hair pulled up in a severe style and, after he’d proposed, they’d been permitted to chat for a few fleeting minutes before he’d been brusquely hustled out. His memories of her, and the fateful appointment, were so disorganized, brief, and scattered that he’d recalled her as being a brunette!
She’d seemed conventional, suitable, polite, and average, and any hint that she might be pretty or appealing had been prudently disguised. As he gawked at her now, dissecting the silhouette and contours that were flawlessly outlined by her flowing robe, he was shocked to feel a stir of desire. The temperature in the stuffy chamber suddenly became warmer, his pulse beat a tad faster, and his pants grew unaccountably tight.
In all actuality, she was striking but, mystifyingly, upon their inaugural introduction, she’d scrupulously hidden her favorable characteristics behind a dour coif and an unflattering gown. She was an excellent height, neither short nor tall, and she was slim, yet curved where a female should be, and he couldn’t keep from noticing how her unconfined breasts played against the fabric of her nightgown as she shifted and moved.
She was winsome. Not a grand beauty as were some of the women with whom he regularly fraternized, but she had pleasing features, winged brows, high cheekbones, a pert nose, a tempting mouth. And those magnificent eyes...
Previously, her distinctiveness hadn’t registered and, at this late juncture, he didn’t care to note it. Not when he had every intention of sticking to their platonic accord. When the bargain had been struck, he’d inferred that he was getting a plain, modest spouse, and he was unnerved to ascertain that he’d been mistaken.
If he’d misjudged her countenance so terribly—when he was repeatedly hailed for his abilities with the fairer sex—what else might he have overlooked in his haste to wed?
Twirling about, she walked toward him, holding out his libation, and as she slipped the glass into his hand, her fingers trialed across his. He frowned. The gesture had been almost calculated, like a contrived caress.
“Would you like to sit with me for a bit?” she asked. “With everyone gone, the house is so quiet. I could use the company.”
Without tarrying to learn his answer, she sauntered to the couch, her swift rotation making the hem of her robe flare out and graze across his knee and thigh. Furtively, he sniffed at her perfume, a clean, charming aroma that reminded him of summer afternoons and fresh cut flowers.
She drifted down onto the sofa, while he sat directly across, and as she didn’t tend to propriety in any fashion, he was furnished with a superb view as she nestled against the arm. Lounging, she curled her legs on the cushion, and her nightclothes rose up, revealing a slender foot, a smooth calf.
He couldn’t quit staring.
Languidly, she sampled her brandy as she scrutinized him with a sly smile, and he couldn’t stop speculating as to what was going on inside her head. Her dainty pink tongue flicked out and nipped at a droplet of liquor clinging to the edge of her glass. Just as with her scarlet-tinted toes, he was mesmerized by that tongue, held spellbound by its color and form, enchanted by the possibilities it represented.
He gave himself a good shake. Both mentally and physically. It had been a tedious day, with an arduous night still to come. He was merely weary from the rollicking, and fatigue was making him see things that weren’t there, inducing him to surmise and hypothesize over details that were of no significance whatsoever.
“What a day!” she exclaimed, ostensibly reading his thoughts.
“Yes.”
“I’m exhausted.” She arched her back and stretched. “How about you?”
The motion thrust her bosom up and out and caused her robe to glide down, exposing a shoulder. Her silky hair rippled past in a glossy wave. She appeared wanton, inviting, as though she were awaiting a swain or had just wallowed in a
She’d seemed conventional, suitable, polite, and average, and any hint that she might be pretty or appealing had been prudently disguised. As he gawked at her now, dissecting the silhouette and contours that were flawlessly outlined by her flowing robe, he was shocked to feel a stir of desire. The temperature in the stuffy chamber suddenly became warmer, his pulse beat a tad faster, and his pants grew unaccountably tight.
In all actuality, she was striking but, mystifyingly, upon their inaugural introduction, she’d scrupulously hidden her favorable characteristics behind a dour coif and an unflattering gown. She was an excellent height, neither short nor tall, and she was slim, yet curved where a female should be, and he couldn’t keep from noticing how her unconfined breasts played against the fabric of her nightgown as she shifted and moved.
She was winsome. Not a grand beauty as were some of the women with whom he regularly fraternized, but she had pleasing features, winged brows, high cheekbones, a pert nose, a tempting mouth. And those magnificent eyes...
Previously, her distinctiveness hadn’t registered and, at this late juncture, he didn’t care to note it. Not when he had every intention of sticking to their platonic accord. When the bargain had been struck, he’d inferred that he was getting a plain, modest spouse, and he was unnerved to ascertain that he’d been mistaken.
If he’d misjudged her countenance so terribly—when he was repeatedly hailed for his abilities with the fairer sex—what else might he have overlooked in his haste to wed?
Twirling about, she walked toward him, holding out his libation, and as she slipped the glass into his hand, her fingers trialed across his. He frowned. The gesture had been almost calculated, like a contrived caress.
“Would you like to sit with me for a bit?” she asked. “With everyone gone, the house is so quiet. I could use the company.”
Without tarrying to learn his answer, she sauntered to the couch, her swift rotation making the hem of her robe flare out and graze across his knee and thigh. Furtively, he sniffed at her perfume, a clean, charming aroma that reminded him of summer afternoons and fresh cut flowers.
She drifted down onto the sofa, while he sat directly across, and as she didn’t tend to propriety in any fashion, he was furnished with a superb view as she nestled against the arm. Lounging, she curled her legs on the cushion, and her nightclothes rose up, revealing a slender foot, a smooth calf.
He couldn’t quit staring.
Languidly, she sampled her brandy as she scrutinized him with a sly smile, and he couldn’t stop speculating as to what was going on inside her head. Her dainty pink tongue flicked out and nipped at a droplet of liquor clinging to the edge of her glass. Just as with her scarlet-tinted toes, he was mesmerized by that tongue, held spellbound by its color and form, enchanted by the possibilities it represented.
He gave himself a good shake. Both mentally and physically. It had been a tedious day, with an arduous night still to come. He was merely weary from the rollicking, and fatigue was making him see things that weren’t there, inducing him to surmise and hypothesize over details that were of no significance whatsoever.
“What a day!” she exclaimed, ostensibly reading his thoughts.
“Yes.”
“I’m exhausted.” She arched her back and stretched. “How about you?”
The motion thrust her bosom up and out and caused her robe to glide down, exposing a shoulder. Her silky hair rippled past in a glossy wave. She appeared wanton, inviting, as though she were awaiting a swain or had just wallowed in a
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