She’d been too shocked, and then she’d been too overcome, and then she’d been searching every experience to find a description for the heaven he’d sent her into.
She could still bring the shiver into being and almost touch the ecstasy again—and that just by the recollection of it! It had been breathtaking, soul-shaking, and given her such awe, she’d vibrated with it. And still could. All she had to do was close her eyes to relive it and the same thing happened. Each time. Rocking her world so that when she opened her eyes she was actually amazed to find everything just as it had been.
But why this man? Why?
She slammed her hands against her temples and tried to hold the experience at bay before thinking it through. Useless. That’s what it was. Utterly and completely useless. And stupid. It was easier to fight something when one had complete knowledge of it. The unknown was always more difficult. She’d realized that so long ago, she’d thought it was second nature.
And now he was changing even that? Her own certainty that knowledge was power? No matter where the knowledge came from or how horrid it was?
Sybil lowered her hands and folded another of her dresses and sent her mind searching. There had to be a reason why it was him. A man who—by her own observation—made a sport of women. He probably even had a “notch-post” somewhere on his person in order to keep tally of all the women he’d bedded.
Why him? Sybil was more discriminating than that. She didn’t want a man that every other woman could, and probably had, been with.
Why him? She made a growling noise in her throat as she puzzled it.
It was true he was a handsome sort…very much so. His dark eyes, lashes, and brows, along with the lengthy, honey-colored hair, was enough to set any lass swooning. And that was before she factored in the lush lips, straight jaw, and perfectly aligned features. It was also true that he was well assembled, solid and healthy everywhere she’d seen. He was heavily endowed physically as well, if what she’d been up against was real when he held her to him. The man was painfully large. Sybil warmed on the recollection and told herself she was being ridiculous. She didn’t truly know, but she’d heard how important a man’s size supposedly was to a woman. That knowledge came from listening to servant women in the early morn when nobody realized she was about.
And he’d kissed her.
At the repeated thought, Sybil touched her lips with her fingers, shut her eyes, and put the same vibration of ecstasy into play again. She was no longer kneeling on a cold floor with her skirt tucked beneath her while her hands refolded and rearranged her clothing. She was soaring. The room was too small to hold the vastness of space her soul was spanning, growing…shuddering with.
She opened her eyes on the reality that was her room in the darkest hours of the night, lit only by a banked fire. That kiss had been so special. It had blindsided her. Nobody had told her a kiss felt like that.
Maybe because they didn’t as a normal event.
The man had said he was a master. Sybil sucked in the shock at the instant thought. Maybe he meant a master of this as well! That was too much. Sybil didn’t want a man who would take any woman’s offerings. She didn’t! Vincent Erick Danzel was a soulless wretch. A man who would take his arousal from the promise of lush pleasure with two servants—and use it to kiss her?
Sybil sighed long and loud, and watched the coals in her fireplace. Then she blinked away the film on her eyes. She’d let herself get too tired. Weepy eyes were the result of overuse. She’d suffered that enough when using the night hours to brew and experiment. That was it.
It certainly wasn’t due to the wonder and amazement he’d put into being within her and then run from. Never. She wasn’t crying! She never cried. It was useless, stupid, and gave one a headache. She especially wouldn’t cry for a man
She could still bring the shiver into being and almost touch the ecstasy again—and that just by the recollection of it! It had been breathtaking, soul-shaking, and given her such awe, she’d vibrated with it. And still could. All she had to do was close her eyes to relive it and the same thing happened. Each time. Rocking her world so that when she opened her eyes she was actually amazed to find everything just as it had been.
But why this man? Why?
She slammed her hands against her temples and tried to hold the experience at bay before thinking it through. Useless. That’s what it was. Utterly and completely useless. And stupid. It was easier to fight something when one had complete knowledge of it. The unknown was always more difficult. She’d realized that so long ago, she’d thought it was second nature.
And now he was changing even that? Her own certainty that knowledge was power? No matter where the knowledge came from or how horrid it was?
Sybil lowered her hands and folded another of her dresses and sent her mind searching. There had to be a reason why it was him. A man who—by her own observation—made a sport of women. He probably even had a “notch-post” somewhere on his person in order to keep tally of all the women he’d bedded.
Why him? Sybil was more discriminating than that. She didn’t want a man that every other woman could, and probably had, been with.
Why him? She made a growling noise in her throat as she puzzled it.
It was true he was a handsome sort…very much so. His dark eyes, lashes, and brows, along with the lengthy, honey-colored hair, was enough to set any lass swooning. And that was before she factored in the lush lips, straight jaw, and perfectly aligned features. It was also true that he was well assembled, solid and healthy everywhere she’d seen. He was heavily endowed physically as well, if what she’d been up against was real when he held her to him. The man was painfully large. Sybil warmed on the recollection and told herself she was being ridiculous. She didn’t truly know, but she’d heard how important a man’s size supposedly was to a woman. That knowledge came from listening to servant women in the early morn when nobody realized she was about.
And he’d kissed her.
At the repeated thought, Sybil touched her lips with her fingers, shut her eyes, and put the same vibration of ecstasy into play again. She was no longer kneeling on a cold floor with her skirt tucked beneath her while her hands refolded and rearranged her clothing. She was soaring. The room was too small to hold the vastness of space her soul was spanning, growing…shuddering with.
She opened her eyes on the reality that was her room in the darkest hours of the night, lit only by a banked fire. That kiss had been so special. It had blindsided her. Nobody had told her a kiss felt like that.
Maybe because they didn’t as a normal event.
The man had said he was a master. Sybil sucked in the shock at the instant thought. Maybe he meant a master of this as well! That was too much. Sybil didn’t want a man who would take any woman’s offerings. She didn’t! Vincent Erick Danzel was a soulless wretch. A man who would take his arousal from the promise of lush pleasure with two servants—and use it to kiss her?
Sybil sighed long and loud, and watched the coals in her fireplace. Then she blinked away the film on her eyes. She’d let herself get too tired. Weepy eyes were the result of overuse. She’d suffered that enough when using the night hours to brew and experiment. That was it.
It certainly wasn’t due to the wonder and amazement he’d put into being within her and then run from. Never. She wasn’t crying! She never cried. It was useless, stupid, and gave one a headache. She especially wouldn’t cry for a man
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