Adrien
tried not to look at Aoife, but his gaze was drawn to her like sparkle to a
star. He lowered his eyes as though he was reading his book and hoped she
wouldn’t notice him watching her through the shadow of his long, black lashes.
He drank
in the line of her jaw. He wanted to kiss the point where it abutted the curve
of her neck. The simple gold chain she wore glinted in the afternoon light,
calling him. Her crystal pendant hung just above the cleft of cleavage barely
visible given her modest blouse.
Aoife
raised her slender hand to push a lock of golden hair from where it had fallen
on her cheek and he was undone, again, by that graceful neck, no longer
shrouded by her tresses. Truly, he was stung by love, and a pleasant sting it
was.
Adrien
could feel the color rise to his cheeks as he thought of what it would be like
to hold her and murmur into that darling, delicate ear. Would she welcome his
secrets, his confessions?
Resolved,
he closed his book, stood, and on sure feet, walked to her.
Aoife looked up as Adrien approached. Had he seen her
watching him? Did he know that she longed to rest her cheek against his
shoulder? That she yearned to feel the whisper of those long, black lashes as
he kissed the tender place where jaw met neck?
Her whole village knew of him. But only she knew him,
understood him. Of this she was certain, and she was unafraid.
She knew he was beautiful to behold. She knew that he was
strong and faster than thought. She knew he would be gentle. And she was not
surprised that he arrived without a sound. She was also not surprised that he
arrived without a shadow. After all, she had stolen it when they were small
children, their families passing on a rutted road. It was what bound them
together. Did he remember?
