Christmas Roses: Love Blooms in Winter by Susan King Mary Jo Putney Patricia Rice

Author:Susan King, Mary Jo Putney, Patricia Rice [Susan King, Mary Jo Putney, Patricia Rice]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-09-30T00:00:00+00:00

THOUGH he had seen her with his own eyes, conversed with her over dinner, Falconer had trouble believing that she was under his own roof. In his mind he never used the name Ariel. To him his wife was she, as if she were the only woman in the world.

What he had not expected was how tormenting her presence would be. It had been ten years since he had lain with a woman, and he had become reasonably comfortable with his monkish life. But no more. Though he still wore the robes of a monk, he ached with yearning. He wanted to touch his wife's blossom smooth skin, bury his hands in her silky hair, inhale her sweet female scent. He wanted more than that, though he would not allow himself to put words to his base thoughts.

After she had gone to bed, he went outside and walked from one end of Belleterre to the other as dusk became night. Cerberus trotted obediently behind, ready to defend his master from the lethal attacks of rabbits and pheasants.

As soon as it was dark enough, Falconer pushed back his hood, welcoming the cool night air, for he burned. He despised himself for his body's weakness, for it was unthinkable that a monster such as he could lie with the angel he had married. At least, unlike Gordstone, he knew that he was a monster. But in his heart he was no better than the other man, for he could not stop himself from desiring her.

It was very late when he returned to the house. To his surprise, when he went upstairs a light showed under his wife's bedroom door. Was she also having trouble sleeping? Perhaps he should go and talk with her, reassure her about her new life.

Though he knew he was lying to himself about his motives, he literally could not prevent himself from going down the hall and tapping on her door. When there was no answer, he turned the knob and eased the door open, then crossed the room to the bed.

She had fallen asleep while reading, and she lay with her head turned to one side, her pale blond hair spilling luxuriantly over the pillow. She wore a delicately tucked and laced nightgown, and she was the most beautiful being he had ever seen.

He picked up the book that she had laid on the coverlet. It was one of his volumes of William Blake, the mystical poet and artist. A good choice for a girl who was also an artist. He set the volume on the table by a vase of roses, turned out the lamp, and ordered himself to leave the room.

But he allowed himself one last look. The bedroom curtains hadn't been drawn, and in the moonlight she was a figure spun of ivory and silver. He drank in the sight, knowing he could never permit himself to do this again, for he could not trust himself so close to her.

When he had memorized her image well enough to last a lifetime, he turned to go.

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