Читать книгу Wild Heart - Lori Brighton - Страница 2

A man stalked from the house. The wind teased his hair, brushing the strands across his neck—strands much too long for any decent gentleman.

Stunned and curious, she pushed the curtain farther aside and peered into the evening. In his hand he dragged what looked to be a framed canvas. How odd. Was he real or some mythical beast made visible by the magic of twilight? Her gaze slid from his face, hidden by his long hair, down to the sleeves of his white shirt, which were rolled to his elbows. Even from her vantage point she could see the corded muscles flexed in his forearms.

An unfamiliar heat pulsed through her body, pushing aside the familiar hum of her powers. The subject of her fascination stopped and threw the canvas in a wide arc. The painting sailed through the garden and landed on a yellow rosebush.

“Rather peculiar,” Ella whispered.

He spun around as if he heard her comment. Ella squeezed back behind the curtains. The small porcelain clock on the fireplace mantel ticked the time by. Unable to control her curiosity, she finally peeked between the folds of the drapes. His gaze lingered directly at her window. For a few seconds he merely stared. Surely he couldn’t see her. Her heart hammered in her chest as she waited…waited…waited.

Finally, he dropped his attention and disappeared into the house. Ella raced across the room and bolted her door. Safely ensconced, she leaned against the thick wooden panel and breathed a sigh of relief. By God, who was he?