Absentee Heart
by
Donna L. Simpson
 ...She did not hear the well-oiled door open, and then
close again; did not know she was being observed by a pair of feverish brown
eyes. Her elbow on her knee and her chin cupped in her hand, she dreamed
about what life would have been like had she won Kilpatrick, and become
his wife. It was a rosy picture full of green Irish hills, laughing children
and strong loving arms to cradle her and shelter her from trouble.
She heard no sound, but turned, sighing, to rise and go back to the party.
She started violently at the sight of black-trousered legs at her side.
Her gaze traveled up and stopped at the chiseled, dark features of the man
she had just been dreaming of.
"Lord Kilpatrick!" she gasped.
He grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet, his grip tighter than perhaps
he realized. His eyes were dark with some barely-suppressed emotion, and
Jane, lost in their depths, was not fully aware of his intentions until
he pulled her to him. Her silver shawl slid to the floor as he wrapped one
powerful arm around her and with the other hand tilted her head back.
Then his mouth was over hers. At first she tried to pull away. She would
not allow a repeat of the scene in the library at Everson. But then the
passion of his searing kisses, the sensuous feel of his lips over hers,
the very heat of his body pressed against hers, began to drug her senses.
One last time, she thought; one last time.
Her lips softened, and she leaned into his kiss hungrily. She felt his body
leap to life, and a surge of triumph swept through her as she felt his passion
grow, his arousal evident. His need for her was urgent and she felt dizzy
with anticipation, wondering what his intentions were.
His fingers twined through her burnished curls and he pulled her head back,
directing a searching look into her violet-gray eyes. One warm, large hand
came up and stroked her bare neck, sending shivers of some delicious, dangerous
feeling racing through her body. Then his fingers wandered and she gasped,
as she felt him trace the outline of her breast. Through the sheer fabric
of dress and chemise she could feel the callused, strong fingers flick across
her nipple until she moaned in languid pleasure.
In the dizzying whirl of pulsating emotion one thought emerged, triumphant.
An abandoned wanton she might be, but in that moment she knew she would
do whatever he wanted her to; she would be with him on whatever terms he
desired. Ashamed of herself for her weakness, she still would not resist.
"Alexander," she sighed.
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