her. Head bent, she could see little about his hair
other than the fact that he wore a cap. He was tall and broad, and heavier than
she remembered the sugarmaker being. Her feet still hurried down the path, just
in case her luck had finally changed.
Five feet from him, her hopes were dashed. The man raised his
head and Charity had a clear view of his gray nape. She could taste the bitter disappointment
on her tongue.
Feeling the prick of foolish tears beneath her eyelids, Charity
whirled around. She promptly collided with a solid wall of blue flannel.
Even before she lifted her startled eyes to his, she knew it
was the sugarmaker. The moment his large hands came out to steady her, her skin
jumped with awareness. Ripples of electricity ran across her nerves and sent tiny
shock waves throughout her being. In all her twenty-eight years, she had never reacted
to another person’s touch the way she did now. The massive hands steadying her had
to belong to the sugarmaker.
Charity looked up. Up some more. A smile lit her face as she
stared into a familiar set of gray-blue eyes.
His eyes seemed bluer today, perhaps because of his shirt. His
eyes reminded her of a clear mountain lake that was as much the color blue as it
was an indescribable hue; pure water, after all, was clear, but it borrowed its
blue connotations from reflections off the sky and density of depth. The bottomless
pools of this man’s eyes were much the same, a fascinating blend of neutrals and
cools, and yet the source of incredible heat. That heat swept over her now, zinging
her all the way to her toes.
“It’s… It’s you,” she whispered. Her voice came out breathless.
And unabashedly pleased.
Only one thought bounced around in Tarn Danbury’s head– so this
was what it felt like to hold a piece of heaven. He certainly could not have been
more surprised if an actual angel had fallen out of the sky and landed in his arms.
And perhaps one had. Beneath his hands, her skin felt as soft
as a cloud. Without conscious thought, his hands began to gently knead the warm
flesh of her shoulders. As his hands slid slowly down her arms, his touch became
more of a fondle. Even when his large hands stilled just above her elbows, his thumbs
moved in the lazy circles of a caress. Heaven.
His touch set off a thousand sensations. Too overwhelmed to catalog
a single one of them, Charity simply stood there, wondering if a person could melt
from the inside out.
Tarn misread the confusion in her face, thinking it was fear.
Shame flooded through him. He was a complete stranger, after all, and here he was
fondling her in the middle of a crowded store! He chided himself for the wildly
inappropriate behavior, but his hands were slow to respond to brain commands. Seconds
before he peeled away his recalcitrant fingers, a realization hit him– she was leaning
into him. That light in her bright blue eyes was not from fear. His heart took flight.
Could it be…?
Almost a solid minute had passed. An electrified, energy-charged
minute, with them both staring into the other’s eyes and his hands still on her
arms. It was delayed, but Tarn finally answered. “Yeah, it’s me.”
His voice was every bit as low and delicious as she remembered.
She realized she had craved the sound of it.
They might have stood there longer, but Charity’s purse worked
its way off her shoulder and fell with a heavy thud, jerking his hand away. She
grabbed for the over-stuffed leather bag, the movement bringing her head forward
to bang against him.
“Ouch!” Until now, Charity could have sworn she had a hard head,
but the swift contact actually hurt. Her forehead was no match for the solid wall
of his chest.
Without a word, he took her arm and led her away. It never occurred
to Charity to question where he was taking her. They rounded a corner and she saw
a small lunch counter with a handful of tables scattered out front. The bearded
giant led her to one of the tables and pulled out a chair
other than the fact that he wore a cap. He was tall and broad, and heavier than
she remembered the sugarmaker being. Her feet still hurried down the path, just
in case her luck had finally changed.
Five feet from him, her hopes were dashed. The man raised his
head and Charity had a clear view of his gray nape. She could taste the bitter disappointment
on her tongue.
Feeling the prick of foolish tears beneath her eyelids, Charity
whirled around. She promptly collided with a solid wall of blue flannel.
Even before she lifted her startled eyes to his, she knew it
was the sugarmaker. The moment his large hands came out to steady her, her skin
jumped with awareness. Ripples of electricity ran across her nerves and sent tiny
shock waves throughout her being. In all her twenty-eight years, she had never reacted
to another person’s touch the way she did now. The massive hands steadying her had
to belong to the sugarmaker.
Charity looked up. Up some more. A smile lit her face as she
stared into a familiar set of gray-blue eyes.
His eyes seemed bluer today, perhaps because of his shirt. His
eyes reminded her of a clear mountain lake that was as much the color blue as it
was an indescribable hue; pure water, after all, was clear, but it borrowed its
blue connotations from reflections off the sky and density of depth. The bottomless
pools of this man’s eyes were much the same, a fascinating blend of neutrals and
cools, and yet the source of incredible heat. That heat swept over her now, zinging
her all the way to her toes.
“It’s… It’s you,” she whispered. Her voice came out breathless.
And unabashedly pleased.
Only one thought bounced around in Tarn Danbury’s head– so this
was what it felt like to hold a piece of heaven. He certainly could not have been
more surprised if an actual angel had fallen out of the sky and landed in his arms.
And perhaps one had. Beneath his hands, her skin felt as soft
as a cloud. Without conscious thought, his hands began to gently knead the warm
flesh of her shoulders. As his hands slid slowly down her arms, his touch became
more of a fondle. Even when his large hands stilled just above her elbows, his thumbs
moved in the lazy circles of a caress. Heaven.
His touch set off a thousand sensations. Too overwhelmed to catalog
a single one of them, Charity simply stood there, wondering if a person could melt
from the inside out.
Tarn misread the confusion in her face, thinking it was fear.
Shame flooded through him. He was a complete stranger, after all, and here he was
fondling her in the middle of a crowded store! He chided himself for the wildly
inappropriate behavior, but his hands were slow to respond to brain commands. Seconds
before he peeled away his recalcitrant fingers, a realization hit him– she was leaning
into him. That light in her bright blue eyes was not from fear. His heart took flight.
Could it be…?
Almost a solid minute had passed. An electrified, energy-charged
minute, with them both staring into the other’s eyes and his hands still on her
arms. It was delayed, but Tarn finally answered. “Yeah, it’s me.”
His voice was every bit as low and delicious as she remembered.
She realized she had craved the sound of it.
They might have stood there longer, but Charity’s purse worked
its way off her shoulder and fell with a heavy thud, jerking his hand away. She
grabbed for the over-stuffed leather bag, the movement bringing her head forward
to bang against him.
“Ouch!” Until now, Charity could have sworn she had a hard head,
but the swift contact actually hurt. Her forehead was no match for the solid wall
of his chest.
Without a word, he took her arm and led her away. It never occurred
to Charity to question where he was taking her. They rounded a corner and she saw
a small lunch counter with a handful of tables scattered out front. The bearded
giant led her to one of the tables and pulled out a chair
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