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*This excerpt has not
yet been edited by The Wild Rose Press…
Her throat still burned when she fought
through the waves of unconsciousness, but she was no longer cold or
choking.
She was warm, wrapped in blankets. Her hand fisted in a rough-textured
spread. She smelt soap and salt. When she turned her head and opened her
eyes, she saw she was lying on a pillow. In a bed.
Warm. She sighed, stretching shortly before opening her eyes. It was
still dark, but she could see vaguely around the room. A single bed, a
single chest of drawers, an entertainment center, a bathroom. To the
right there was a balcony door.
The figure of a man stood before it.
Her heart bolted into her throat at the sight of the silhouette. Though
it wasn’t Herve. She knew it when she ran her gaze over the strong,
braced shoulders covered in a white t-shirt he wore over jeans. He was
tall, so tall. Well over six feet. His waist was trim, his build
athletic, rangy. His hair was dark and long. It was just long enough to
be secured in the small band at the nape of his neck. From her angle,
she saw he had a strong nose and a full mouth.
He looked slightly angelic but dangerous all-the-same. She shivered and
couldn’t decide if it was from fear or excitement.
She sat up. The sheets rustled and the mattress groaned. She saw him
stiffen, brace. The quick reaction made her pause. She saw his hand rush
to his belt then fall away.
He turned his head and looked at her. When he saw her wide, brown eyes
fixed on him, his pulse jolted. His toes itched to curl as her wondrous,
skeptical expression fastened on his. His breath caught in his chest,
squeezed off by his heart which swelled as he took her in again.
Her hair fell in long, black curls halfway down the length of her back.
She usually wore it straight, but it’d dried into careless curls. He
liked it better that way. It fell around her oval-shaped face with its
naturally-tanned skin, heart-shaped mouth, perfect nose, and dark, dark
eyes.
Her eyes were the same color he remembered but deeper, more
knowledgeable than before. Recognition didn’t flicker in them as she
continued to take him in. Relief washed through him. He wasn’t quite
ready for her to remember him yet. She’d been eight years to his
thirteen when circumstances had parted their families and he and his
mother had rushed off to live a new life with changed names, changed
identities.
But he’d never forgotten her face.
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