She felt odd as she wrapped the towel around her freshly scrubbed body. Different. It was something that could never be explained to a man, she supposed. They lost nothing when they gave themselves the first time. There was no sharp tearing of self to admit another. But it wasn’t pain she remembered, even the soreness between her thighs didn’t bring the violence of invasion to mind. It was the unity she thought of. The sweet and simple bond of mating.
She studied herself in the misty mirror. She looked warm, she decided. It was the same face, surely, that she’d glimpsed countless times in countless mirrors. Yet wasn’t there a softness here she’d never noticed before? In the eyes, around the mouth? Love had done that. The love she held in her heart, the love she’d tasted for the first time with her body.
Perhaps it was only the first time that a woman felt so aware of herself, so stripped of everything but flesh and soul. And perhaps, she thought, because she was older than most, the moment was all the more overwhelming and precious.
He wanted her. Brianna closed her eyes, the better to feel those long, slow ripples of delight. A beautiful man with a beautiful mind and kind heart wanted her.
All of her life she’d dreamed of finding him. Now she had.
She stepped into the bedroom, and saw him. He’d put fresh linen on the bed and had laid one of her white flannel gowns at the foot of it. He stood now in jeans unsnapped and relaxed on his hips, with champagne bubbling in glasses and candlelight simmering in his eyes.
“I’m hoping you’ll wear it,” he said when she saw her gaze rest on the prim, old-fashioned nightgown. “I’ve imagined getting you out of it since that first night. I watched you come down the stairs, a candle in one hand, a wolfhound in the other, and my head went spinning.”
She picked up a sleeve. How much she wished it was silk or lace or something that would make a man’s blood heat. “ ’Tisn’t very alluring, I think.”
“You think wrong.”
Because she had nothing else, and it seemed to please him, she slipped the gown over her head, letting the towel fall away as the flannel slid down. His muffled groan had her smiling over uncertainly.
“Brianna, what a picture you are. Leave the towel,” he murmured as she bent to retrieve it. “Come here. Please.”
She stepped forward, that half smile on her face and nerves threatening to swallow her, to take the glass he held out. She sipped, discovered the frothy wine did nothing to ease her dry throat. He was looking at her, she thought, the way she imagined a tiger might look at a lamb just before he pounced.
“You haven’t had dinner,” she said.
“No.” Don’t frighten her, idiot, he warned himself and struggled back the urge to devour. He took a slow sample of champagne, watching her, wanting her. “I was just thinking I wanted it. Thinking we could eat up here, together. But now . . .” He reached out to curl a damp tendril of her hair around his finger. “Can you wait?”
So it was to be simple again, she thought. And again her choice. “I can wait for dinner.” She could barely get the words passed the heat in her throat. “But not for you.”
She stepped, quite naturally, into his arms.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
An elbow in the ribs brought Brianna groggily out of sleep. Her first view of the morning after a night of love was floor. If Gray took up another inch of the bed, she’d be on it.
It took her only seconds, and a shiver in the chilly morning air, to realize she hadn’t even the stingiest corner of sheet or blanket covering her.
Gray, on the other hand, was cozily wrapped beside her, like a contented moth in a cocoon.
Sprawled over the mattress, he slept like the dead. She wished she could have said his snuggled position, and the elbow lodged near her kidney, was loverlike, but it smacked plainly of greed. Her tentative pushes and tugs didn’t budge him.
So that was the way of it, she thought. The man was obviously unaccustomed to sharing.
She might have stayed to tussle for her share—just on principle—but the sun was shining through the windows. And there were chores to do.
Her efforts to slip quietly from the bed so as not to disturb him proved unnecessary. The minute her feet were on the floor, he grunted, then shifted to lay claim to her small slice of mattress.
Still, the dregs of romance remained in the room. The candles had guttered out in their own wax sometime during the night. The champagne bottle was empty in its silver bucket, and flowers scented the air. The open curtain caught sunbeams, rather than moonbeams.
He’d made it perfect for her, she remembered. Had known how to make it perfect.
This morning business wasn’t quite the way she’d imagined it. In sleep, he didn’t look like an innocent boy dreaming, but like a man well satisfied with himself. There hadn’t been any gentle caresses or murmured good mornings to acknowledge their first day together as lovers. Just a grunt and a shove to send her on her way.
The many moods of Grayson Thane, she mused. Perhaps she could write a book on that subject herself.
Amused, she tugged her discarded nightgown over her head and headed downstairs.
She could do with some tea, she decided, to get the blood moving again. And since the sky looked promising, she’d do a bit of wash and hang it out to catch the morning air.
She thought the house could do with an airing as well and tossed open windows as she walked. Through the one in the parlor, she spotted Murphy bent under the hood of her car.
She watched him a moment, her emotions tangling. Her anger with him warred with loyalty and affection. Anger was already losing as she walked outside and moved along the garden path.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” she began.
“I said I’d have a look.” He glanced back. She was standing in her nightgown, her hair tangled from the night, her feet bare. Unlike Gray, his blood didn’t kindle. She was simply Brianna to him, and he took the moment to search out any sign of temper or forgiveness. He saw neither, so went back to his business.
“Your starter motor’s in a bad way,” he muttered.
“So I’ve been told.”
“Your engine’s sick as an old horse. I can get some parts, patch it back together. But it’s good money after bad as I see it.”
“If it could last me through the summer, into the autumn . . .” She trailed off as he cursed under his breath. She simply couldn’t keep her heart cool from him. He’d been her friend as long as she remembered. And it was friendship, she knew, that had caused him to do what he’d done.
She studied herself in the misty mirror. She looked warm, she decided. It was the same face, surely, that she’d glimpsed countless times in countless mirrors. Yet wasn’t there a softness here she’d never noticed before? In the eyes, around the mouth? Love had done that. The love she held in her heart, the love she’d tasted for the first time with her body.
Perhaps it was only the first time that a woman felt so aware of herself, so stripped of everything but flesh and soul. And perhaps, she thought, because she was older than most, the moment was all the more overwhelming and precious.
He wanted her. Brianna closed her eyes, the better to feel those long, slow ripples of delight. A beautiful man with a beautiful mind and kind heart wanted her.
All of her life she’d dreamed of finding him. Now she had.
She stepped into the bedroom, and saw him. He’d put fresh linen on the bed and had laid one of her white flannel gowns at the foot of it. He stood now in jeans unsnapped and relaxed on his hips, with champagne bubbling in glasses and candlelight simmering in his eyes.
“I’m hoping you’ll wear it,” he said when she saw her gaze rest on the prim, old-fashioned nightgown. “I’ve imagined getting you out of it since that first night. I watched you come down the stairs, a candle in one hand, a wolfhound in the other, and my head went spinning.”
She picked up a sleeve. How much she wished it was silk or lace or something that would make a man’s blood heat. “ ’Tisn’t very alluring, I think.”
“You think wrong.”
Because she had nothing else, and it seemed to please him, she slipped the gown over her head, letting the towel fall away as the flannel slid down. His muffled groan had her smiling over uncertainly.
“Brianna, what a picture you are. Leave the towel,” he murmured as she bent to retrieve it. “Come here. Please.”
She stepped forward, that half smile on her face and nerves threatening to swallow her, to take the glass he held out. She sipped, discovered the frothy wine did nothing to ease her dry throat. He was looking at her, she thought, the way she imagined a tiger might look at a lamb just before he pounced.
“You haven’t had dinner,” she said.
“No.” Don’t frighten her, idiot, he warned himself and struggled back the urge to devour. He took a slow sample of champagne, watching her, wanting her. “I was just thinking I wanted it. Thinking we could eat up here, together. But now . . .” He reached out to curl a damp tendril of her hair around his finger. “Can you wait?”
So it was to be simple again, she thought. And again her choice. “I can wait for dinner.” She could barely get the words passed the heat in her throat. “But not for you.”
She stepped, quite naturally, into his arms.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
An elbow in the ribs brought Brianna groggily out of sleep. Her first view of the morning after a night of love was floor. If Gray took up another inch of the bed, she’d be on it.
It took her only seconds, and a shiver in the chilly morning air, to realize she hadn’t even the stingiest corner of sheet or blanket covering her.
Gray, on the other hand, was cozily wrapped beside her, like a contented moth in a cocoon.
Sprawled over the mattress, he slept like the dead. She wished she could have said his snuggled position, and the elbow lodged near her kidney, was loverlike, but it smacked plainly of greed. Her tentative pushes and tugs didn’t budge him.
So that was the way of it, she thought. The man was obviously unaccustomed to sharing.
She might have stayed to tussle for her share—just on principle—but the sun was shining through the windows. And there were chores to do.
Her efforts to slip quietly from the bed so as not to disturb him proved unnecessary. The minute her feet were on the floor, he grunted, then shifted to lay claim to her small slice of mattress.
Still, the dregs of romance remained in the room. The candles had guttered out in their own wax sometime during the night. The champagne bottle was empty in its silver bucket, and flowers scented the air. The open curtain caught sunbeams, rather than moonbeams.
He’d made it perfect for her, she remembered. Had known how to make it perfect.
This morning business wasn’t quite the way she’d imagined it. In sleep, he didn’t look like an innocent boy dreaming, but like a man well satisfied with himself. There hadn’t been any gentle caresses or murmured good mornings to acknowledge their first day together as lovers. Just a grunt and a shove to send her on her way.
The many moods of Grayson Thane, she mused. Perhaps she could write a book on that subject herself.
Amused, she tugged her discarded nightgown over her head and headed downstairs.
She could do with some tea, she decided, to get the blood moving again. And since the sky looked promising, she’d do a bit of wash and hang it out to catch the morning air.
She thought the house could do with an airing as well and tossed open windows as she walked. Through the one in the parlor, she spotted Murphy bent under the hood of her car.
She watched him a moment, her emotions tangling. Her anger with him warred with loyalty and affection. Anger was already losing as she walked outside and moved along the garden path.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” she began.
“I said I’d have a look.” He glanced back. She was standing in her nightgown, her hair tangled from the night, her feet bare. Unlike Gray, his blood didn’t kindle. She was simply Brianna to him, and he took the moment to search out any sign of temper or forgiveness. He saw neither, so went back to his business.
“Your starter motor’s in a bad way,” he muttered.
“So I’ve been told.”
“Your engine’s sick as an old horse. I can get some parts, patch it back together. But it’s good money after bad as I see it.”
“If it could last me through the summer, into the autumn . . .” She trailed off as he cursed under his breath. She simply couldn’t keep her heart cool from him. He’d been her friend as long as she remembered. And it was friendship, she knew, that had caused him to do what he’d done.
