He was holding a dark, three-quarter coat and before she could protest had dropped it about her shoulders.“I didn’t know if you’d brought a wrap of any kind,” he said, “but I was pretty sure you’d be out here without one. This belongs to my aunt.”“Thank you.”She stood there uncertainly, wanting to walk back into the light, wanting more to remain where she was, in the shadows with Adrian. He was not tired tonight, though his mouth was pulled in and his eyes were inscrutable. But all of him, his lean face, his wide shoulders, the strong, clever hands, were heartbreakingly near and dear. She knew an intolerable yearning to lean close to him, to feel the hardness of his white jacket against her cheek and the touch of his hand on her hair. The longing was so intense that the breath caught in her throat and her hand sought and clung to the rail.Entirely unconscious of her reactions to his presence, he took up a lounging position beside her, his back to the rest of the deck, shutting it out.“Quite a night, isn’t it?”
