fireplace and pulled the chair closer to the welcoming warmth of the flames. Once more she was lost in the burning love of the Yorkshire moors, and once more she knew instantly the moment that he entered the room.
Neither acknowledged the other right away. She remained with her head in the book, even though she was no longer following the words. And he remained in the doorway, watching the way the firelight reflected off the long gleaming strands of her hair and accentuated the delicate planes of her face. She was wearing another flowing skirt, this one covered with fall leaves. Over it, she sported a long, cream-colored knit sweater. This outfit suited her better, he thought. For some reason, he hadn’t liked her in the uniform. She looked more comfortable now—comfortable, natural, fresh. And lovely, oh, so lovely.
He frowned to himself and entered the room.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked her as he crossed the room to the brandy decanter for his habitual fare. She still hadn’t looked up from the book, but he could feel her awareness even across the distance that separated them. It filled him with a primitive satisfaction.
“All right,” she agreed, surprising them both.
“Brandy?”
“That would be fine.”
He poured the two snifters, feeling the unwanted tension build in his stomach. He’d come down from his tower tonight knowing she would be here. He’d come down sooner than he should have, and much faster than his normal steady steps took him. Because he wanted to see her. He wanted to watch her hair glow by the firelight, he wanted to feel the probing of her midnight eyes on him. He wanted...
His face grew dark, and his eyes grew cold as he pushed the thoughts away. She was his son’s nanny, he told himself—nothing more. But he still wasn’t quite thinking in those terms when he took the glass over to her. And he certainly wasn’t thinking of her as a nanny when her hand brushed against his to take the glass. Instead, the muscles of his stomach tightened reflexively as a bolt of pure desire rocked through him.
He willed the response away with unrelenting determination, retreating to the opposite chair.
Liz didn’t say anything, hiding her own thoughts by taking a sip of the brandy and letting it blaze a fiery trail down her throat. She’d only had brandy once before, and the strength of it startled her. She could already feel it, a low, curling burn deep in her stomach. But it didn’t seem to quite calm her nerves.
The atmosphere of the room had changed radically upon Richard’s entering, she realized with a start. Suddenly the quiet coziness of the room seemed to spark, smoldering now with an unrelenting awareness. All at once she felt self-conscious, wondering if her hair was too unruly, the sweater too bulky. When she lifted the glass for a second sip, her hands were trembling slightly.
She shook her head against the sensations. It was just nerves, the usual awkwardness of being around an unfamiliar person, she told herself. After all, though she had lived in this house for nearly two weeks now, she’d hardly exchanged half a dozen words with the man across from her.
It looked as if he’d had a rough day, too. His hair lay dark and tousled across his forehead, and his usual pristine dress shirt had the top two buttons undone. She found her gaze resting on the tantalizing glimpse of black, curly chest hair, strong and virile against the white of his shirt. When she realized she was staring, a low blush infused her cheeks as she glanced sharply away. What in the world was the matter with her?
The silence was becoming unbearable.
“So how was your day?” she asked finally, the question sounding unbelievably inane to her. He looked almost tired, but the grim set of his features made it impossible to believe he possessed such a human weakness.
He didn’t answer, his eyes seemingly intent on the dancing flames. He shrugged, maintaining his remote composure.
“Are you making
Neither acknowledged the other right away. She remained with her head in the book, even though she was no longer following the words. And he remained in the doorway, watching the way the firelight reflected off the long gleaming strands of her hair and accentuated the delicate planes of her face. She was wearing another flowing skirt, this one covered with fall leaves. Over it, she sported a long, cream-colored knit sweater. This outfit suited her better, he thought. For some reason, he hadn’t liked her in the uniform. She looked more comfortable now—comfortable, natural, fresh. And lovely, oh, so lovely.
He frowned to himself and entered the room.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked her as he crossed the room to the brandy decanter for his habitual fare. She still hadn’t looked up from the book, but he could feel her awareness even across the distance that separated them. It filled him with a primitive satisfaction.
“All right,” she agreed, surprising them both.
“Brandy?”
“That would be fine.”
He poured the two snifters, feeling the unwanted tension build in his stomach. He’d come down from his tower tonight knowing she would be here. He’d come down sooner than he should have, and much faster than his normal steady steps took him. Because he wanted to see her. He wanted to watch her hair glow by the firelight, he wanted to feel the probing of her midnight eyes on him. He wanted...
His face grew dark, and his eyes grew cold as he pushed the thoughts away. She was his son’s nanny, he told himself—nothing more. But he still wasn’t quite thinking in those terms when he took the glass over to her. And he certainly wasn’t thinking of her as a nanny when her hand brushed against his to take the glass. Instead, the muscles of his stomach tightened reflexively as a bolt of pure desire rocked through him.
He willed the response away with unrelenting determination, retreating to the opposite chair.
Liz didn’t say anything, hiding her own thoughts by taking a sip of the brandy and letting it blaze a fiery trail down her throat. She’d only had brandy once before, and the strength of it startled her. She could already feel it, a low, curling burn deep in her stomach. But it didn’t seem to quite calm her nerves.
The atmosphere of the room had changed radically upon Richard’s entering, she realized with a start. Suddenly the quiet coziness of the room seemed to spark, smoldering now with an unrelenting awareness. All at once she felt self-conscious, wondering if her hair was too unruly, the sweater too bulky. When she lifted the glass for a second sip, her hands were trembling slightly.
She shook her head against the sensations. It was just nerves, the usual awkwardness of being around an unfamiliar person, she told herself. After all, though she had lived in this house for nearly two weeks now, she’d hardly exchanged half a dozen words with the man across from her.
It looked as if he’d had a rough day, too. His hair lay dark and tousled across his forehead, and his usual pristine dress shirt had the top two buttons undone. She found her gaze resting on the tantalizing glimpse of black, curly chest hair, strong and virile against the white of his shirt. When she realized she was staring, a low blush infused her cheeks as she glanced sharply away. What in the world was the matter with her?
The silence was becoming unbearable.
“So how was your day?” she asked finally, the question sounding unbelievably inane to her. He looked almost tired, but the grim set of his features made it impossible to believe he possessed such a human weakness.
He didn’t answer, his eyes seemingly intent on the dancing flames. He shrugged, maintaining his remote composure.
“Are you making
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