Through the crack of the barely open door, her body glowed pearlescent in the moonlight. She’d flung back the summer blanket and the white sheet twisted over her hip, tangling between her thighs. The short nightgown faded into shadows, as did the silk scarf of her long hair, falling over the pillow in a dramatic sweep.
She hadn’t run.
Easing the door open, he slipped into the room, moving quietly so as not to wake her. It was a toss-up how she’d react. Entirely possible that she’d thought he’d left and wouldn’t return. Or that she banked on him not having the courage to come there to seek her out. That he wouldn’t have dared.
But then, she’d never guessed at the depths of his obsession. To be fair, he hadn’t told her. Even he wasn’t that much of a fool. Still, staying away from her had never been an option and, now that he stood in her bedroom, watching her sleep, his hands ached to touch her skin, to thread through her hair and brush aside the tangled sheet.
She might scream if he did. More likely she’d use the knife under the pillow to lay him open before he could explain. Or she might smile as she had that one rainy night, and open her silken limbs to welcome him in, her lush mouth hot on his, both fierce and surrendering.
If she’d wanted him to forget her, she should never have kissed him like that.
He flexed his fingers. He should go, stealing away as quietly as he’d come in. She’d never know he’d been there.
Or should he touch her and take the risk?