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By Christine Feehan
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She was cold through and through. ” Byron’s voice had gone so soft it was black velvet. And it made her shiver. Antonietta took a step backward. For a moment a lump welled up in her throat, threatening to choke her. Her eyes burned. She hadn’t cried in years. His ﬁngers caught her chin in a ﬁrm grip. “I do not mean to sound abrupt, but I have little time for necessities. If I have offended you, I am sorry. ” He bent his head to hers. Touched his mouth to hers. Feather light, a mere brush. She felt it all the way to her toes.
He caught the nape of her neck, pulled her toward him. His mouth settled on hers and the earth moved. Shifted. Stilled. Antonietta melted. Byron burned. The kiss deepened into something molten; it was tender, hot, and merciless, all at the same time. The world exploded into a sizzling heat neither could recover from. Sparks leapt over skin, arced through them. Lightning danced in their veins. Antonietta simply merged with him. She belonged. Had always belonged. Lord Byron, her dark, brooding poet with his black velvet voice and his mysterious ways.
Justine touched her throat with her palm, a defensive movement as if she sensed the predator so close to her. “You know I’ll do anything to help you. We’ll ﬁnd another way to get the money. ” Paul didn’t respond but continued to lie motionless on the bed. Justine sobbed softly. “I didn’t mean it when I said we were over. I’ll ﬁnd a way to help you, Paul. Don’t do anything rash until I ﬁgure things out. ” She waited a moment. ” When Paul didn’t answer or turn toward her, Justine jammed her ﬁst into her mouth to mufﬂe her weeping.
Dark symphony by Christine Feehan