Betrayal Of the Trust by Leslie Esdaile

Author:Leslie Esdaile
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2008-06-24T01:48:00+00:00

Chapter

12

Fragments of blue-gray light were cracking the sky, and Laura lay on her side, her back pressed to Carter's warmth as she stared out the bedroom window. Yes. The sky was falling; it wasn't her imagination. Pieces of stability were crumbling away, one tiny chunk at a time ... and things were getting messy. This wasn't supposed to happen, but it had.

She felt Carter pull back gently and stand, trying not to wake her. She turned over and watched him, admiring how the ancestors had sculpted dark, polished walnut over granite, forging a deep valley along his spine. The effect of looking at his slightly swayed back was mesmerizing. As he bent to find his pants, she watched the pure physics of the way the hard muscles moved within his shoulders and thighs, and his fantastically perfect ass ... Lord have mercy; this wasn't supposed to happen, but she was only human. And the heavens above had made this living art with such meticulous care-had even given the man a soul. The problem was, she'd probably already lost hers.

"I wasn't trying to wake you," he murmured.

"It's okay. I needed to get up," she said in a low tone, still half drunk from the sound of his mellow voice entering her ears all night. She kept her eyes on his, knowing too well that to let her gaze rake him would start some more mess all over again.

He smiled and turned away and started putting on his clothes, as though reading her mind. "We've both got a lot to do today."

"Want some coffee?"

"That's how this got started in the first place." He chuckled low in his throat and zipped up his pants.

"So it did." She stood with effort, her legs feeling as if jelly had been substituted for her knees, and grabbed her robe from the floor. But she couldn't help watching the thick ropes of muscles in his back and arms work as he pulled his sweater on over his head, disappointed that she hadn't given her eyes one last glimpse of his smooth, broad chest and washboard abs ... or the way that wicked trail of tight corkscrew curls set a direct path from just under his navel to where he'd been truly blessed and endowed. She sighed.

"I'll call you later on tonight ... might be a long day," he said in a far-off tone, putting on his shoes.

She just nodded. If he did, he did. If he didn't, he didn't. It was best for her to start making the separation sooner than later. That's how this was supposed to go. So she had to stop looking at his intense, concerned eyes. She would not allow herself to go any further than this. And she had to shake his touch ... rough-hewn hands that had delicately played over every surface of her. He was gentle, but also aggressive when she needed him to be. Like he knew her. No. She had things to do.

"You okay?" He stood before her, waiting for something, perhaps acknowledgement that this thing had gone down.

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