The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie by Jennifer Ashley

Author:Jennifer Ashley [Ashley, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Historical romance, Victorian
ISBN: 9781101625583
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-09-30T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Daniel kept his hands out. He waited for Violet to rise and push past him, to run from him back to her boardinghouse, or all the way out of Marseille.

His chest hurt with pain for her. If Jacobi was still alive, he wouldn’t be for long. He’d taken Violet, an amazing and precious woman, and destroyed her, not only in the eyes of the world, but inside herself. It was as though Jacobi had snatched up an exquisite and priceless marble by Michelangelo and smashed it to powder—worse, because Violet was a living, breathing woman. Alive, and in pain.

Daniel would find not only Jacobi but the man who’d touched her and make him pay for every moment Violet had hurt. For every pain, every tear, every breath of panic.

Violet looked up at Daniel for a long time, her blue eyes still but thoughts racing behind them. Her loose braid fell across the black canvas bodice, the breasts it hugged rising with her breath.

Finally she lifted her hands, fingers visibly trembling, and placed them in his.

Daniel closed his fingers over hers, feeling the cold of her skin, her fear. He pulled her to her feet. Violet’s hair was mussed, her eyes large, her dark face powder half brushed off to reveal patches of white skin.

Daniel tugged her against him and closed his arms around her. He felt her trembling turn to all-out shaking as Violet clutched at the back of his shirt.

Ideas for avenging her spun through Daniel’s thoughts, but he wouldn’t frighten Violet with them. There was a time for slaying dragons, and a time for holding on to someone and making the terror go away.

Violet’s fear, it seemed, wouldn’t let her simply hold on. She jerked his shirttails out from the back of his kilt and again pulled at his waistband.

Daniel’s heart was beating as rapidly as hers, and he was hard for her—aching—but he caught her wrists and pulled her away from him. “I think I said this before. Let me savor you.”

“I can’t.” Violet spoke breathily. “I need to burn through the fear. I want it done, before I know it’s happening . . .”

She shook out of his grip and yanked once more at the kilt’s waistband. The pin that held the kilt in place broke open, and the plaid sagged from Daniel’s hips.

As Daniel grabbed for the slipping kilt, Violet was shoving open his shirt, pushing it from his shoulders. She moved like a frightened animal, desperate and trembling.

“No, lass.”

“But you want me.” Violet sounded confused. She stroked down the front of the kilt, finding his hard cock and sending up a spike of madness. “You want me.”

“Aye, that I do.” Daniel had to drop the kilt to seize her wrists. Violet fought, but Daniel was stronger. “I’m burning for you, lass. Have been for some time. But this isn’t what you need.”

“Yes, it is. It is.”

“No.” Daniel pulled her with him to the long, scrolled French sofa, currently covered with drawings. He shoved these to the floor and seated Violet on the couch.

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