Читать книгу Playing the Dutiful Wife - Carol Marinelli - Страница 2

Meg was playing a part, Niklas got that, but as her lips met his cheek it did not matter that she was playing, for it was the first reprieve to his senses in months.

It was a kiss for others, and his mind tried to keep it at that—except her breath tasted of the outside. He drank it in, and the feel of her in his arms allowed temporary escape.

It was Meg who pulled back. Meg who stood with her cheeks burning red. There were tears of shame and hurt and anger in her eyes, and her lips pressed closed as one guard said something that made the other one laugh, and then a door opened and they walked into a small, simply furnished room. She couldn’t stand for very much longer, so she sat on a chair for a moment, honestly shaken.

Not just at the sight of him—not just at the shock of seeing Niklas with his hair cropped almost as short as the dark stubble on his chin, dressed in rough prison denim—but because he was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

‘Why would you come here?’ he demanded, and then she looked at him. He could see her green eyes flash with suppressed rage, and he heard the spit of her words when finally she answered him.

‘You’re entitled to me, apparently.’