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Comforting words shared between them causing feelings to form. The desire to feel the others flesh only grew stronger as time passed, and now with these final steps it all comes to f. Heart pounding, stomach in knots, an immense desire between her legs, all increasing as the distance to the door decreases. Placing a hand on the door, she pauses, taking in a deep breath, she opens it. He had arrived the night before in order to be well rested and to set up for their romantic evening. Reservations at the finest restaurant, a slow walk through the city leading back to the hotel where there were a hundred candles set up. This was their plan. Plans do not always go as expected. Seeing her standing there, she looked as if she had just come out of a magazine. White form fitting dress ending at her knees, hair perfect as if she had just left the salon. Minimal make up on her face allowing her natural beauty to truly shine. He was astonished. Gazing upon one another one thing was clear, they. Perhaps he was only there to watch her make her discovery—a manuscript by an unknown author. Perhaps he had some other motive. Perhaps it was only her imagination.The worst was that it didn’t make a difference. He was there, even if he wasn’t there. His presence filled Rebecca with a mad desire to run and never look back—run until she knew he was no longer behind her. Run to Wesley’s arms.But he would always be behind her—maybe one step, maybe five, maybe a mile or a year. He might precede her and still his presence would haunt her. He seemed always to know where she would be before she did. So, he arrived ahead of her—following nonetheless.Her hand ached and she paused to hold it close to her breast, biting back a tear that forced its way through the fear and pain. What kind of bond had she forged between the The Hart and The Blade with her ritual? She forced him to feel the pain of purging his own knife. Had his hand spontaneously blistered like hers? Or had he, indeed,.
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