Читать книгу The Baby Quilt - Christine Flynn - Страница 2

He could see her sitting on her bed with little Anna in her arms.

She was looking down at the child, her finger slowly stroking a rounded little cheek, the alabaster slope of her breast visible between the sides of her pink shirt. One tiny fist rested against that fullness and the baby’s eyes were closed.

Emily’s expression looked utterly peaceful.

Justin wasn’t sure what caused the odd tug in his chest just then. He wasn’t a man easily impressed, much less easily moved. Yet, he couldn’t seem to look away. Had he been standing before a painting, he supposed the eroticism was what would have caught his attention, the pure sensuality of soft light on skin, the gentle part of Emily’s mouth, the suckling of the baby’s. But there was an element far beyond that, a Madonna-like quality that made him feel as if he were witnessing something infinitely…precious.

The thought had his conscience kicking hard as it told him to look away. He was intruding here. But it was already too late.