Free Summon Toren (Archangels Creed #3) by Azure Boone, Kenra Daniels Page A

that come with the legs on loose hinges that flop right open with only a breath. That isn’t me and never will be, on every level. And I’m glad.”
    Toren turned around and faced her halfway through her adorable rant, captivated by the anger and passion that animated her features. She paused for a breath and the rise of her chest caught his attention. Before he knew it, he found himself trying to measure her breasts. Sure they weren’t voluptuous, but they were damn well there, no doubt perfect. He nodded at her body. “Sorry to say but…you definitely do not have a man’s chest.”
    He raised his eyes to her glare but now he saw more than anger there. A spark of…damn he itched to let his mercury power loose on her and name that look. Maybe doubt. That she might be wrong and he might be telling the truth. Why else would he say it? What would lying accomplish?
    Her gaze turned guarded as though she thought the exact same thing. What was his angle? Rather than saying anything, she straightened his shirt and pulled it on, bunching it over her chest as if to form a barrier against his gaze and speculation.
    He put a hand over his heart. “It’s just the God’s honest truth. I’d bet you look nothing like a man. Anywhere.”
    A look of incredulous disbelief contorted her beautiful features, making her look …somehow edible. “Well wouldn’t you be the only man in Montana to say that, which—“
    “Means nothing?” he suggested with raised brows.
    Her eyes flashed, high emotion intensifying the color. “Just because I’m the only living heir to this place doesn’t mean I have a lot of money. Any man stupid enough to marry me—“
    “Is one blessed son-of-a-bitch.”
    Her jaw hung open then snapped shut. “Stop interrupting me dammit. Whoever marries me is likely inheriting a huge financial headache and one pissed off heiress.”
    He couldn't hold his grin back any longer, despite the risk of turning her general anti-man anger toward him specifically.  
    “Wipe that smug smile off your face. I swear if you turn out to be anything like that arrogant ass Joe, I’ll shoot you between the eyes with a cow pie loaded sling shot.” She took a bite of her pastry and closed her eyes. The dark shadows under her lashes reminded Toren she was ill.
    “I promise you, I’m nothing like him. From what you’ve said at least.” He forced himself to leave it at that in the interest of conserving her strength.
    “Huh.” She finished her food in silence, studying him over her water bottle.
    Toren took an experimental bite of his own little bread-wrapped meal, unsure what to expect. To his surprise, the blend of textures and flavors was extremely pleasant. He finished it quickly, impressed with the sense of warmth and well-being it create d.
    Before he could comment, Samantha grimaced and shivered, rubbing her hands along her arms before putting her forehead on her drawn up knees. “I’m so damn cold and tired.”
    Toren’s heart skipped a beat at the note of vulnerability in her tone and he hurried and brought his coat to her. He should be ashamed, pursuing his own agenda with her so sick and at a disadvantage.
    She openly roamed her eyes over his body making the mercury in his cells heat, and prepare for engagement. The nearly physical weight of her gaze glided across the contours and highlights of his arms and chest in a way that made him think she liked what she saw. He could easily imagine her fingers following the same path.
    “At least you’re extremely…fit…” she took the coat and covered herself. “What with the flu going around, maybe you'll be a little less likely to get anything secondary.” The light from the stove's grate danced over her small face, making her look more delicate. The singed hair on the right stuck out a little. The simplicity of her short straight hair suited her and fascinated him. The strands looked like the most exquisite silk , making his fingers ache to touch. 
    He forced