the top she wore. "What have you got on?"
"White shorts and a pale pink t–shirt."
"Cotton?" he speculated as he fingered the fabric, determined to keep her off balance until he could figure her out. While he thought about what it would feel like to conduct a leisurely exploration of the curves and hollows of her naked body with his fingertips, he contented himself with breathing in the subtle but alluring scent of her skin.
"That’s right."
He trailed his fingers down over her narrow wrists and then across the backs of her hands. He felt a faint tremor run through her and wondered if he made her nervous. He hoped so. He most sincerely hoped so. As they stood there, he cursed the darkness that prevented him from seeing her face, from reading the emotions in her eyes.
Bliss suddenly stepped free of him, clasped one of his hands, and turned so that they stood side by side. "Let’s go into the dining room."
He didn’t budge. "Your skin’s very soft."
She laughed. An uneasy sound to Micah’s ears.
"I haven’t got time for a beauty regimen, so the humid climate gets all the credit."
"You washed your hair this morning." He felt her surprise, not just the shift in her stance when she glanced at him. Micah intended to prove to her that he wasn’t as dull–witted as she apparently assumed.
"How did you know?"
"I can smell your shampoo."
"Good for you."
Micah shrugged to make it clear that her praise meant nothing, and then he matched his footsteps to her shorter stride as they walked across the foyer. His dignity felt a little less damaged now, and that realization gave him a burst of confidence.
Bliss slowed her pace and cautioned, "Two steps down, Micah. All the floors and walls in the mansion are white marble. There aren’t any rugs in the rooms."
He took the steps with care, his relaxed posture hiding his anxiety. Pausing, he commented, "No one’s ever called me a coward before."
"I don’t believe I did."
"You implied…"
"I said I didn’t want to think you were a coward. I challenged you to prove that you aren’t."
"I don’t have to prove anything to you." He kept his voice level, wondering if she realized just how angry she’d made him.
"I agree, but you have a whole heck of a lot to prove to yourself."
He shook his head in consternation, acknowledging that he couldn’t dismiss Bliss as shallow or self–serving. Her insights were right on target, but he nevertheless resented her attempts at manipulation.
Moreover, he didn’t appreciate her comprehension that he faced an uncertain future, because he didn’t want to think of her as an ally. He operated alone, personally and professionally. That was his style, and he intended to keep it that way. Theirs had to remain a casual relationship.
"You may be small, but you’re tough."
She chuckled. "So I’ve been told. Ready?"
He nodded, amazement and grudging admiration surging through him as he contemplated the steel in Bliss Rowland’s character. He couldn’t recall ever meeting anyone quite like her.
"Ready," he said, all of his attention on her voice now.
"The dining room is quite spacious. It’s about thirty feet long and nearly as wide. Sideboards line three of the walls. The upper third of each of those walls provides an unobstructed view of the outdoors, and the large rectangular shaped panes of glass allow light to flood the room during the day. They also make it easy to see the stars on a clear night. There’s a tall set of French doors on the final wall that lead out into the rose garden. The dining room is typical of most high–ceilinged formal rooms in the mansion."
Bliss placed his hand on the top edge of a high–backed upholstered chair as she spoke. "I generally take meals in the kitchen, but I thought today it might be nice to eat in here, since it’s our first meal together. The table seats twenty. There are nine chairs on either side of it and one at each end. We’ll sit opposite one another today."
Micah
"White shorts and a pale pink t–shirt."
"Cotton?" he speculated as he fingered the fabric, determined to keep her off balance until he could figure her out. While he thought about what it would feel like to conduct a leisurely exploration of the curves and hollows of her naked body with his fingertips, he contented himself with breathing in the subtle but alluring scent of her skin.
"That’s right."
He trailed his fingers down over her narrow wrists and then across the backs of her hands. He felt a faint tremor run through her and wondered if he made her nervous. He hoped so. He most sincerely hoped so. As they stood there, he cursed the darkness that prevented him from seeing her face, from reading the emotions in her eyes.
Bliss suddenly stepped free of him, clasped one of his hands, and turned so that they stood side by side. "Let’s go into the dining room."
He didn’t budge. "Your skin’s very soft."
She laughed. An uneasy sound to Micah’s ears.
"I haven’t got time for a beauty regimen, so the humid climate gets all the credit."
"You washed your hair this morning." He felt her surprise, not just the shift in her stance when she glanced at him. Micah intended to prove to her that he wasn’t as dull–witted as she apparently assumed.
"How did you know?"
"I can smell your shampoo."
"Good for you."
Micah shrugged to make it clear that her praise meant nothing, and then he matched his footsteps to her shorter stride as they walked across the foyer. His dignity felt a little less damaged now, and that realization gave him a burst of confidence.
Bliss slowed her pace and cautioned, "Two steps down, Micah. All the floors and walls in the mansion are white marble. There aren’t any rugs in the rooms."
He took the steps with care, his relaxed posture hiding his anxiety. Pausing, he commented, "No one’s ever called me a coward before."
"I don’t believe I did."
"You implied…"
"I said I didn’t want to think you were a coward. I challenged you to prove that you aren’t."
"I don’t have to prove anything to you." He kept his voice level, wondering if she realized just how angry she’d made him.
"I agree, but you have a whole heck of a lot to prove to yourself."
He shook his head in consternation, acknowledging that he couldn’t dismiss Bliss as shallow or self–serving. Her insights were right on target, but he nevertheless resented her attempts at manipulation.
Moreover, he didn’t appreciate her comprehension that he faced an uncertain future, because he didn’t want to think of her as an ally. He operated alone, personally and professionally. That was his style, and he intended to keep it that way. Theirs had to remain a casual relationship.
"You may be small, but you’re tough."
She chuckled. "So I’ve been told. Ready?"
He nodded, amazement and grudging admiration surging through him as he contemplated the steel in Bliss Rowland’s character. He couldn’t recall ever meeting anyone quite like her.
"Ready," he said, all of his attention on her voice now.
"The dining room is quite spacious. It’s about thirty feet long and nearly as wide. Sideboards line three of the walls. The upper third of each of those walls provides an unobstructed view of the outdoors, and the large rectangular shaped panes of glass allow light to flood the room during the day. They also make it easy to see the stars on a clear night. There’s a tall set of French doors on the final wall that lead out into the rose garden. The dining room is typical of most high–ceilinged formal rooms in the mansion."
Bliss placed his hand on the top edge of a high–backed upholstered chair as she spoke. "I generally take meals in the kitchen, but I thought today it might be nice to eat in here, since it’s our first meal together. The table seats twenty. There are nine chairs on either side of it and one at each end. We’ll sit opposite one another today."
Micah
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