Free Timeless Desire by Gwyn Cready Page A

said. “In any case, a good soldier always wants to have an eye on what’s going on around him.”
    The problem was there was too much going on around her. Her blood was still racing from her daydream, the brandy’s delicious warmth seemed to have turned her arms and legs to rubber, and the touch of Bridgewater’s coat on her arm was making her self-conscious almost to the point of light-headedness.
    She moved a foot to better support herself on the crate and nearly tumbled off. He caught her by the waist, steadying her easily, and when she straightened, she was looking directly into his eyes.
    “What’s that?”
    The voice had come from the rampart outside—a guard speaking to his companion. The guard pointed to their window.
    “Don’t move,” Bridgewater said.
    “Do you see that?” the man said. “There, in that window. I thought I saw something move.”
    “It’s my hair,” she said, panicked. “They can see it.”
    “They cannot see beyond the reflections of the firepots on the glass.” Bridgewater’s caramel-scented breath came in waves across her cheek. His chest was reassuringly solid under her fingertips.
    “It’s just the fire,” the other guard said. “There’s been nothing in that wing since the place burned in ’86.”
    The men walked on, but Panna didn’t move. Bridgewater’s hands tightened on her waist, and his eyes sought in hers the answer to an unspoken question. He held her until the last echo of the soldiers’ footsteps died away.
    She clasped the rough wool of his lapels, intensely aware of the dampness of her palms and the beating of his heart against her chest. The answer she wished to give was such a complicated mixture of attraction, desire, and the pain of letting go of Charlie, she couldn’t speak.
    He saw her disquiet and brought his mouth to hers lightly, an offer she might accept or dismiss. The gentle connection sent a stabbing pain through her. Hungrily, she kissed back, reeling in the storm of emotion.
    His lips were warm, and the hunger in them seemed as strong as the hunger in hers. He brought his fingertips along the ridge of her spine, sending waves of delight through her. Though he handled her reverentially, she could feel the desire like a harnessed panther just under his skin. He was waiting for a sign.
    But what sign could she give? He was opening a box she’d locked after Charlie’s death. Her brain said, “Run!” but her body and her heart would have none of it. They had been denied too long.
    Whether through desire or fear, she began to shake, and he pulled her into the glow of the candle so he could see her face.
    “What is it?”
    She shook her head, ashamed. “I think I’m afraid. It’s been so long.”
    He pulled her close. “You need never be afraid with me. Ever.”
    He crushed her to him in an embrace that left her breathless. Her mouth found his, and for a long moment the world around them disappeared.
    Panna would have happily said good-bye to it forever, but they both felt the cold length of the pistol between them. He had a mission and she had a home.
    A deep sigh rumbled through him. “If I could make time stand still for us, I would,” he whispered.
    “I would, too.”
    A distant set of church bells rang. “A quarter past the hour,” he said.
    He slipped from her arms, letting his hand trail slowly across her cheek, and then allowed himself one final kiss.
    She clutched the wall for support, thinking of the library and Marie and the house that held everything that remained of Charlie. What was she getting into with Bridgewater?
    He aimed the telescope at the path. “Still not here.” He tsked. “You’re running late, boys.”
    She straightened her dress and made her way to Bridgewater. She could feel the power of what they’d summoned thrumming like a guitar string between them. He squeezed her hand and swung the telescope upward, training it on a precise spot in the sky. “Here. Look at this.”
    She almost had to slip