Free A Season for Love by Heather Graham

nails into the iron pattern of the seat, wishing fervently that she could flail them across his hard, accusing, bronze face and draw the blood he seemed to want from her.
The metal grating beneath her fingers braced her with the illusion of strength. She lifted her chin high and forced her eyes to brazen into his. She clenched her teeth together, then parted them to speak with a collected firmness.
"And do you intend to inform Pieter that you have been previously acquainted with his wife?"
Dark eyes swept her contemptuously from head to toe. "I shouldn't answer that. I should let you worry." He planted his foot back on the ground, dusted the love seat, flung back his jacket tails, and sat beside her. Unwittingly Ronnie found herself shrinking as far to the side as the seat would allow.
"My, my, what are we afraid of?" Drake mocked grimly, catching her wrist with a coiled menace. "My touch? Ahhh, but there was a time when you begged for it, Mrs. von Hurst."
"Please!" Ronnie murmured, twisting her wrist within his crushing grip as her teeth sank into her lip.
"A note of distress? I'm truly touched!" His teeth flashed in a wicked grin as he brought his face menacingly close to hers. Again she thought that his eyes were like a black fire, capable of burning flesh with all the true heat of hell.
"Drake, please," she protested, wincing. He was so close that his mustache tickled the peach softness of her skin, tantalizing her, terrifying her. "Pieter is right inside—"
With a curt laugh he withdrew and dropped her hand as if it were poison. "You needn't fear advances from me, Mrs. von Hurst," he grated, his tone dripping the venom of his eyes. Apparently his mind was running along the same lines as hers. "My dear, sweet poison beauty. I happen to think the world of Pieter von Hurst. I wouldn't think of touching his wife. It was a vast pity I ever did."
Ronnie had to find a way to fight her tears and ignore his cutting cynicism.
"So you don't intend to say anything to Pieter?" she inquired flatly, unconsciously rubbing her wrist as she stared into the foliage before her.
"No, I don't. I see no reason to hurt the man. He has obviously been gravely ill."
Ronnie breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Thank you," she said stiffly.
"Don't thank me!" His hiss was soft, but to her ears it came as a roar. "I'm not doing anything for you. It's my sound opinion that you should be horsewhipped. My God, woman! Your heart must be chiseled out of marble! Running around on a man who has given you his adoration on a platter, a man who has been ill. A man like Pieter von Hurst!" His voice rang with his own self-disgust for having had the affair, and Ronnie inwardly cringed.
"I don't have to listen to your judgments," she said hollowly.
"Wrong, Mrs. von Hurst," Drake said, a gravel-like tone lacing his voice.
Ronnie tensed, aware of the extent of his anger, acutely sensing the depth of the coiled strength that breathed beside her, held in check by sheer willpower. She didn't dare breathe, or make a move herself, when he again picked up her hand, idly trailing his tanned fingers over the faint blue veins.
"I'm afraid, Ronnie, that you'll have to listen to every word I have to say—until I leave, that is, which could be awhile yet—because there is one thing that could make me tell Pieter about his precious wife."
"Oh?" Ronnie heard her own voice, coming with faint curiosity, as if it were very far away. "And what is that?"
"Well," Drake said, matter-of-factly, "the slightest implication that your excessive loyalty has turned to a few new interests."
Ronnie involuntarily attempted to snatch her hand away, but Drake held it securely. She tried to turn her head completely from his, but he caught her chin with his other hand and held it firmly, lowering his own autocratic features over hers again. "Let's not play this too cool, shall we, Mrs. von Hurst?" he lashed out icily. "I don't know what your personal game is, but I do hope you know what you're doing.