thirsty man seeking water, he took a step forward instead.
He was drawn to her in a way he didn't understand. It
Blue Waltz 49
wasn't just her beauty—he had known some of the most beautiful women in the world. And it certainly wasn't her manner—Lord, he had never encountered anyone so outlandish. Then, what was it? he wondered, taking in what he could of her sheet-covered form.
His heart beat oddly as he looked at her—this strange woman who had come into his life so unexpectedly, twice now. He moved slowly, almost reluctantly, as he took the steps that separated them. Closer and closer. Step by step, the movement filling him with something that at any other time he might have termed hope. He nearly laughed out loud at his own melodramatic thoughts. But he didn't want to wake her, so he held his laughter back. He wanted to look at her. Just look, as if by doing so it would give him some clue as to why unwanted thoughts of her circled in his mind.
Her breathing was shallow and steady as she drifted in that place she was seemingly reluctant to leave, as if that place, that dark and obscure haven, gave her respite.
A red brocade, high-backed chair with a gilded frame stood to the side. He pulled it close. Too close. But he wanted to see. Had to see. Before she woke, before she left, and he never saw her again.
Never saw her again.
The thought was reassuring. He wouldn't see her again. He would discover what about this outrageous woman had so intrigued him. Then he would learn her address and send her home. Mystery solved. Case closed. All loose ends tied up neatly. Yes, that was reassuring.
Her breathing was even, and her lips were no longer blue. Her eyes remained shut as she murmured and stirred. And when she turned, the bed sheets shifted, not much, but enough to provide him with a glimpse of skin as white as froth on a turbulent sea.
50Linda Francis Lee
He knew he should adjust the covers then leave, and he started to do just that. But when he went to move the sheets, up over her shoulders, she moved again, and the sheets fell further away.
He sucked in his ragged breath. Her breasts were full with rosebud nipples, soft and pliant. Unexpectedly, his fingers longed to make them rise and harden. To caress. To cup, gently. The desire was intense as something he could only call reverence or awe wrapped around him.
He should have left immediately and called a maid. But he didn't. It was wrong, he knew it. He had never done anything like it in his life. He could have almost any woman for the asking, but just then, and never again, he thought fleetingly, he didn't want any other woman, couldn't think of any other woman. His mind was filled with her.
If another man had done such a thing, he would have shown no mercy. But another man hadn't done it. He had. As he knew he shouldn't. But something in him, something deep and primal, something foreign in his well-ordered world, caused him to stay.
She murmured and stirred, the sheets falling lower, revealing a curve of hip as gentle as a still night in spring. He desperately wanted to touch, to feel, the satiny smoothness of perfect skin. To nip. To taste.
He reached out slowly, almost timidly, as if he were no more than a schoolboy, knowing he was breaking every gentlemanly rule he lived by, his hard-carved hand suspended mere inches above her skin, not touching, only desiring. But then she turned, rolling over onto her back, her eyes pressed closed in delirium, or perhaps just sleep, leaving his hand suspended not over satiny skin but the triangle of dark hair between her legs.
Sensation radiated through his body. He felt his
Blue Waltz51
body's instant, nearly painful, response. Never had a woman, any woman, affected him so. Everything else in his life paled, grew distant and hazy in the face of this woman, this strange woman with her alternately laughing then haunted blue eyes.
Images of raising her knees and spreading her gently washed over him. His tongue
He was drawn to her in a way he didn't understand. It
Blue Waltz 49
wasn't just her beauty—he had known some of the most beautiful women in the world. And it certainly wasn't her manner—Lord, he had never encountered anyone so outlandish. Then, what was it? he wondered, taking in what he could of her sheet-covered form.
His heart beat oddly as he looked at her—this strange woman who had come into his life so unexpectedly, twice now. He moved slowly, almost reluctantly, as he took the steps that separated them. Closer and closer. Step by step, the movement filling him with something that at any other time he might have termed hope. He nearly laughed out loud at his own melodramatic thoughts. But he didn't want to wake her, so he held his laughter back. He wanted to look at her. Just look, as if by doing so it would give him some clue as to why unwanted thoughts of her circled in his mind.
Her breathing was shallow and steady as she drifted in that place she was seemingly reluctant to leave, as if that place, that dark and obscure haven, gave her respite.
A red brocade, high-backed chair with a gilded frame stood to the side. He pulled it close. Too close. But he wanted to see. Had to see. Before she woke, before she left, and he never saw her again.
Never saw her again.
The thought was reassuring. He wouldn't see her again. He would discover what about this outrageous woman had so intrigued him. Then he would learn her address and send her home. Mystery solved. Case closed. All loose ends tied up neatly. Yes, that was reassuring.
Her breathing was even, and her lips were no longer blue. Her eyes remained shut as she murmured and stirred. And when she turned, the bed sheets shifted, not much, but enough to provide him with a glimpse of skin as white as froth on a turbulent sea.
50Linda Francis Lee
He knew he should adjust the covers then leave, and he started to do just that. But when he went to move the sheets, up over her shoulders, she moved again, and the sheets fell further away.
He sucked in his ragged breath. Her breasts were full with rosebud nipples, soft and pliant. Unexpectedly, his fingers longed to make them rise and harden. To caress. To cup, gently. The desire was intense as something he could only call reverence or awe wrapped around him.
He should have left immediately and called a maid. But he didn't. It was wrong, he knew it. He had never done anything like it in his life. He could have almost any woman for the asking, but just then, and never again, he thought fleetingly, he didn't want any other woman, couldn't think of any other woman. His mind was filled with her.
If another man had done such a thing, he would have shown no mercy. But another man hadn't done it. He had. As he knew he shouldn't. But something in him, something deep and primal, something foreign in his well-ordered world, caused him to stay.
She murmured and stirred, the sheets falling lower, revealing a curve of hip as gentle as a still night in spring. He desperately wanted to touch, to feel, the satiny smoothness of perfect skin. To nip. To taste.
He reached out slowly, almost timidly, as if he were no more than a schoolboy, knowing he was breaking every gentlemanly rule he lived by, his hard-carved hand suspended mere inches above her skin, not touching, only desiring. But then she turned, rolling over onto her back, her eyes pressed closed in delirium, or perhaps just sleep, leaving his hand suspended not over satiny skin but the triangle of dark hair between her legs.
Sensation radiated through his body. He felt his
Blue Waltz51
body's instant, nearly painful, response. Never had a woman, any woman, affected him so. Everything else in his life paled, grew distant and hazy in the face of this woman, this strange woman with her alternately laughing then haunted blue eyes.
Images of raising her knees and spreading her gently washed over him. His tongue
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