The humid darkness of the sleeping house seemed to pulse with a secret rhythm, a current of forbidden energy that drew her forward on silent, bare feet. Her silk chemise whispered agat her skin like a ghost’s caress, each step a deliberate surrender to the magnetic pull emanating from the half-open doorway. The faint, familiar scent of clean linen and youthful sweat filled her nostrils, a heady perfume that made her heart hammer agat her ribs. Moonlight, pale and silver, sliced through the gloom to illuminate the tangled sheets and the sleeping form within, highlighting the smooth, powerful curve of a shoulder. Her breath hitched as she paused at the bedside, her gaze tracing the strong line of a jaw, so like his father’s yet uniquely, devastatingly his own. A tremor ran through her as she reached out, her fingertips hovering just above the warm, living heat of his skin, feeling the primal energy radiating from his slumbering body. The air grew thick, charged with unspoken words and the terrifying, exhilarating weight of the line she was preparing to cross for the very first time. Slowly, as if moving through water, she let her hand descend, the contact a lightning strike of sensation that jolted up her arm. In that electric touch, a lifetime of maternal boundaries dissolved, replaced by a raw, aching hunger that was both terrifying and utterly, completely inevitable.
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