The Colonel's Widow?

The Colonel's Widow?
Mallory Kane

The Colonel’s

Widow?

Mallory Kane

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents

Cover Page (#u00aa2b70-2638-5afb-82ab-e6b90f9f1801)

Title Page (#u9e22b2c7-8194-52f3-8997-30161ba09b12)

About the Author (#ubca007d3-fd27-511d-9e72-903e2c4a1089)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Mallory Kane credits her love of books to her mother, a librarian, who taught her that books are a precious resource and should be treated with loving respect. Her father and grandfather were steeped in the Southern tradition of oral history and could hold an audience spellbound for hours with their storytelling skills. Mallory aspires to be as good a storyteller as her father.

Mallory lives in Mississippi with her computer-genius husband, their two fascinating cats and, at current count, seven computers. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at mallory@mallorykane.com

For Daddy, a hero by any definition.

Chapter One (#ub6fd2869-4c06-5407-b08d-9c06a11c4113)

Moonlight sprinkled pale silver across Rook Castle’s bare back, buttocks and thighs. His muscles tensed and rippled as he thrust once, twice, again and again, filling her with familiar, exquisite heat.

Irina’s fingers slid through her husband’s softly waving hair. She arched upward, pressing her breasts against his hot chest, demanding more.

He lifted himself, his biceps straining, glistening with sweat and moondust. He gave her more—gave her everything she craved. His deep, green stare mesmerized her.

“Rook,” she whispered. “Why did you marry me?”

He went still. The moonlight no longer shimmered along his flanks and shoulders.

When would she learn to keep her mouth shut?

His arms quivered with effort as he held himself suspended above her. His arousal pulsed inside her.

“Rina—” he muttered, something between a warning and an endearment. Dipping his head, he sought her mouth.

She longed to kiss him, to surround herself with his powerful body, to feel him in her and around her as she had so many times before.

But her hands acted against her will and pushed at his chest. Resisting. She struggled to maintain eye contact. “Why?” she repeated.

“You know why,” he whispered, his breath tickling her eyelashes.

“Tell me.”

He kissed her eyelids, her cheek, the sweet spot below her earlobe. Then he moved, rocking her with a slow rhythm born of trust and familiarity. His chest rumbled with languid laughter when she gasped.

“Shh,” he whispered. “Come with me.”

She tasted sweat on his neck—salty, delicious. “Rook, please?”

With a frustrated sigh, he lifted his head. A jagged shadow defined his rigid jaw.

“I had to marry you,” he said. “It was the only way I could protect you.”

“But what about love?” Dear God, she was pathetic.

“Love? Rina, don’t—” His voice rasped.

Then blood blossomed on his chest.

“No!” She reached for him, but her fingers slipped in the hot, sticky liquid.