Stand-In Bride's Seduction

She seemed different today, he thought, even taking into account that the circumstances were completely out of sync with their normal lives. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. It was more than the coffee she’d drunk at the hospital, when he hadn’t seen her drink the beverage since before she went to France. There was a sense of calm about her that was at odds with the party girl he’d first been attracted to.

Sure, he knew she could be focused. The accolades she’d earned on the dressage and other equestrian event circuits were mute proof of that. But her attitude today had been more. It was something that went beyond the superficial, something that spoke to him, instead, on a deeper level. A level that drew him to her for the comfort he now hungered for. How had that happened in the space of a few hours when before he’d had no difficulty keeping his emotional distance?

Whatever it was, he acceded—as sleep finally drew him under and he lost himself in the soft and slightly unfamiliar fragrance of Sara’s hair as it streamed over her pillow—she had been exactly what he’d needed today.

Four

Reynard woke as sunshine streamed through the unshuttered windows. For a moment he was disoriented—both by the furnishings around him and the warm, lithe body sprawled across his. One part of his body, however, suffered no such disorientation.

In fact, that particular part of his body was creating undue influence on the state of his mind, particularly with the soft scent of Sara’s hair filling his nostrils and the exposed creamy skin of her legs entangled with his.

She’d lost some of her light golden tan, he noticed. He fought the urge to stroke his hand over the delicious length of thigh exposed by her nightshirt riding up over the gentle round globes of her buttocks. And a little weight, too, he’d wager. What on earth had she been up to while she was away?

Reynard closed his eyes and breathed in a slow, steady breath—but even as he did so, the blend of fragrance from her hair and the feminine scent of her skin intoxicated him, stirring his body even more. His eyes flashed open again. The deprivation of that sensory input had only served to sharpen everything else. Painfully so, if his current condition was any indicator.

He let his eyes wander over her slumbering form again. Whatever the changes in Sara, he couldn’t help but enjoy a certain voyeuristic pleasure in taking an eyeful while she still slept. Their open-ended engagement hadn’t covered morning talk, or morning anything, for that matter, until now. Perhaps it would be worth exploring things a little further by coaxing her awake the most pleasurable way he knew how.

The discreet chirp of his cell phone in the main room of the cottage was a stark reminder to keep himself in check. There were more serious considerations in his life right now than whether or not Sara tasted as good as she smelled.

He eased his body out from under hers, freezing for a moment as she muttered something in her sleep and then repositioned herself on the pillow he’d used. There were still purple shadows under her eyes and her face was still as pale as she’d been ever since the previous afternoon when she’d come to his office. Whatever she’d been doing recently, it hadn’t been restful, that much was certain. He adjusted his boxers and slipped from the room to answer his phone.

The news about Benedict, while not brilliant, was hopeful and it was time he relieved Alex and Loren in their vigil. He quickly showered and dressed into the change of clothes he’d brought last night and left a brief note explaining where he’d gone on the kitchen countertop.

She was still sleeping when he returned to the bedroom—he hadn’t been quite able to resist one last glance before he headed to the hospital. She’d moved again, and beneath the sheet he could see her foot stroking back and forth—a tiny movement, even as she slept—across the sheets. So she was a sensualist, he surmised, feeling the tight knot that hadn’t quite left him intensify low in his gut. Texture, sensation—he really had to stop torturing himself but he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

The edge of her shirt now rode even higher on those long slender legs, exposing the gentlest hint of the curve of her buttocks as she lay half-sprawled on her stomach, one arm pushed far under the pillow. The fabric of the top was thin, and pulled tight under her arm and across the swell of one breast.