Love Is Lovelier by Jean Brashear Page B

physical allure of him or that effortless charm. In the beginning, she’d suspected that she was merely a conquest, a prize long-delayed in the granting, the trophy he could now wrest from Remy, though the father he needed to impress was long departed.
    But Celia had changed all that with one story, and William with his discomfort over Anne hearing it. The warm, giving man beneath the urbane exterior was the pick that shattered the lock on her own heart.
    She shivered, as much in anticipation as fear.
    “Cold?” he asked, even his deep voice a tangible caress.
    Don’t make me weak , she wanted to plead. I have to be rock-solid yet .
    “William,” she began. “I know we joked about coffee and—”
    “It was no joke for me.” He caught her chin. Turned it up to him. “I want you, Anne.” His eyes searched hers. “For many reasons. It’s not just sex.”
    Dear God, was she actually blushing? “William…” She was helpless to explain in any terms but the bald truth. “I’m…done with that now. I’m too old.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “You’re normally seen with younger women.”
    He was silent for so long that she was sure he agreed.
    Then he sighed. Chuckled, but the sound was tinged with rue. “I can’t decide whether to be flattered that you’ve paid attention to my social life or insulted that you’ve just made me sound like someone who needs his ego propped up. And if you’re too old for sex, then what am I?”
    She started to respond but didn’t get a chance.
    “I do not for a second buy that you’re too decrepit for lovemaking—and don’t kid yourself, Anne—” The empire builder stared at her now, the prince who’d abandoned the comfortable castle and scrambled to create his own kingdom from the ground up. “It won’t be simple sex between us. You and I will make love.”
    “You’re always so sure of yourself, aren’t you? It must be nice.” Even she heard the pique in her voice.
    The laugh was full-throated. “I had an easier time convincing the banks to gamble on a destitute black sheep’s first hotel purchase than I am talking you into bed.”
    “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
    “No, ma’am, I surely am not.” The buccaneer’s white teeth gleamed. “But I did offer to flip for whether we go to your place or mine.”
    A part of her wished it was just sex they were talking about. Though the very idea of getting naked with a man who didn’t see her through the veil of a shared youth terrified her, he was right; she was lying about the desire she felt for him. Every encounter reminded her only too clearly that she had definitely not lost interest in the communion of two bodies. He was more frank about his attraction, that was all.
    But the physical realities weren’t at the heart of her reluctance; it was the notion that the two of them would connect on other levels. That, as he challenged, there would be more between them.
    She could not allow that more to distract her, not yet.
    “You’re going to reduce me to being Stanley Kowalski, bellowing up at your window, aren’t you?”
    The notion of blueblood William Armstrong, unkempt and sweaty in a wifebeater undershirt, shouting her name from the sidewalk like Marlon Brando, forced a giggle from her.
    “There you are,” he said softly. “The Anne who wanted to live in Paris.”
    Her breath caught. “You remember that?”
    “I recall a lot of things about you.” He traced her jaw with one long finger. “And I want to learn more.” He bent and grazed his mouth over hers. “Be with me tonight, Anne. Let me remind you just how young you are.”
    Oh, how lovely that sounded. To abandon herself to his handling, which she was certain would be adroit and masterful, just as the man was. “I don’t know,” she murmured, eyes still closed.
    He brushed her lips again with exquisite slowness. “Say yes. Let me give you this refuge,” he said, as if he’d read her thoughts.
    If only… But