His Mistletoe Bride by Vanessa Kelly

Author:Vanessa Kelly
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2012-08-20T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Propped up on his elbows, Lucas stared down at her, every muscle rigid with disbelief and frustration. Phoebe pushed on his brawny chest again as she tried to wriggle out from under him. Lying trapped and naked under a large man on the brink of losing his temper struck her as a very bad idea.

The heavy pounding on the front door drove away the last remnants of her sensual daze. Lucas had unleashed unknown, delicious forces in her body. He had done it gently and skillfully and, she was certain, with tender affection. But his tenderness had now fled, falling victim to the untimely interruption of their lovemaking.

The rapid change made her nervous. “Lucas, please get off me,” she said breathlessly.

He blinked, staring down at her as if she were a stranger. Then he grimaced. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I understand, but I would still be grateful to get up.”

Grumbling, he rolled to the side, then sat up on the edge of the bed. She scrambled under the sheets, which prompted another irritated look from her husband. “Phoebe, no one is going to burst in on us.”

She pulled the sheets up to her neck. “I happen to be cold,” she responded with dignity.

Lucas surged to his feet, looking more disgruntled by the minute. Not surprising, although she wished he would stop glowering at her. The interruption was hardly her fault.

The pounding in the hall finally stopped, but a moment later the sound of raised voices replaced it. Yanking on his clothes, Lucas stalked for the door.

“What are you going to do?” she blurted out.

He cast a disbelieving look in her direction. “I’m going to see who is trying to pound my door down. You stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I get rid of the damn fool who had the nerve to ruin my wedding night.”

The door slammed behind him, sending a hollow boom echoing through the room.

Oh, dear. Phoebe threw back the bedding and rushed to gather her clothes from the floor, shivering as she pulled her night rail over her head. The fire had burned down to embers, and in the fitful light of the candles, the room was cold and dreary, and seemed as shabby and out of sorts as she felt.

She hastily pulled on her wrapper and grabbed her slippers. As she crossed in front of her dressing table, she caught a glance at her reflection. Stumbling to a halt, she stared at herself. She looked exactly like a woman who had just been tumbled, hardly a presentable image.

Quickly, she wove her hair into a haphazard braid and then dug a heavy woolen shawl out of one of her trunks. Casting it over herself, she took another quick glance in the mirror. Although not likely to impress anyone, at least she looked respectably covered. Given the clamor of voices now issuing from downstairs, she could not afford to waste another second.

She threw open the heavy door and made her way quickly down the dark corridor.

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