Читать книгу The Missing Heir - Gail Ranstrom - Страница 2

“Nenemoosha,” she repeated. Then more slowly, softer, “Nenemoosha…” with a wistful sigh.

He leaned toward her, unable to resist the word said so sweetly. “Say, metea.”

“Metea?” she asked.

“Do not say it like a question,” he instructed.

“Metea,” she repeated.

He leaned the rest of the way across the little tea table and deposited a kiss on her lips.

“Again?” he asked.

“Metea.”

Again he kissed her, deeper, fuller.

When he sat back, she smiled. Ah, she understood that the word was an invitation.

“Metea, metea, metea,” she said.

Tugging her into his arms, he took intense satisfaction in the feel of her against him. God forgive him, it did not matter if she was telling the truth. He wanted her. And that was all that mattered at this moment.

“You owe me, Mrs. Forbush,” he said against her lips. “And I want payment…!”