Triumph in Arms by Jennifer Blake

Author:Jennifer Blake [Jennifer Blake ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781408921289
Publisher: Harlequin Mills & Boon Ltd.
Published: 2011-12-13T10:54:58+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

After days of steady stitching, Reine was almost finished with Christien’s shirt. She plied her needle along the remaining few inches of the hem while holding it to the last rays of sunset through the French doors. Now and then she glanced up, stretching the kink between her shoulder blades caused by bending over her work, also resting her eyes by allowing them to linger on her patient. He was asleep with his arms relaxed at his sides and his head turned toward her on the pillow.

The sun’s golden glow slanted across his features, giving them a bronze sheen like the mask of some ancient god. The coloration was fascinating, as was the thick fringe of his lashes, the strong line of his nose and pronounced cheekbone ridges of his Indian heritage.

The contrast between his skin and hers had been particularly marked that evening in the smoking room. Three days ago—almost four it must be now—how strange to realize when it was so fresh in her mind. Strange also to consider the two of them might never have met if he had not set out to win River’s Edge. Propriety would have required that she ignore him even if their paths had crossed. Since circumstances had conspired to throw them together, she was free to see his attraction. Oh, yes, and feel it inside her.

Wanton, she had been so wanton during those moments of closeness between them. He had done his best to persuade her otherwise, but she knew better. For proof, she had only to consider how very affecting it was to trace the firm contours of his lips with her eyes now. Her body below the waist flooded with warm arousal at the mere thought of his mouth on hers once more. That she could feel such a thing in spite of his injuries and her misgivings concerning him was beyond disturbing.

He had proved a stoic patient, something she had seldom met with before. Her father lost his good nature when ill, damning all doctors as quacks. Her mother was inclined to moaning in self-pity while certain she required more treatment than she received. Marguerite was fractious to a point, but became limp and unresponsive in the grip of a fever. As for Theodore, he had been irritable and demanding, able to think of far more aids to his comfort than any one person could supply. He also had no tolerance whatever for pain.

No two men could be less alike.

Christien was immovable in his decisions; that much she had discovered on the first day. Unlike her father, he did not rant or bluster. Nor did he make extravagant threats as Theodore had once done. He simply said what he would do and then did it.

It was disconcerting. It was also infuriating when she wished him to do otherwise, as with the laudanum. Yet it could not be said that she didn’t know where he stood.

At first, she thought he might be correct in saying he didn’t need the tincture, was better off without it dulling his senses.

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