The Short And Fascinating Tale Of Angelina Whitcombe (2012) - Plot & Excerpts
His chest rose and fell rhythmically, and she’d matched her own breath to his. It was early yet, the sky still dark and the fire now merely glowing red embers in the hearth. She could just make out Jasper’s outline at the foot of the mattress. In that dim light, John’s body, too, was a dark shadow. A bold shadow in the foreground, if she were to draw this scene. And then, if there were a bit more light, she would be able to see the table in the middle of the room, which would form the middle ground—the spirited, John had said. Last, at the far end of the great hall, was the stone wall, which so begged to be covered by some medieval tapestry. The wall would be fainter, delicate, to establish its distance. She rather liked the bold part the best. Especially as that large recumbent form was so enticing to her lips. How quickly she’d grown used to this—to the touch of his skin, to his scent and that of sleeping by the hearth.
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