leisure. The lass had clearly worked for a living.
    Perhaps he—his size and appearance—disquieted her. She wouldn't be the first to find his looks intimidating. He had a Scot's hardy build to begin with, and the years in the infantry had toughened his frame. His looming exterior contributed to his success as a guard-for-hire: ruffians oft took one look at him and bolted.
    As he led her to the chaise, he wondered if he was pleasing to her. The irony struck him. Clearly, he hadn't spent enough time in petticoat pursuits if he was concerned about what the light-skirt thought of him .
    But that was his nature. His fantasy. He enjoyed a woman's pleasure as much as his own, and even if it was for one night, he wanted Bella to be comfortable with him.
    For if she was trying to act the part of an unschooled miss, she was doing a fine job of it. She perched on the edge of the chaise, her posture stiff, her breath puffing between her rosy lips. With each inhalation, the plump inner curves of her tits pressed against the opening of her robe, and his rod took note, burgeoning with anticipation. Hell, playacting or not, she was making him randier than he'd been in a long while.
    He sat next to her, and his blood sizzled at the plush press of her thigh against his. By God, she was graced with womanly charms. Crooking a finger under her chin, he tipped her head up.
    "May I kiss you?" he murmured.
    She grew still. Gave a stiff little nod.
    Bending his head, he took what she offered.
    Her kiss surprised him. Her lips were petal-soft, unexpectedly shy and sweet. Her innocent flavor spun his senses, made it easy to forget where he was and with whom. Her lips trembled beneath his—almost as if she'd never been properly kissed. As if she didn't know quite what to do and required instruction. The fantasy was irresistible. Dug deep into the heart of his desires, excavating the shards of the dreams he'd once built around Laura.
    What would it be like to claim a lady of his own, to introduce