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Authors: Denise Mathews
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again and stroked the sponge across her eyelid.
"When Mr. Roarke came home a few minutes ago, I told him that dinner tonight was going to be very special to celebrate your cast coming off. He said it sounded like a great idea, that he was in the mood for a celebration."
Raising her arms, Sara shimmied her body as Martha slipped the silk over her head and eased it down over her hips. As Martha zipped it up the back, Sara stared forlornly at her reflection in the full-length mirror. "Oh, Martha, it's beautiful, but it's just too loose. You can sure tell where I've lost my weight." The thin straps held a bodice that gaped a little around her breasts.
Martha pursed her lips, studying the dress, then went back into the closet calling back to Sara, "I know just the thing you need. Ah… here it is!"
After Martha left her alone to go downstairs, Sara slowly turned around in front of the mirror, examining herself critically. She had brushed her hair until it lay like spun gold, curled softly on her shoulders, framing her face. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and her eyes sparkled as she studied her reflection. The deep blue of the silk tapestry jacket with its hint of the mysterious orient accented the blue shadow on her eyelids and it covered the loosely fitting bodice of the pale blue sheath beneath. Her amber eyes sparkled yellow in the low light. Somehow she had become caught up with the idea of the celebration and felt excited.
Why am I excited
? she mused as she regarded the room.
This is just another dinner with Roarke, nothing more, nothing less
. She slowly limped over to the table in front of the balcony window and admired the crystal vase and candleholders in the center. The room was filled with an air of expectancy, but what was she expecting?
She lit the two tall tapers and watched as the flames flickered to life and twinkled on the crystal. Two perfect roses of deep blood red poised in the crystal vase seemed to flutter under the flames' reflections.
A light tap on the door caused a sharp intake of her breath. The door opened slowly and her heart quivered in her breast. Roarke was so handsome, her mind raced. His blue eyes sparkled when he spied her standing in the glow of the candles. The sheen of his deep burgundy silk shirt strained across the muscular breadth of his chest.
"You look lovely, Sam." He moved smoothly across the room toward her and took her hand in his and lightly kissed the palm. "I have to say, we've celebrated many things, Sara, but this is the first time we've ever celebrated an event of such magnitude. How is your ankle feeling?"
Sara blushed slightly, not from his teasing, but from the touch of his lips on her hand. "It's fine, although I still have to use this"—she pointed to the cane beside her chair—"for a few weeks. But it's great to have a little more mobility." She sat down and motioned for Roarke to join her at the table.
He glanced at the table and the champagne bucket set beside the empty chair. Reaching over, he took the bottle from its icy nest. "When Martha said we were going to celebrate, she really meant it, didn't she?" He pried at the cork and, laughing as it popped, he poured two glasses and handed one to her. Smiling slightly he said, "They're really spoiling you, aren't they? We haven't had champagne since…" A disturbed look momentarily flashed in his eyes and he stopped speaking.
Sara had been mesmerized by the touch of his lips on her palm and the low sound of his voice. When Roarke extended his glass toward her, she mentally forced herself to come out of the spell that had been cast. She tapped her glass against his and took a sip of the cold wine, grateful for the chill in her throat because it brought her back to reality. "Martha and Bradley have gone to a lot of trouble, and if they're spoiling me, I love it." She drank some more of the wine and the tingling started to warm her strangely icy body. Baffled, Sara thought,
Why am I so dazed by all of this?
"When Mr. Roarke came home a few minutes ago, I told him that dinner tonight was going to be very special to celebrate your cast coming off. He said it sounded like a great idea, that he was in the mood for a celebration."
Raising her arms, Sara shimmied her body as Martha slipped the silk over her head and eased it down over her hips. As Martha zipped it up the back, Sara stared forlornly at her reflection in the full-length mirror. "Oh, Martha, it's beautiful, but it's just too loose. You can sure tell where I've lost my weight." The thin straps held a bodice that gaped a little around her breasts.
Martha pursed her lips, studying the dress, then went back into the closet calling back to Sara, "I know just the thing you need. Ah… here it is!"
After Martha left her alone to go downstairs, Sara slowly turned around in front of the mirror, examining herself critically. She had brushed her hair until it lay like spun gold, curled softly on her shoulders, framing her face. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and her eyes sparkled as she studied her reflection. The deep blue of the silk tapestry jacket with its hint of the mysterious orient accented the blue shadow on her eyelids and it covered the loosely fitting bodice of the pale blue sheath beneath. Her amber eyes sparkled yellow in the low light. Somehow she had become caught up with the idea of the celebration and felt excited.
Why am I excited
? she mused as she regarded the room.
This is just another dinner with Roarke, nothing more, nothing less
. She slowly limped over to the table in front of the balcony window and admired the crystal vase and candleholders in the center. The room was filled with an air of expectancy, but what was she expecting?
She lit the two tall tapers and watched as the flames flickered to life and twinkled on the crystal. Two perfect roses of deep blood red poised in the crystal vase seemed to flutter under the flames' reflections.
A light tap on the door caused a sharp intake of her breath. The door opened slowly and her heart quivered in her breast. Roarke was so handsome, her mind raced. His blue eyes sparkled when he spied her standing in the glow of the candles. The sheen of his deep burgundy silk shirt strained across the muscular breadth of his chest.
"You look lovely, Sam." He moved smoothly across the room toward her and took her hand in his and lightly kissed the palm. "I have to say, we've celebrated many things, Sara, but this is the first time we've ever celebrated an event of such magnitude. How is your ankle feeling?"
Sara blushed slightly, not from his teasing, but from the touch of his lips on her hand. "It's fine, although I still have to use this"—she pointed to the cane beside her chair—"for a few weeks. But it's great to have a little more mobility." She sat down and motioned for Roarke to join her at the table.
He glanced at the table and the champagne bucket set beside the empty chair. Reaching over, he took the bottle from its icy nest. "When Martha said we were going to celebrate, she really meant it, didn't she?" He pried at the cork and, laughing as it popped, he poured two glasses and handed one to her. Smiling slightly he said, "They're really spoiling you, aren't they? We haven't had champagne since…" A disturbed look momentarily flashed in his eyes and he stopped speaking.
Sara had been mesmerized by the touch of his lips on her palm and the low sound of his voice. When Roarke extended his glass toward her, she mentally forced herself to come out of the spell that had been cast. She tapped her glass against his and took a sip of the cold wine, grateful for the chill in her throat because it brought her back to reality. "Martha and Bradley have gone to a lot of trouble, and if they're spoiling me, I love it." She drank some more of the wine and the tingling started to warm her strangely icy body. Baffled, Sara thought,
Why am I so dazed by all of this?
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