Annabelle stared straight ahead at the canvas, neither seeing nor caring about the fluctuations of light and color that conveyed impressions of approaching nightfall…the dusk of the Roman Empire. Hunt seemed similarly indifferent to the show, his head inclined toward hers, his gaze locked on her face. Though his breathing remained soft and disciplined, it seemed to her that its rhythm had changed ever so slightly.
Annabelle moistened her dry lips. “You…you mustn’t stare at me like that.”
Soft as the murmur was, he caught it. “With you here, nothing else is worth looking at.
