Read Online Blood Vengeance (Blood Curse Series Book 7) by Tessa Dawn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tessa Dawn
Ads: Link
and imagined himself wading in a calm, peaceful stream…
Perhaps he could split the difference.
Perhaps he could take Tawni home, back to his lair, and enjoy her later, within limits.
Perhaps he could give her a mission to complete, a simple but effective task to demonstrate her enthusiasm , something that involved the house of Jadon, before he gifted her with immortality.
Perhaps Tawni needed to prove that she was worthy of her torment… first.
Yes , Salvatore mused: a simple but demonstrative task was precisely what Tawni needed.
five
Tiffany leaned forward in the large, overstuffed armchair, placed the back of her hand against her forehead, and tried to discern her temperature… or something like that. She was unusually hot, or was she cool, clammy, perhaps catching a cold? She shook her head to clear the cobwebs, and the room began to spin around in wild, dizzying circles. Okay, so maybe downing four drinks in a row had not been the best idea. What time was it anyway? It had to be at least one o’clock in the morning.
Ramsey squatted down in front of her chair and stared at her intently. The ground seemed to rise up to meet his booted feet, before shifting back and forth, then settling in place. “Hey, baby girl,” he drawled in that infuriating, far-too-masculine voice, “I think you’ve had one too many. Can you stand up? Think you can walk?”
Tiffany furrowed her brows, deeply pondering the question. She placed her forefinger on her chin, inflated her cheeks with air, and then slowly blew it out, right in Ramsey’s face. He didn’t flinch. “Hmm?” she finally asked. “What was the question?”
His pouty lips turned up in a smile, and she leaned in closer for a better look, marveling at the sheer perfection of the lines, the way they accentuated his perfectly sculpted mouth. And then reality sank back in: Oh yeah, this wasn’t some Adonis kneeling before her in supplication. It was Ramsey Olaru, the pitchfork dude, and he was using his deep, gravelly voice to do something sinister to her. Just what, she wasn’t sure.
“Don’t you play games with me, Farmer John.” She slurred the words, all the while pointing a stern, accusing finger in his general direction. “’Cause I need it. See it. I mean, I know what you are doing.”
Ramsey nodded his head, leaned back on his heels, and bit the inside of his cheek, continuing to stare at her like she had cake, or frosting, or something on her nose. She knew that she didn’t.
So, ha!
“Damn,” he grumbled. “I wish you would’ve told me you were such a lightweight, Blondie. I would’ve made you something else.”
Now this felt like a direct assault… or an insult… something clearly nefarious. Tiffany sat up straight and tried to hold his iron stare with one of her own. “You can’t make me anything , Mr. Olaru!” There. She’d told him! She sat back in the chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and huffed. “Besides, my mother made me, not you! So, deal with that.” Although she meant every word in earnest, this somehow made her giggle.
Ramsey averted his eyes and simply nodded, again. “All right, Blondie,” he said, his voice absent of challenge or insult—peculiar, that. “Tell you what: I think we need to find some pj’s, maybe head for the shower, and then tuck you into bed.”
Tiffany gasped. “Don’t you dare put the shower in my bed! I know how to do it all by myself.” She stood up abruptly and almost toppled over sideways before he caught her in his arms, his large, rugged hands anchored, once again, on both sides of her waist. She knew where this was headed, right down to her… bottom!
“Is that a fact?” he said, before she had another chance to speak. He lifted her as effortlessly as he might have hefted a sack of potatoes and then gently tossed her over his shoulders, so that she was now hanging upside down.
“Ohhhh,” she moaned, reaching for the pockets on his blue jeans and tugging in
Perhaps he could split the difference.
Perhaps he could take Tawni home, back to his lair, and enjoy her later, within limits.
Perhaps he could give her a mission to complete, a simple but effective task to demonstrate her enthusiasm , something that involved the house of Jadon, before he gifted her with immortality.
Perhaps Tawni needed to prove that she was worthy of her torment… first.
Yes , Salvatore mused: a simple but demonstrative task was precisely what Tawni needed.
five
Tiffany leaned forward in the large, overstuffed armchair, placed the back of her hand against her forehead, and tried to discern her temperature… or something like that. She was unusually hot, or was she cool, clammy, perhaps catching a cold? She shook her head to clear the cobwebs, and the room began to spin around in wild, dizzying circles. Okay, so maybe downing four drinks in a row had not been the best idea. What time was it anyway? It had to be at least one o’clock in the morning.
Ramsey squatted down in front of her chair and stared at her intently. The ground seemed to rise up to meet his booted feet, before shifting back and forth, then settling in place. “Hey, baby girl,” he drawled in that infuriating, far-too-masculine voice, “I think you’ve had one too many. Can you stand up? Think you can walk?”
Tiffany furrowed her brows, deeply pondering the question. She placed her forefinger on her chin, inflated her cheeks with air, and then slowly blew it out, right in Ramsey’s face. He didn’t flinch. “Hmm?” she finally asked. “What was the question?”
His pouty lips turned up in a smile, and she leaned in closer for a better look, marveling at the sheer perfection of the lines, the way they accentuated his perfectly sculpted mouth. And then reality sank back in: Oh yeah, this wasn’t some Adonis kneeling before her in supplication. It was Ramsey Olaru, the pitchfork dude, and he was using his deep, gravelly voice to do something sinister to her. Just what, she wasn’t sure.
“Don’t you play games with me, Farmer John.” She slurred the words, all the while pointing a stern, accusing finger in his general direction. “’Cause I need it. See it. I mean, I know what you are doing.”
Ramsey nodded his head, leaned back on his heels, and bit the inside of his cheek, continuing to stare at her like she had cake, or frosting, or something on her nose. She knew that she didn’t.
So, ha!
“Damn,” he grumbled. “I wish you would’ve told me you were such a lightweight, Blondie. I would’ve made you something else.”
Now this felt like a direct assault… or an insult… something clearly nefarious. Tiffany sat up straight and tried to hold his iron stare with one of her own. “You can’t make me anything , Mr. Olaru!” There. She’d told him! She sat back in the chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and huffed. “Besides, my mother made me, not you! So, deal with that.” Although she meant every word in earnest, this somehow made her giggle.
Ramsey averted his eyes and simply nodded, again. “All right, Blondie,” he said, his voice absent of challenge or insult—peculiar, that. “Tell you what: I think we need to find some pj’s, maybe head for the shower, and then tuck you into bed.”
Tiffany gasped. “Don’t you dare put the shower in my bed! I know how to do it all by myself.” She stood up abruptly and almost toppled over sideways before he caught her in his arms, his large, rugged hands anchored, once again, on both sides of her waist. She knew where this was headed, right down to her… bottom!
“Is that a fact?” he said, before she had another chance to speak. He lifted her as effortlessly as he might have hefted a sack of potatoes and then gently tossed her over his shoulders, so that she was now hanging upside down.
“Ohhhh,” she moaned, reaching for the pockets on his blue jeans and tugging in
Similar Books
