Forbidden or For Bedding? by Julia James Page B

strange lift inside her—just the slightest ripple, as if a light breeze had moved across still, untouched water, setting in motion something she did not know. She could not tell what it might be—some ineffable current that might take her she knew not where? As her eyes came to rest on the face of the man lying beside her she felt again wonder and bemusement—and more.
    She felt her breath catch. Dear God, the man was perfection! That face that she had drawn so often, sketching over and over again to try and capture its essence, that she had tried frustratingly, so frustratingly, to translate into paint on canvas, riveted her gaze.
    She had never been so close to it—to him. The sense of intimacy overwhelmed her—that she should be centimetres away from him, their limbs still half entwined. His face was so close that all she had to do was lift her hand, as she found herself now doing without conscious volition, and brush with the lightest touch the lock of satin hair across his forehead. She gazed at the long lashes of his eyes, swept down over the sculpted plane of his cheek.
    He was deeply asleep—she could see the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, see the pulse at his throat, feel the warmth of his breath on her hand. As she touched him he did not stir, and she was glad—for she wanted only this moment now, gazing at the extraordinary perfection of his face, a homage to male beauty that for this one night had out of nowhere been a gift of fortune to her.
    And that was what it had been, she knew. Whatever the reason Guy de Rochemont had chosen not to send her home but to take her here instead, she knew it was no more than a passing appetite, no more than filling an empty night with someone who, for a night at least, was worthy of his possession however fleeting his desire for her. Yet it felt like a gift. She felt it with every sensuous memory still warming her body, flushed with the heat of their congress.
    I was mad to let it happen! But it did, and I cannot regret it—not now, not here. I can regret it later, tomorrow—all those tomorrows—and think how weak and foolish I was. But for now, for this day, I cannot regret it.
    A smile played at her mouth. Yes, she had been foolish beyond belief, foolish and weak, but what had happened shecould not regret—not with her body whispering to her in every cell just how transformed she was. Her eyes softened as her gaze stayed upon that perfect face, displayed for her in deep repose.
    Cliché it might be, but any woman chosen by Guy de Rochemont must surely take away from the encounter only her appreciation
    â€˜Ma belle…’
    He had awakened, his eyes holding hers immediately, the intimacy of his gaze at once drawing her to him. As her eyes twined with his she started to drown in their green long-lashed depths, as if there were no more air to breathe in the world.
    He kissed her, their mouths mingling, and a sweetness went through her that warmed her body. As he drew away his eyes were tinged with regret. ‘ Hélas —I cannot do what you must know I long to do. I cannot stay. Je suis désolé .’
    With a single fluid movement he stood up out of the bed, supremely unconscious of his nakedness—and of his condition. Alexa could feel her cheeks flush as she realised.
    â€˜Yes,’ he allowed ruefully, ‘I do not need to lie to you—I would give much, ma belle , to stay. But it cannot be. So I must ask you only to excuse my neglect.’
    He turned away, walking into the en suite bathroom, and a moment later Alexa heard the rushing of water as the shower started. For one timeless moment she lay there, feeling out of nowhere a desolation that was far beyond the polite utterance he had made on his own behalf. It was only for a fraction of a second, but it was like the tip of a whip across her heart.
    No!
    Where the admonition came from she didn’t know. She only knew that it was