Mara McBain Read Online Free Page A

jacket around her shoulders, he leaned down and gave her a long slow kiss. When he straightened, she stumbled forward, catching herself against his chest. She blushed but giggled again. He smiled down at her.
    “Why don’t you go ahead into the house and get comfortable for the evening. I’ll be in soon.”
     
    Genevieve’s fingers trailed over a beautiful silver brush and mirror set sitting among a variety of makeup and perfumes. The mirrored dressing table in the corner was lovely and the only feminine touch in the master bedroom. Had he purchased it for Catherine? She bit her lip. She’d been understandably reluctant to ask Father Patrick painful questions about his sister. What had she been like? Had she been demur as well as beautiful, the perfect wife? The Father had stressed that Trey wasn’t looking for love or beauty, and Trey’s words at the train station confirmed at least the second part. Perhaps no woman would ever compare to Catherine in Trey’s eyes. It made sense.
    Gooseflesh broke out over her pale skin, and she hugged herself as she studied her reflection. The calf-length slip of satin and lace that Trey had chosen wasn’t designed to keep her warm at night. A smile curved her lips as she considered crawling into his bed and pulling the covers up to her chin like some Victorian flower. As amusing and attractive as sliding under the blankets sounded at the moment, she was too wired up to sit still.
    Picking up a soft afghan blanket from the footboard, she wrapped it around her shoulders and stepped to the window. She remembered the body heat his jacket had held when he’d draped it over her shoulders in the drive. It had radiated from him as she’d sat close in the truck. Maybe she wouldn’t need flannel to keep her warm at night.
    She leaned the side of her head against the window casing. She was a twenty-year-old woman, not some wide-eyed innocent. Growing up in the tiny apartment above the bakery she had heard her parents have sex. Her poor mother had suffered two miscarriages that Genevieve remembered, but they had continued to try for a blessed boy. Sometimes she had heard muffled whimpers over her father’s grunts and the low sobs afterward, but her mother had never complained. When she’d worked up the courage to ask, her mother had quietly told her that it was a wife’s place to submit to her husband and that had been the end of the conversation. Genevieve hadn’t been too sure of the sentiment at the time, and she was no surer now. She shook her head. These thoughts weren’t helping the butterflies in her stomach.
    She spun at a noise behind her. Trey stood in the doorway watching her. Her heart thudded painfully. How had she not heard him coming? The room which had seemed spacious before was suddenly close. He filled the doorframe blocking any thought of escape. She could feel heat creep into her cheeks as his intense stare slowly trailed over her. A chill worked up her spine like walking fingers. He moved into the room, and she was taken once again with how light on his feet he was for his hulking size.
    She couldn’t tear her gaze from him as he stripped off his tie and turned his fingers to the buttons. Her mouth went dry, and the butterflies in her belly seemed more like dragons as the shirt slid off his wide shoulders and down biceps as thick as her waist. A pale smattering of hair marked his barrel chest, and another trail vertically dissected his solid core, traveling down to circle his navel and disappear behind his belt buckle. There was something comforting as well as terrifying about his natural bulk. This was a man that didn’t know hunger.
    He toed off his socks, and his hands settled on his belt. She shivered in a heady mixture of fear, anticipation, and curiosity. He paused, his pale eyes on her. She flinched as he reached over and took the afghan from around her. She could feel her nipples stiffen at the sudden chill and his gaze seemed drawn to the hard nubs