*Frannie*
For the span of a heartbeat, as I cross over to him, I think I see pleasure in his face at my arrival, but it quickly vanishes. I indulge in the luxury of feasting my eyes on him. I’ve never seen him absent a waistcoat and jacket. His shoulders are broad, even without the outer layers of clothing. I remember clutching them in the throes of passion, how powerful they felt beneath my fingers. His mussed hair makes him appear much younger, and I feel a sudden burst of jealousy hoping that his fingers… and not a she-wolf’s… are responsible for the dishevelment.
“Would you care for some refreshment?” he asks, so damned formally that my heart lurches. Is this the man who has swallowed my cries of pleasure?
“I don’t believe so. Thank you.” I’m not opposed to spirits, I’ve drunk w
