Oh, the way he was looking at her, really looking at her . . . this was the Christopher of her dreams. This was the man who had written to her. He was so caring, and real, and dazzling, that she wanted to weep.“I thought . . .” Christopher broke off and drew his thumb over the hot surface of her cheek.“I know,” she whispered, her nerves sparking in excitement at his touch.“I didn’t mean to do that.”“I know.”His gaze went to her parted lips, lingering until she felt it like a caress. Her heart labored to supply blood to her nerveless limbs. Every breath caused her body to lift up against his, a teasing friction of firm flesh and clean, warm linen.Beatrix was transfixed by the subtle changes in his face, the heightening color, the silver brightness of his eyes.She wondered if he were going to kiss her.And a single word flashed through her mind.Please. . .
