Willabelle's warm breath lingered against my face, and the garden's coolness seemed to vanish in an instant. My hands went to her waist of their own accord; as I drew her body slightly toward me, our eyes locked.
When the warmth of her lips withdrew, only the light of her silver eyes remained. That look was neither one of surrender nor of outright challenge; it hovered between the two, balanced on a razor's edge.
Without taking my hand from her waist, I studied her face. A faint smile lingered at the corner of her mouth. As the flowers in the garden trembled in the breeze, her calm did not bring me comfort so much as a curious alertness. Yes, this woman was giving me her consent, but there was surely another calculation behind it. And I, knowingly, was stepping into that calculation.
"A good choice for a beginning."
