Read Crossed Hearts (Matchmaker Trilogy) for Free Online

fully prepared to commence his inquisition. This woman, whoever she was, was trespassing on his turf. He didn’t like uninvited visitors. He didn’t like anything remotely resembling a threat to his peace.
    He hadn’t counted on what he’d see, much less what he’d feel when he saw it. If he’d thought he’d gained control of his senses during those few minutes alone, he’d been mistaken. Now, looking at this woman about whom he knew absolutely nothing, he was shaken by the same desire that had shocked his system earlier.
    Strangely, if that desire had been physical, he’d have felt less threatened. Hormonal needs were understandable, acceptable, easily slaked.
    But what he felt went beyond the physical. It had first sparked when he’d barged into the bathroom and seen legs that were feminine, ivory, sleek and exposed. There had been nothing seductive about the way they’d trembled, but he’d been disturbed anyway. He had thought of a doe he’d encountered in the woods; the animal had stared at him, motionless save for the faint tremor in her hind legs that betrayed an elemental fear. He’d been frustrated then, unable to assure the doe that he’d never harm her. He was frustrated now because the woman seemed equally as defenseless, and while he might have assured her, he wasn’t able to form the words.
    The desire he felt had grown during his ministrations, when his fingers had brushed her thigh and found it to be warmed from the shower and smooth, so smooth. Very definitely human and alive. A member of his own species. At that moment, he’d felt an instinctive need for assurance from her that he was every bit as human and alive.
    When he’d cupped her hand in his, he’d felt the oddest urge to guard her well. Fragility, the need for protection, a primal plea for closeness … he’d been unable to deny the feelings, though they shocked him.
    And when he’d searched her eyes, he’d found them as startled as his own must have been.
    He wasn’t sure if he believed she was genuine; he’d known too many quality actors in his day to take anything at face value. What he couldn’t ignore, though, were his own feelings, for they said something about himself that he didn’t want to know.
    Those feelings hit him full force as he stared at her. It wasn’t that she was beautiful. Her black hair, clean now and unturbaned, was damp and straight, falling just shy of her collarbone, save for the bangs that covered her brow. Her features were average, her face dominated by the owl-eyed glasses that perched on her nose. No, she wasn’t beautiful, and certainly not sexy wearing his shirt and long johns. But her pallor did something to him, as did the slight forward curve of her shoulders as she wrapped her arms around her waist.
    She was the image of vulnerability, and watching her, he felt vulnerable himself. He wanted to hold her, that was all, just to hold her. He couldn’t understand it, didn’t want to admit it, but it was so.
    “I’m not sure what to do with my clothes,” she said. Her eyes registered bewilderment, though her voice was calm. “I rinsed them out as best I could. Is there somewhere I can hang them to dry?”
    Garrick was grateful for the mundaneness of the question, which allowed him to sidestep those deeper thoughts. “You’d better put them through a real wash first. Over there.” He inclined his head toward the kitchen area.
    Through clean, dry glasses, Leah saw what she hadn’t been physically or emotionally capable of seeing earlier. A washer-dryer combo stood beyond the sink, not far from a dishwasher and a microwave oven. Modern kitchen, modern bathroom—Garrick Rodenhiser, it seemed, roughed it only to a point.
    Ducking back into the bathroom, she retrieved her clothes and put them into the washer with a generous amount of detergent. Once the machine was running, she eyed the coffee maker and its fresh, steaming pot.
    “Help yourself,” Garrick said. Resuming his silence, he