Copyright © 2008
All rights reserved, 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 smelled 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 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. It isn't Herve . She knew it when she ran her gaze over the strong, braced shoulders covered in a white T-shirt which 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 and then fall away. As he turned to face her, her heart pounded in her ears.