"Kenyon, Sherrilyn - Dark-Hunter 03 - Dragonswan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenyon Sherrilyn)

"I'm practical."
Sebastian ran his tongue over his teeth as a sly half-smile curved his lips. A practical woman who didn't believe in dragons yet studied dragon tapestries and wore a misbuttoned shirt. Surely there wasn't another soul like her in any time or place. And she had the strangest effect on his body.
He was already hard for her, and they were barely touching. Her grip on his arm was light and delicate, as if she was ready to flee him at any moment.
That was the last thing he wanted, and that surprised him most of all.
A reclusive person, he only interacted with others when his physical needs overrode his desire for solitude. Even then, those encounters were brief and limited. He took his lovers for one night, making sure they were as well sated as he, then he quickly returned to his solitary world.
He'd never dawdled with idle conversation. Never really cared to get to know more about a woman than her name and the way she liked to be touched.
But Channon was different. He liked the cadence of her voice and the way her eyes sparkled when she talked. Most of all, he liked the way her smile lit up her entire face when she looked at him.
And the sound of her laughter... He doubted if the angels in heaven could make a more precious melody.


Sebastian opened the door to the dark restaurant and held it for her while she entered. As she swept past him, he let his gaze travel down the back of her body. He hardened even more.
What he wouldn't give to have her warm and naked in his arms so that he could run his hands down her full curves, nibble the flesh of her neck, and hold her to him as he slowly slid himself deep inside her while she writhed to his touch.
Sebastian forced himself to look away from Channon and to speak to the hostess. He sent a mental command to the unknown woman to sit them in a secluded corner. He wanted privacy with Channon.
How he wished he'd met her sooner. He'd been in this cursed city for well over a week, waiting for the opportunity to go home, where if not the comfort of warmth, he at least had the comfort of familiarity. He'd spent his nights in this city alone, prowling the streets restlessly as he bided his time.
At dawn, he would have to leave. But until then, he intended to spend as much time with Channon as he could, letting her company ease the loneliness inside him, ease the pain in his heart that had burned him for most of his life.
Channon followed the hostess through the restaurant, but all the while she was aware of Sebastian behind her- aware of his hot, predatorial gaze on her body and the way he seemed to want to devour her.
But even more unbelievable was the fact that she wanted to devour him. No man had ever made her feel so much like a woman or made her want to spend hours exploring his body with her hands and mouth.
"You're nervous again," he said after they were seated in a dark corner in the back of the pub.
She glanced up from the menu to catch sight of those greenish-gold eyes that reminded her of some feral beast. "You are incredibly perceptive."





He inclined his head toward her. "I've been accused of worse."
"I'll bet you have," she teased back. Indeed, he had the presence of an outlaw. Dangerous, dark, seductive. "Axe you really a thief?"
"Define the term thief."
She laughed even though she wasn't quite sure if he was joking or serious.
"So tell me," he said as the waitress brought their drinks, "what do you do for a living, Shannon with a C?"
She thanked the waitress for her Coke, then looked to Sebastian to see how he would deal with her occupation. Most men were a bit intimidated by her job, though she'd never been able to figure out why. "I'm a history professor at the University of Virginia."
"Impressive," he said, his face genuinely interested. "What cultures and times do you specialize in?"
She was amazed he knew anything about her job. "Mostly preNorman Britain."
"Ah. Hwaet we Gar-Dena in gear-dagum peod-cyninga prym gefrunon, hu da aephelingas ellen fremedon."
Channon was floored by his Old English. He spoke it as if he'd been born to it. Imagine a man so handsome knowing a subject so dear to her heart.
She offered him the translation. "So. The Spear-Danes in days gone by and the kings who ruled them had courage and greatness. We have heard of those princes' heroic campaigns."
His inclined his head to her. "You know your Beowulf well."
"I've studied Old English extensively, which, given my job, makes sense. But you don't strike me as a historian."
"I'm not. Rather, I'm a sort of reenactor."
That explained the way he looked. Now his presence in the museum and knightly air of authority made sense to her.


"Is your study of the Middle Ages what had you in the museum today?" he asked.
She nodded. "I've studied the tapestry for years. I want to be the person who finally unravels the mystery behind it."
"What would you like to know?"
"Who made it and why? Where the story of it comes from. For that matter, I would love to know how the museum got it. They have no record of when they acquired it or from whom it was purchased."
His automatic answers surprised her. "They bought it in 1926 from an anonymous collector for fifty thousand dollars. As for the rest, it was made by a woman named Antiphone back in seventh-century Britain. It's the story of her grandfather and his brother and their eternal struggle between good and evil."
His gaze was so sincere that she could almost believe him. In a strange way, it made sense, since the tapestry had no ending.
But she knew better. "Antiphone, huh?"
He shook his head. "You just don't believe anything I tell you, do you?"
"Why, kind sir," she said impishly with a mock English accent. " 'Tis not that I don't believe you, but as a historian I must align myself with fact. Have you any proof of this Antiphone or transaction?"