Читать книгу Spellbound and Seduced - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 8

Night had taken hold as Jura lifted the latch on the cottage door, a dark, lowering night heavy with snow clouds which quite obscured the stars. Lawrence was sprawled in the chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, calves and feet bare. His coat hung from the back of the settle. His waistcoat too. His boots stood on the hearth, his stockings draped over them. He had loosened his neckcloth. A thick lock of black hair fell over his brow. He was sleeping.

Pouring water from the kettle into a bowl, Jura took a cloth and set about cleaning the cut on his brow. His face, his hands, his throat were lightly tanned. Pushing back his hair, she could not resist tangling her fingers in its natural curl. He opened his eyes. The blue of rosemary flowers. Captivating blue. ‘How do you feel?’ she asked.

What he felt, Lawrence thought, was quite overwhelmed by her nearness. Jura exuded femininity, as if imbued by everything he most loved of women. ‘My ministering angel,’ he said.

She laughed softly. ‘Ministering yes, but I doubt if you knew me you’d call me an angel.’ She could see just enough of the bare skin at his throat to make her want to see more. In the soft glow of the firelight, with the door bolted against the night, she could imagine they were alone in the world. Lawrence’s chest rose and fell. Yearning so acute it was painful assailed her, making her lean closer to him just for the simple pleasure of feeling another’s skin near hers, for the simple pleasure of being close enough to have his breath whisper over her.

‘If not an angel, then you must surely be an enchantress,’ Lawrence said, trying to unravel the scent of her. An undertone of lemony herbs overlaid with spice, the whole resonant of an exotic perfume, it made him dizzy with desire. ‘You are certainly quite enchanting.’