His Royal Pleasure. Leanne BanksЧитать онлайн книгу.
rhythm of peaceful sleep. His heartbeat vibrated against her palm, and she became more aware of her own pulse. It was as if there was an invisible connection between them, as if he knew her, and she knew him.
Katherine caught herself and rolled her eyes. Her lack of sleep was affecting her brain.
She needed to finish this, and the ruined trousers had to come off, she realized. After unbuckling the fine leather belt, she eased the zipper down two inches and paused. His stomach was taut and richly tan like the rest of him. She bit her lip. She’d uncovered his navel and the beginnings of dark hair on his lower abdomen.
Get on with it, silly, she thought. She clenched her jaw and pushed the zipper halfway down over his impressive masculinity and stopped abruptly. Her fingers grazed the most sensitive pleasurable part of him. Her hands were almost as close as a lover’s would be.
She jerked her shaking hands away. She just couldn’t do it. It was all in her mind. Nurses, doctors and rescue workers did this kind of thing all the time. They didn’t ogle. They just stripped people naked with no regard to privacy. It was their job. But Katherine couldn’t get past the intimacy of the situation. Her inappropriate thoughts made her feel like an intruder, a voyeur. She’d just have to let Chad finish undressing him.
“I found one of Jasper’s.” Chad held the robe out to her.
“Good. I’ll let you get his pants off and cover him with a blanket,” she said quickly. “We can leave the robe on the back of the sofa just in case he gets up later. Then I can finish checking his head.” I might want to get mine checked too, she thought.
Chad completed the job with a few groans and grunts. Katherine knelt near the man’s head and applied antiseptic to the wound. It must have stung, because he moaned. The sound tore at her. “It’s okay,” she murmured, stroking his forehead.
Alex lifted a hand toward his head. The pain was so incredible he was tempted to go back to sleep. But his bed suddenly seemed too short, and his head felt as though an explosion had gone off inside it. Then he heard a soft, feminine voice, felt cool, gentle hands, and smelled something sweet and sultry.
“I don’t think it needs stitches,” the female voice said. She talked with a lazy American drawl he couldn’t place. He struggled against the weight on his eyelids and willed them open.
She was blurry. He squinted his eyes, and the picture cleared. Wild auburn hair framed a solemn, cameo-featured face. Her expression was guileless and sincere. He recognized both qualities because they were so rare in his world. Her large gray eyes were wide with concern. For him? Yes, he decided, and the notion wrapped around him like a blanket.
Her skin was pale, almost alabaster perfect, except for the faint violet shadows beneath her eyes. And the sprinkling of freckles on her small nose.
“Freckles,” he muttered, wondering why he couldn’t recall her name.
Her pink mouth stretched into a sweet, sexy grin. “You must be okay if you can identify freckles.”
Alex wondered if she were a figment of his imagination. She looked real, smelled like temptation and had a voice that conjured up visions of lazy, hot afternoons spent in bed. He lifted his hand to her chin and watched her freeze. Her skin was silky smooth. And her lips, he thought, rubbing his thumb against them, were like rose petals. He frowned. “Why don’t I remember making love to you?”
Her eyes widened, and her face bloomed with color. “Because you haven’t,” she whispered.
Frowning again, he dropped his hand from her mouth. What a disappointment. He’d like to think something pleasurable had precipitated this horrendous headache. None of this made sense. Why was this woman in his bed? And why had his bed shrunk? He vaguely identified the pungent smell surrounding him. “Whiskey. Not Chenin Blanc.” Not the fine liquor to which he was accustomed.
Her large eyes blinked, and she cleared her throat. “Definitely not Chenin Blanc.”
The soft, unmistakable weight of feminine breasts pressed pleasantly against his arm. Who was she? The throb in his head increased, and he took a deep breath to fight it. He refused to close his eyes. He didn’t want to lose sight of her.
Her fine eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Get him a glass of water, Chad, please. Maybe he can take aspirin.”
He heard a low murmur of response but still kept his eyes on her. “Who are you?”
She brushed her hand soothingly over his forehead. “I’m Katherine, and you’re going to be okay. Here. Take some aspirin.”
He took the pills and almost blacked out from the pain when she propped his head to take a drink of water. The process exhausted him. He finally closed his eyes, wondering why he hadn’t made love to her.
“I think he’s gone back to sleep now,” Katherine said. His eyes were almost black, as dark as his hair. In those fleeting moments his dark searching gaze had a profound effect on her, as if he’d been looking for an anchor and decided she was it.
Katherine shook her head. No way. She had an entire month and a half left to manage her uncle’s resort. Her time and attention were spoken for.
“You think he’ll be okay?” Chad looked guilty.
Katherine’s heart softened toward her brother. He was at a tough stage in life: not quite man, not quite boy. The fact that their mother had just entered the blissful state of matrimony for the fifth time didn’t exactly help matters.
Katherine was convinced that underneath—way underneath—all his selfishness lay a heart of gold. She squeezed his arm. “He’ll be fine. And I think you did the right thing by bringing him here.” She paused, thinking of how her heart had tripped when the handsome stranger wrapped her in his warm gaze. There was something familiar, yet forbidden, about him.
She squared her shoulders. “But I want him out of here by tomorrow afternoon.”
When Alex awoke the next morning, he couldn’t decide which was worse: the crick in his neck or the teeth-clenching pain in his head. He looked around the unfamiliar room and felt confused. Then the events of the previous evening came back to him. Katherine and the young man named Chad. He hadn’t seen the bottle coming until it was too late. The wet trip over on the ferry. He rose stiffly.
Chad entered from another room. “So, how’s the head?”
Alex quirked his mouth. “In the future I’ll always associate the smell of cheap whiskey with pain.”
Chad grinned and offered a cup of coffee. “You and the rest of the world.”
He accepted it and took a drink. It was weaker than what he was accustomed to. “Thank you.”
“No. Thank you. I’m sorry about the bottle last night.” Chad shrugged his shoulders. “If there’s anything I can do…”
He glanced down at his bare chest and legs. “A shower and some clothes?”
Chad seemed glad to have something to do. “Sure. There’s a mechanic who takes care of the rides who’s about your size.” He headed for the front door. “And the bathroom is the second door on your right.”
“Chad,” Alex called. “Where am I?”
“Nowhere.”
Alex frowned.
“Well,” Chad amended quickly, “specifically, you’re on Pirate Island, population four hundred sixty-four on a busy day. This is a camping resort for families who want to get away from it all. And I say ‘all’ in the literal sense. We don’t even have a weekly newspaper, and the only way you can get here is by ferry.” Chad hooked his fingers in his pockets and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Elvis could live here in total obscurity. The place is dead.”
Alex was sure he’d misunderstood. “No newspaper?”
“None.”
“Radio