She'd worn that color, or gray in its place, for three years now. And unrelenting black for a year before that. It had been a bit of a badge, she realized, a uniform of sorts. One never had to worry about who one was when one's clothing proclaimed it so loudly.
Julia QuinnTags: mourning
when Francesca had turned to him with those bottomless blue eyes and said, 'The baby was to have been yours in a way, too,' she'd shattered him to his very soul.
She didn't know.
She had no idea.
And as long as she remained in the dark about his feelings for her, as long as she couldn't understand why he had no choice but to hate himself for every step he took in John's shoes, he couldn't be near her. Because she was going to keep saying things like that.
Even while he'd been gone, she'd always know he was /there/, sharing the same planet with her, walking the same earth.
Julia QuinnEvery time he thought he knew everything about her, had unwillingly memorized every last detail, something inside her flickered and changed, and he felt himself falling anew.
Julia QuinnFrancesca,' he murmured, making his voice smooth and personable, 'it is a delight to see you.'
'And you as well,' she replied. She smiled then, but it was in an amused sort of fashion, and he had the unexpected sense that she was mocking him. But there seemed little to be gained by pointing this out; it would only demonstrate how attuned he was to her every expression.
She looked delighted by the prospect. Delighted that he might find the perfect woman.
And there it was. His faith in a higher power reaffirmed. Truly, moments of this ironic perfection could not come about by accident.
There was nothing she valued more than a cool and clear head, and Michael had managed to steal that from her with a single kiss.
And then he'd done more.
So much more.
She was never going to be the same.
She was never going to be /sane/.
'You look distressed,' he said.
She wanted to strangle him.
He cocked his head and smiled.
She wanted to kiss him.
He held up the teapot. 'More?'
God, yes, and that was the problem.
He tried not to notice that her hair was loose. He tried not to see that she was wearing her nightclothes. They were demure, yes, but still meant to be removed, and his gaze kept dipping to the silken hem, which brushed the top of her foot, allowing him a tantalizing peek at her toes.
Good God, he was staring at her toes. Her /toes/. What had his life come to?
Not feeling very conversational this evening, are we?' Colin asked, breaking into his (admittedly tame) fantasies.
'No,' Michael said, not appreciating the vague hint of condescension in the other man's voice, '/we/ are not.'
Colin chuckled ... 'Just testing you,' he said, leaning back in his chair.
'To see if I have spontaneously divided into two separate beings?' Michael bit off.
'No, of course not,' Colin said with a suspiciously easy grin. 'I can see that quite clearly. I was merely testing your mood.'
Michael arched a brow in a most forbidding manner. 'And you found it...?'
'Rather as usual,' Colin answered, undeterred ... 'To happiness,' Colin said, lifting his glass in the air.
You do realize, Kilmartin,' Colin said, his voice so soft it was almost chilling, 'that there is no reason you can't marry her. None at all. Except, of course,' he added, almost as an afterthought, 'the reasons you manufacture for yourself.
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