Torr felt his body tighten and harden at the promise of her. She was so very soft. Soft and warm and vibrantly alive beneath the prim little flower-spattered nightgown. For an hour he'd been sitting down here in the darkness, thinking of her, pondering the mystery of her and the depths of the desire in himself. He could not remember wanting a woman as badly as he'd been wanting Abby Lyndon.She had been almost silent as she had padded down the hall, but his instincts had leapt into pulsing awareness when he'd sensed her pause outside his door. In that instant his blood had begun to run heavily in his veins. The possibility that she might have been heading for his room stilled his breath.But she had continued on past his door after shutting it gently and Torr had forced himself to calm down. Now where would she go? The rose with which he had been toying seemed to be burning his fingers as he waited for the next soft sounds. When Abby had reached the bottom of the staircase and gone straight for the liquor cabinet, Torr had wanted to laugh.
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