He did not. He would not. Ah, but she could not blame him! He was wary. She knew it was a test. He was asking her to prove the truth of her claim—her claim that she wanted him. In all her days, Glenda didn’t know when she’d been so afraid. Her pulse was pounding so that she could scarcely breathe. Her throat was parched and dry. Candlelight bathed his form in golden silhouette. He stood before her, vital and strong. Fierce and compelling. Dark hair matted the broadness of his chest, the hard plane of his belly. His arms were knotted and lean, cleanly sculpted with muscle. He wore his pride like a targe of iron, so intensely masculine he drove the very breath from her lungs. His eyes barely flickered as she stepped before him. His expression was unreadable. With her eyes she traced the squareness of his jaw, the flare of a brow both noble and arresting. The journey ended with his mouth; it spun through her mind that she’d always thought his mouth was beautifully shaped, though stern and a bit thin just now.
