Read White Collared Part One: Mercy Online
Authors: Shelly Bell
Desire crashed through him, rushing straight down, making him swell in an instant. He opened his eyes and looked into hers, which were half-lidded with lust. Her head was still pillowed in his palm.
“Touch me,” she said. “Please.”
Instinctively, he shook his head. “I can’t.”
“You can.” She settled her fingers over his, pushing them around her breast.
“I can,” he admitted. He stared at her open mouth, aching to take it again. “But I won’t.”
She blinked. “We’ve already crossed the line, you know.”
“Not completely.” He let out a slow breath, lifted her back into a kneeling position, and let his hands slide away from her body.
“Far enough.”
It was nowhere near far enough, but Jake couldn’t think about that right now. Clearing his throat, he stood up and offered her a hand. She stared at it, not moving.
“Carolina . . .”
“Why can’t we just enjoy each other?” She tilted her chin and stared up at him.
He shoved his hand into his pocket and turned away to walk into the kitchen. Once he was behind a counter, he adjusted the front of his jeans and reached for the coffeepot. Annoyance began to seep in, killing his lust. Good. He needed the distraction of being irritated, because she knew the answer to her own question. He shouldn’t have to spell it out.
“Why, Jake?”
He poured himself a mug and took a sip, buying time. Part of his job description was to reason with his protectees, but usually that meant explaining why, for security reasons, certain entrances, exits, and safety measures had to be used. It didn’t mean reasoning with a daughter of the President of the United States . . . who wanted to sleep with him. Especially since he’d just given her every indication that he wanted the same thing.
“Your life depends on it, that’s why.”
An Excerpt from
by Sabrina Darby
In all of Sussex—scratch that—in all of England, there is no prettier Kate than Kate Mansfield, and Peter Colburn, heir to the Duke of Orland, has known that since the age of 15. But since she comes with a temper and a haughtiness to match, he’s hidden his regard behind ruthless teasing. When his brother tries to enlist him in a campaign to help his friend marry Kate’s younger sister, Bianca, he agrees, finally having the very excuse he needs to approach Kate not as a combatant, but as a lover.
1810
K
ATE RAN THROUGH
the thicket, gasping, her face hot with suppressed tears. The governess would chide her for the stains and small abrasions to her dress once she returned to the house. But those admonitions were nothing compared to her mother’s continued disdain.
The scent of moist earth and the sound of rushing water meant that she was close, that soon she could let go. Finally, she broke through the cluster of trees and bushes and made it to the water’s edge, where she dropped down to her knees, clutched at clumps of grass with her fists, threw her head back, and wailed.
“Ahem.”
Kate clamped her mouth shut and looked toward the familiar voice, embarrassment flushing her body. How humiliating.
The Earl of Bonhill sat under a tree, a book open on his lap, his trousers rolled up and his legs dangling into the stream that, a mile off, fed into the river, and that farther upstream offered her father a perfect spot for angling. The same stream that marked the boundary between the Colburns’ ducal seat and the Mansfields’ more modest estate. Here, however, titles hardly mattered. What did matter was that Peter had gotten there first and taken the best spot. And was now witnessing Kate in tears.
She hadn’t even known he was back from Harrow.
She scrambled to her feet, glaring at him, as anger was the only possible refuge from humiliation, and headed back to the thicket.
“You don’t have to run,” he said, the crunch of his footsteps on the fallen leaves growing louder as he came nearer. “I’ll go.”
For some reason that made her more upset, and she stopped, whirling around to face him. He was 16, she knew. Four years her elder.
“It doesn’t matter if you do. It’s already ruined.” She wouldn’t be able to indulge in tears the same way anymore.
“Then maybe I can help.”
“How?”
He shrugged. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re crying?”
“I’m not crying.”
“Not anymore.”
“I’m—” She shut her mouth. It wasn’t worth arguing. After all, she
had
been crying.
“That’s right. The fearsome Kate Mansfield makes other people cry, but she’d never be caught with such lowering emotions herself.”
He was mocking her. Or needling her. Or . . .
“Just because you’re an earl doesn’t mean you get to be cruel.”
“Someone didn’t do what you want? Didn’t let you have your way?”
Frustration welled up inside her. Why was he saying such things? Of course, it was just what everyone else echoed. Everyone but her mother.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she said hotly, tears once again burning her eyelids.
“Then why don’t you tell me?”
And for some reason she did.
About her mother, who hated her, who said she was ugly because she was so dark, who criticized everything Kate ever did, while little Bianca could do no wrong. About how no one ever paid her attention unless she did something terrible.
“So you do it on purpose, then. All the fits and tantrums we hear about—you do that for attention.”
She flushed with mortification for the hundredth time that hour. She’d never thought about her reputation in the community. At twelve, her world barely existed beyond Hopford Manor. And then there was this suggestion he was making, and she wasn’t certain if it was a good thing or bad. But she knew one thing, she didn’t
need
attention, and his intimating that she craved it made her seem terribly weak.
“As if I’d care what anyone thinks. Especially you. Look at you. A spotted maypole!”
He flushed, which made those
spots
redden even more. There weren’t all that many, but anyone would be conscious of having such flawed skin. Kate’s was not. Not that one would know from the many admonishments her mother imparted about good care for one’s complexion.
“You’re a spoiled child, Kate Mansfield,” he pronounced, picking up his book from the ground. “Maybe someday you’ll grow out of it.”
She watched him leave in angry frustration, hands curled into fists. It didn’t matter that he was an earl and heir to a duchy, or that previously she had thought him nice and handsome and had even imagined growing up, falling in love with him, and becoming a duchess. From now on she’d stay as far away from him as possible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from
Catching Cameron
copyright © 2014 by Julie Revell Benjamin.
Excerpt from
Daring Miss Danvers
copyright © 2014 by Vivienne Lorret.
Excerpt from
Woo’d in Haste
copyright © 2014 by Sabrina Darby.
Excerpt from
Bad Girls Don’t Marry Marines
copyright © 2014 by Codi Gary.
Excerpt from
Various States of Undress: Carolina
copyright © 2014 by Laura Simcox.
Excerpt from
Wed at Leisure
copyright © 2014 by Sabrina Darby.
W
HITE COLLARED PART ONE: MERCY
. Copyright © 2014 by Shelly Bell. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition JUNE 2014 ISBN: 9780062336781
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062336798
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