Echoes in the Dark by Gayle Wilson

Author:Gayle Wilson
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Romance, Contemporary, Fiction
ISBN: 9780373223442
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 1995-09-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

The afternoon was endless. She tried to read, but found that she was only staring at the pages, the words making no impact on her brain. Finally she closed her eyes and simply lay on her bed, listening to the noises, trying to identify each and to locate it. She could hear the servants laughing and clattering dishes in the kitchen, the surf beating relentlessly against the rocks, the scream of the birds, all the sounds of the house. She thought about his world, this world of only sound and smells, and she couldn't imagine living imprisoned there forever.

She opened her eyes when clearly, even upstairs, the sound reached her of the downstairs door slamming with the same violence as yesterday, the glass banging again in the long windows that looked out over the landing.

She wouldn't let the maid in with the tray, but she had begun to question the fear that held her here in her bedroom alone, begun to worry whether she were in danger of slipping back into the darkness that had held her so long ago. She waited even after night fell because he had said he would come. When he didn't, she finally fell asleep, exhausted by her tears. She had cried a long time, admitting in despair that she had lost.

The knock was soft, whispering against her dreams, but she knew his voice, so she hurried to unlock the door. He slipped in, turning the lock again behind him. He stood with his back against her door. She could make out his outline, but his features were so shadowed that she couldn't read his expression.

"You didn't eat," he said finally.

"I thought you weren't coming." As if that alone could explain why she had ceased to function.

"I told you I'd come. I told you I didn't have a choice."

"We always have choices," she said and waited again.

"I don't." He put both hands on her shoulders, pulling her against the hard warmth of his chest. "I don't have any choice about wanting you," he breathed against her hair. His mouth lowered to find her throat. She could feel her body reacting to his first touch, the lift of her breasts, the moisture.

She resisted the lure of that sweet escape, knowing that it was reality she had to examine, that they had to examine together. She put her palms against his chest and pushed. He released her, but she could feel the reluctance and clearly his physical response to simply holding her.

"Talk to me," she whispered.

"Wrong choice," he said, but he smiled at her. She could barely read the movement of his lips. She wanted to see him, to know what he thought and felt. To know if, in spite of his presence here, Andre had won.

So she moved, turning on the low lamp beside the bed. When she took his hand, he followed her. They sat together on the edge of the bed, but he didn't touch her now. He didn't pretend to look at her, so she had to ask.

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