"Joanna Wylde - The Price of Freedom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wylde Joanna)

THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

An ElloraтАЩs Cave publication written by


JOANNA WYLDE

MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-022-6
Mobipocket (PRC) ISBN # 1-84360-098-6
Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):
Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), & HTML


┬й Copyright Joanna Wylde, 2003.


All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave.
Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc. USA
Ellora's Cave Ltd, UK


This e-book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by email forwarding, copying, fax,
or any other mode of communication without author permission.


Edited by Martha Punches
Cover Art by Darrell King
 Part I: The Mine

Chapter One

Damn, he ached.
Jess stared into the darkness above his bunk, willing himself to sleep. His body wasnтАЩt cooperating.
He was exhausted from his work in the mines that shiftтАФfourteen hours of pure hell. His cock didnтАЩt
seem to understand that, though. He was rock hard, and his mind kept filling with picture of her.
He had seen her for the first time a week earlier, pushing a cart loaded with food into the
dormitories. She had been wearing a long, shapeless dress and a head scarf, like all those damn women
did. She pushed the cart with slow, steady steps, refusing to look at any of them. A hundred men starved
for food and sex surrounded her. No wonder she'd been afraid to look at them.
Their guards hadnтАЩt treated her with any respect. Of course, they never treated any of their women
with respect, but this had been somehow different. It was as if she was an outcast even among her own
people. They didnтАЩt speak to her, they didnтАЩt joke among themselves. They looked at her with disdain, as
if she wasnтАЩt worthy to call herself a Pilgrim.
He had known she was different from the others, too. Even swathed in dark fabric, he had felt her
presence across the room. He could sense her, smell her. She smelled like woman, and that first instant
he saw her, he knew he wanted her.
Of course, they all wanted her. They wanted her even though her fear of them was palpable, as was
the fear of every woman who brought them food. Twice a day, one of them would wheel a loaded cart in
to the mass of starved, frustrated, angry men. The women would be escorted by two guards, men who
carried instruments capable of killing any of the men instantly, but the fear was still there. After all, men