Look, we shouldn’t… I mean… you make me feel as though…" "Do you really want to pursue this particular topic?" he asked. Hannah shook her head. "Probably not a great idea," she agreed. She felt his gaze sweep over her like a consuming tide, reminding her that she wore nothing other than a man’s silk shirt that she’d found in the guestroom closet. His shirt? Of course. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. His eyes dipped beneath her chin to focus on her chest. She glanced down, saw what had drawn his attention, and dropped her arms to her sides. The shirt billowed free to flow loosely over her slender figure. Hannah straightened and crossed the kitchen, her entire body still clamoring with sensitivity. Suddenly angry with the entire situation, she gave herself a short lecture on the merits of clear–headed behavior. While Nicholas played lord of the manor and took a chair at the head of the kitchen table, Hannah paused in front of the refrigerator and glanced at him. "Help yourself," he said as he watched her.
