His Touch
Edward's hand was warm.
So warm . . .
His fingers wrapped around the one holding her wine, steadying it. The crimson liquid splashed a bit. She was so nervous.
He took her goblet, setting it on a nearby table or something. She didn't know. Her eyes were fixed on his skin touching hers.
H touched her, both palms slowly sliding up her bare arms, making her flesh pimple. She took in a deep breath to calm herself.
It was just skin. Just his touch.
"Isabella . . ." His voice was deep, honey, rich with his accent and thick with meaning. She looked at him and stopped breathing all together.
His eyes held more than his touch ever could, and she glanced away, afraid it was too much, too soon. Or perhaps she was reading into things. She'd never drawn out passion in a man. Had never felt hunger through a touch.
But his gentle fingertips touched her cheek and guided her back to his gaze. Bella breathed again.
In.
Out.
He had the most gorgeous pair of green eyes. And in the darkness, with only the lights from outside shining through the window, those eyes held mystery, desire . . . and most definately lust.
She was enchanted, drawn in. And a small part of her wanted it. Wanted him to look at her like he was. Wanted that fire she saw there not to be a figment of her imagination, but truth. Part of her wanted to look at him that way, too. Part of her did.
AN - Thank you for all the messages and well wishes. I'm really trying hard to keep these stories going. It's my joy, but the time is so hard to come by. I'm hoping by next week I will be on a more regular schedule, and for you Betty fans, chaps half written.