[Harlequin] - Unknown Author - Cinderella at the Ball (txt), Ksiazki, txt, ebook, pdf

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CINDERELLA AT THE BALLbyRobin WellsHe danced smoothly, moving in perfect sync with her body. When the last note floated into the air, he didn't loosen his hold on her even though the song had clearly ended.The nearness, the warmth, the sheer maleness of him made her dizzy. Her palms felt damp and her brain felt fuzzy, as if she weren't getting enough oxygen.His voice sounded in her ear, low and nimbly, sending a shiver down her arms. "Do you have any idea what you make me want to do?"He pulled back enough to look down at her. His eyes were hot. The heat burned its way through her, making her feel as if her bones were melting. Against all wisdom, she found herself breathing the irresistible question. "What?"The soft warmth of his breath against her ear sent a quiver of pleasure coursing up her spine. "For starters, I want to kiss you."She looked up at him, unable to speak."And unless you tell me you don't want me to, that's exactly what I'm going to do.""I" Her lips parted, but no further words came out.His mouth brushed her ear again as he rocked her to the rhythm. The slow strains of another sultry song reverberated in the night air."That didn't sound like a no."She didn't know if it was the rising notes of the painfully beautiful music or the feel of his breath on her neck that raised goosebumps on her skin. She only knew that she felt helpless to deny the aching need to feel his lips on hers. "It... wasn't."CHARJIIHGgOBIlWELLSLOVE SPELL BOOKSNEW YORK CITYLOVE SPELL?November 1999Published byDorchester Publishing Co., Inc.276 Fifth AvenueNew York, NY 10001If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware thatthis book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold anddestroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisherhas received any payment for this "stripped book."Copyright ? 1999 by Robin WellsAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced ortransmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,including photocopying, recording or by any information storageand retrieval system, without the written permission of thePublisher, except where permitted by law.ISBN 0-505-52344-2The name "Love Spell" and its logo are trademarks of DorchesterPublishing Co., Inc.Printed in the United States of America.To Ken, my personal Prince Charming.With thanks to Bill Kinzeler, Gordon Jackson and Gene Giles at American Commercial Barge Line for the towboattour; Bill McNealfor sharing his many years ofaccumulated wisdom, lore and life-on-the-river literature;and Captain Jim Calhoun, USCG, ret., for his invaluableinformation.(^ARMINGChapter OneJosephine Evans scrambled out of her gray Mercedes, her legs wobbling from the shock of the accident, and stared at the smashed front end of her vehicle. Uptown-bound traffic, already thick in this part of New Orleans at rush hour, clotted behind her like Creole cottage cheese, but Josephine was too worried about her damaged car to care.Oh, dearthe hood looked like an accordian, one of the front tires slanted in at a crazy angle and a puddle of gooey liquid oozed from under the crumpled engine. The car was undrivableprobably even unrepairable. Which meant it was most likely unsalable.Josephine's spirits sank to the soles of her navy Givenchy pumps. Great, just greatjust what she needed on top of all her other money troubles. And since she'd struck the pickup from the rear, the accident was clearly her fault."You hurt, lady?"The late-afternoon sun glared in her eyes so brightly she could barely make out the man climbing out of the blackpickup with the dark, tinted windows. He was tallshe could tell thatand muscular. His shoulders were as broad as a linebacker's in full uniform, and his arms were brawny, but his chest tapered to a flat stomach and narrow hips."I'm fine. Are you all right?""Hell, no, I'm not all right." His voice was a deep, gravelly rumble, as low and ominous as thunder. He stalked to the rear of his vehicle and stared at the bumper. "What in Christ's name have you done to my truck?"Josephine squinted at him, the light still in her eyes. Backlit by the low-riding sun, he looked like he was on fire. A chill chased through her, despite the unseasonably warm March air. He reminded her of the fiery demons her father used to preach against. His black eyebrows curled like gargoyle wings above coal black eyes, his blue-black hair looked like it hadn't seen a comb in weeks and his face was grizzled with what looked like a week's worth of stubble. The effect was altogether disreputable, completely intimidating and more than a little dangerous.Josephine backed against the smashed fender of her Mercedes as he moved along the rear of his truck, running his hand along the fender. His palms were large and square and his fingers were long and tanned, and the sight of them made her distinctly uneasy. So did the message emblazoned on the back of his dirty gray T-shirt under the picture of a crawfish: Suck the Head and Eat the Tail.When he turned toward her, his scowl made her grateful for the swarm of Magazine Street traffic slowly surging around them. This was not the kind of man she'd want to encounter on a deserted road.Not that this location had much to recommend it. She cast an uneasy glance around, taking in the sleazy secondhand clothing shop on the sidewalk behind her, the dingy tavern on the corner and the boarded-up buildings across the street. She was about a mile shy of the upscale antique shops and restaurants the tourists liked to frequent, in aseedy, broken-down neighborhood that smelled of old garbage.Josephine lifted her chin and pulled herself to her straightest posture, the way she always did whenever she was nervous. Poise and a gracious manner can overcome any obstacle. The phrase had been drummed into her at finishing school, and it was one she'd often repeated to her own charm school students. She repeated it silently to herself now, forcing a practiced expression of composure onto her face."I'm very sorry I hit you, but you pulled in front of me so suddenly that I didn't have time to stop.""Like hell! You speeded up when I tried to pass you!"The venom in his voice made her jump. She inched closer to her bumper as he took a menacing step toward her."I know your type," he said with a snarl. "You hoitytoity society broads all think it's your God-given right to barge ahead of everyone else."Josephine nervously smoothed the jacket of her navy wool suit, trying to smooth her nerves as well, and mentally recited another finishing school axiom: The more dire the situation, the greater the need to remain calm. She carefully modulated her voice to a low but firm level. "I'm afraid that you're mistaken. I was trying to hit the brake, and I accidentally hit the accelerator instead.""Jesus Christ! What's the matter with you? Don't you have the sense God gave a goose?"Irritation shot through her. He had every right to be upset, but there was no need for him to be insulting. And there was certainly no need for him to take the Lord's name in vain. "I'll thank you to kindly keep God's name out of this. It was an accident, not a deliberate act, I assure you. Besides, it looks like your truck is barely scratched.""Barely scratched? Hell, lady, it's more scratched than a rat's ass. The bumper's all dented in and the paint job's ruined."11TShe'd been considering giving him the benefit of the doubtafter all, everyone dressed down on occasionbut this man was clearly every bit as uncouth as he looked. "It's so covered with dirt that I don't see how you can tell," she said stiffly. "But in any event, there's no need to curse at me.""Oh, no?" He leaned toward her, a vein bulging in his forehead. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath smelled of stale beer and his mouth was curled into what could only be described as a sneer. "What the hell do you think I should be doing? Strangling your scrawny neck?"Her gaze inadvertently flew to his immense hands, and another shiver chased up her spine. She forced herself to look him in the eye. "There's no need to threaten me, either."A malevolent gleam lit his face. His lip pulled back in an awful smile. "Sweetheart, that wasn't a threat. If I told you I was going to cart you off to the swamp, snatch the hide right off your sorry, no-driving self, then feed the curly side of your south end to the gators, well, now, that might be a threat. Which, come to think of it, isn't a halfbad idea."Josephine stared at him, aghast. She'd never been talked to so crudely in her entire life. He wasn't hurt, for heaven's sake. It wasn't like the accident thirteen years ago, the accident where ...The unbidden memory made her shudder. With longpracticed determination, she thrust it from her mind. She couldn't allow herself to think about that now or she would surely fall to pieces. Her whole world was already falling apart as it was. If she hadn't been so preoccupied with her current troubles, she never would have hit this cretin in the first placeeven though he had rudely swerved directly into her path.He was glaring at her belligerently. She glared back, channeling all of her distress into indignation. "You, sir,are the most foulmouthed, ill-tempered, uncouth man I've ever had the displeasure of meeting."His scowl deepened and his eyes narrowed. "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly charmed to make your acquaintance, either. So what the hell are you going to do about my truck?""Your truck? My car's the one that's totaled!""Yeah, and whose fault is that, huh? Maybe next time you'll be a little more careful about which pedal you're stomping on."He stormed back to his pickup, extracted a cellular phone and start... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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