Read Storm Over the Lake for Free Online Page B

growled.
    â€œWould you like to hit me?” she asked, stopping in her tracks to turn her pale haunted face up to his. “If it would make you feel better, then go ahead! I’ve been hurt so much already, I won’t even feel it!”
    He stopped too, his eyes sliding over her face, her throat. “What I’d like to do to you doesn’t bear telling,” he said with a soft fury in his voice. “I haven’t forgottenthat sleazy character I saw you with, that bald-headed fat man you took for a lover! Damn you…!”
    â€œI’d like to go in now, please,” she said, her voice a husky shadow of sound in the darkness. “I’m very tired.”
    â€œWhat have you done to make you so tired, Meredith?” he demanded, slinging the finished cigarette into the darkness. “What have you done besides answer the phone and type letters?”
    â€œBeen slowly crucified by you!” she almost screamed, desperation in her eyes, her voice, her posture.
    He moved closer, until he was within easy touching distance, until she could feel the heat of his big, vibrant body, until his dark face filled the world. One hand came out of his pocket, one dark, beautiful hand with square-tipped, broad fingers that caught her soft throat like a fleshy vise and caused her pulse to do cartwheels.
    â€œWhat did you expect when I sent for you?” he asked slowly, his fingers absently caressing the silken flesh of her throat. “That I wanted you here becauseyou were haunting my dreams, because my life was empty and cold without you in it? Did you think I sent for you out of love, Meredith?!”
    She felt tremors running the length of her slender body. His nearness was as much the cause of it as fear. She could feel his warm breath on her forehead, smell the sharp, musky scent of his cologne, feel the hardness of him as if he were already holding her. She wanted to move closer, to feel him against the length of her softness, to touch that hard, dark chest with its curling mat of hair…
    â€œI…I don’t know,” she stammered. I…I…”
    â€œYou’re stammering, little girl,” he murmured, a dangerous softness in his deep voice as his other hand went down to her waist, drawing her against his big body with a lazy tenderness that made her tremble. Her cold hands pressed patterns into the warmth of his cotton shirt over that warm, unyielding chest.
    â€œPlease don’t,” she whispered.
    â€œWhy not?” he asked.
    â€œBecause it won’t mean anything,” she replied easily. The feel of that powerful driving masculinity so close against her was like a narcotic.
    His thumb moved softly, gently against the softness of her mouth, his fingers coaxing her cheek against his warm shoulder so that he could look down into her eyes.
    â€œLittle girl,” he whispered deeply. “You used to sit and watch me, like some little golden kitten, while I dictated letters late at night by the fireplace. I can still see that look in your eyes—soft and curious and just a little hungry. God, you were vulnerable then! Mine for the asking, if I’d realized it…a sweet little innocent, ripe for the picking, and I was too damned blind to notice that you wanted me to pick you.”
    â€œI didn’t!” she whispered frantically, pushing at his solid chest.
    â€œYou did, and we both know it,” he growled, his eyes narrow and flashing dark fire as his hand at her back tightened. “I never touched you,” he whispered. “Never, not one time, but I wanted to…!”
    His head bent, his eyes still holdinghers, his big arm tightening like steel, holding her, hurting her.
    â€œOh, please, Adrian, don’t do this…” she pleaded gently.
    He stopped. Froze. His eyes searched her face as if he’d never seen it before. “Say my name again,” he said.
    â€œAdrian…”
    His fingers traced the