Winter Bride (9780345546197) Read Free Page A

powerful forearms. He appeared tougher. The aura he exuded was rougher, more reckless, and his face was more vibrantly alive beneath that cropped cap of silver hair.
    “I’m sorry to have disappointed you.” She sat up and got to her knees. “But I’m glad you came, Mr. Corbin.”
    He peered into the shadows where she knelt. “No complaints, no outrage at my rough treatment?”
    “I’m sure you fared worse than I did.”
    “I’m sure too.”
    “How did you get here?”
    “I rented a speed boat in Seattle and docked on the other side of the island.” He squinted his eyes. “I can barely see you over there. What the hell are you wearing? Some kind of costume?”
    “Just a robe.” She stood up and tried to tidy her tousled hair. “I’d like to thank you for coming to hear me out. Suppose we get down to—”
    He stiffened. “That’s not just any robe.” He suddenly muttered a curse, his ice-blue eyes glittering. “Come over here into the light where I can see you.”
    She hesitated and then moved slowly across the room toward him.
    He watched her, his eyes narrowed, his stance strangely tense. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured.
    She stopped before him, bracing herself as his gaze traveled over the sleek lines of the long whitevelvet gown with its golden girdle to the matching gold braid on the flowering sleeves.
    “The Winter Bride.” He threw back his head and laughed uproariously but entirely without mirth. “Good God, I can’t believe it.” He grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the door. “I’ve got to see you together. Is she still in the library?”
    “Yes, but I don’t want—”
    He ignored her protest, pulling her down the hall and down the curved flight of steps.
    “Please, there’s no sense to this,” she said quietly. “You’ve already seen … You know we’re alike.”
    “I have to be sure.” His harsh tone belied the smile baring his teeth. “Trust the old man to manage to get it all.” He threw open the door to the library and switched on the overhead light, his gaze going to the painting over the fireplace. “He always did have the luck of the devil.” He pulled her over to stand in front of the mantel. “Let’s see just how lucky the bastard was.”
    She didn’t have to glance at the painting to know what he was seeing. She knew every brush stroke, every shading of color. The anonymous artist had portrayed a young woman, scarcely more than a child, dressed in an ivory-colored medieval-style gown and ermine-trimmed cloak and standing alone beneath an ice-flocked tree. She was staring at the castle in the background, her eyes wide with fear and anticipation. Ysabel ignored the painting and stared at Jed Corbin. Dear God, he was angry, she realized in bewilderment. She could almost feel the furnace-hot waves of emotion he was exuding.
    “Exquisite,” he said softly, looking at her face. “Same marvelous bone structure, same impossibly long lashes, same dark eyes and hair.” He reached out and touched her cheek with his forefinger. “Lord, even the textures are the same. Your skin feels just as silky as it looks in the picture.”
    Her skin seemed to burn beneath his touch, but it had to be her imagination.
    His gaze moved down her throat to her breasts. “A little more voluptuous than the Bride’s but that’s not necessarily a bad thing, is it?” Something glinted, then burned in those light blue eyes. Another wave of anger seemed to have been ignited in him.
    “Will you let me go please? You’re hurting my wrist.”
    “I certainly wouldn’t want to cause you discomfort. All brides should be treated with gentleness and care.” He released her wrist and stepped back. “As I’m sure my father taught you.”
    She absently rubbed her wrist. “Why are you so angry?”
    “I’m not—the
hell
I’m not.” He drew a deep ragged breath. “He’s won again. I thought I saw a way to get some of my own back, but he’s blocked me again.”
    “I