His every movement exuded elegance.
The room was enveloped in a profound stillness, a hush so complete that it seemed to have a tangible quality, and yet, paradoxically, the air was imbued with a subtle, indefinable sense of warmth, a gentle, comforting energy that seemed to permeate every corner, creating a soothing and peaceful ambiance.
Tildaâs eyes followed the angular contours of Lyndonâs jaw before settling on the subtle prominence of his Adamâs apple, its slight bob as he swallowed captivating her attention.
Just then, he finished with the tissues and turned to look in her direction.
Tilda quickly averted her gaze.
She inquired, âUm, what time is it?â
With a careless flick of his wrist, Lyndon discarded the used tissue before picking up his phone to check the time.
âAlmost five oâclock,â he replied a moment later.
Had she really slept that long?
A N G E L A âs L I B R A R Y
Ad he had simply sat there, acting as her pillow the whole time?
Tildaâs heart fluttered, suffused with an unexpected sweetness, as if dipped in a warm, honeyed glow.
She felt warm.
Observing Lyndon as he slipped from the bed and into his pants, she couldnât help but admire the tall, brawny figure he cut.
His broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, crowned by strong, lean legs- each detail sharply etched and undeniably masculine.
A brief, furtive glance led to another, her cheeks warming with each passing second.
Despite their once passionate nights, she had never scrutinized his physique so openly before.
The sight stirred a dryness in her throat, her mind teetering on the edge of decorum with a flurry of unseemly images.
The room felt palpably warmer, her pulse quickened.
She couldnât help but gulp her own saliva.
Lyndonâs rich, velvety voice suddenly filled the air, snapping her back to the present.
âHungry?â he inquired, his tone laced with a hint of amusement.
Tilda murmured affirmatively, then instantly regretted her ambiguous response.
Her heart raced as her reply hadnât pertained to hunger-at least not the kind one satisfied with food.
Mortification swept over her, and she wished the ground would swallow her whole.
Lyndon, done with buttoning his shirt, caught the flush on her face and leaned in, a playful curiosity in his gaze.