Her Reaper's Arms, Charlotte Boyett-Compo [world best books to read .TXT] 📗

them?”

Lea narrowed her eyes. “What did you do with my clothes, Reaper?” she growled.

“Think you I could wear them, Lea?” he asked innocently. “They’re not my color.”

Too innocently, she thought, and her suspicion increased, especially so when she

saw his lips twitch.

“Bevyn?” she asked in a warning tone.

“Lea?” he threw right back at her in the same tone.

She stomped her bare foot and that seemed to delight him no end. A wide smile

broke across his handsome face, telling her all she needed to know.

“Where are my clothes?” she snapped.

He took one arm from beneath his head and waved his hand, and in the blink of an

eye, the most beautiful and soft cotton green-and-white-gingham gown and silk

chemise appeared on her body.

“You mean those clothes?” he asked, sticking his arm under his head again.

Lea jumped, startled by such magic, and she stared with wide eyes at the dress. She

shrieked and hopped skyward when a pair of soft kid slippers suddenly showed up on

her bare feet.

Bevyn was howling with laughter, doubled over, pointing an accusing finger at her

as she stood there. “If you could see your face!” he managed to get out in between

chuckles.

Her eyes narrowing, her lips pursing, fingernails digging into her palms, she

advanced on the bed. “That’s not funny, Reaper!” she accused. When he continued to

laugh, she jerked the pillow out from under his head and began pummeling him with it,

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which seemed to only increase his mirth as he threw up an arm to avoid her

bludgeoning.

“You idjut,” she named him. “Don’t you be doing stuff like that without warning a

body first!”

He snaked out a hand as quick as lightning, yanked the pillow out of her hands and

grabbed her around the waist, pulling her down atop him, rolling with her until he had

her beneath him, her legs imprisoned within the confines of the long skirt of the dress,

her wrists pinned to the bed beside her head.

“Poor little wench,” he mumbled, and bent to rub his whiskers along her chin.

“Faith, Reaper!” she yelped. “That’s worse than sandpaper! You’re scraping off my

skin!”

“Would you rather I rubbed my chin on your…?” he began to say, but a soft

knocking on the door brought his head up and around, his amber eyes flashing.

“What?” he snarled.

“I have your breakfast, m-milord,” Mable said from the other side of the door.

“Oh dear lord!” Lea whispered. “I hope she didn’t cook it!”

Bevyn’s stomach rumbled loudly at hearing the word “breakfast”. He flung himself

off Lea and stomped to the door, slapped the lock back and jerked the panel portal

open, completely unconcerned that he was nude.

Mable’s eyes shifted down the tall man’s muscular frame—caught for a moment

between his legs—then flicked up to his face. “B-Breakfast?” she asked in a meek voice

that was barely a squeak.

The smells coming from the overloaded tray in the older woman’s hands made the

Reaper’s mouth water. He stepped aside with his jaw clenched to allow her to enter the

room.

Mable cast a quick glance at Lea, seemed relieved to see her fully dressed, and

walked over to put the tray on the small table beside the closet.

“Who cooked that, Mable?” Lea asked suspiciously. She was sitting on the edge of

the bed with her new skirt tucked decorously around her legs.

“The widow James,” Mable said. “She volunteered last evening.”

Bevyn’s mouth was watering and he was licking his lips. “Can she cook?”

“She’s the best cook in five boroughs,” Lea replied.

“Better than you?” he asked, his chin raised.

“I guess you’ll find out,” Lea said as she watched him rubbing his stomach with his

palm. “As soon as you get some clothes on, that is.”

Lea and Mable both made hissing sounds as he waved a hand and his black Reaper

uniform appeared out of nowhere to fit his body like a glove. They looked at one

another then Mable shrugged as though she saw such things every day.

“Come, wench,” Bevyn said, pulling out the chair for her.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Scooting off the bed, Lea came over to him, glancing up at his handsome face. No

man had ever held a chair out for her, and not a single one of the men she’d ever come

into contact with had ever looked at her the way Bevyn was at that moment. That look

told her he’d just as soon have her for breakfast as the delicious-smelling fare sitting

before him.

“Widow James said to tell you that you can have her spare room ’til you get your

house built, milord, and that she’ll be providing all your meals for you,” Mable said.

“What’s wrong with my cooking?” Lea asked, a bit hurt.

“Your serving days are done, milady,” Mable said before Bevyn could.

“‘Milady’?” Lea questioned with a blink of her gray eyes.

“Milady,” Bevyn confirmed as he took a seat across from her.

Mable winked at her then left, closing the door firmly behind her.

“She’s going to see the blood on the sheets,” Bevyn commented as he reached for a

piece of hot buttered toast and spooned a copious amount of jam across it.

Lea’s eyes widened and she put a hand to her mouth. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

She turned to look at the bed.

“Want me to take care of it?” he asked, crunching the toast between his strong

white teeth. He chewed a few times, flicked his tongue across his lips and then told her

he could make the sheets disappear.

Staring at the bed for a moment, Lea finally shook her head. “No. It’s best everyone

know I came to your bed pure.” She met his eyes and her brows drew together when

she saw him grinning. “Why does that amuse you, milord?”

“Because I was thinking the same thing,” he said. He finished off the piece of toast

and piled jam on another, demolishing it in two big bites.

She took one of the two linen napkins on the tray and laid it in her lap. “When you

left yesterday, I was a bit concerned how folks would treat me,” she confessed.

He stopped with a heaping forkful of eggs halfway to his lips and frowned. “Why?”

Lea shrugged as she took a piece of toast and smeared it with jam. “I knew