It was supremely feminine and somehow so personal he felt he was trespassing on some kind of sacred ground.
Colin saw a photo on the bedside table and he rolled to pick it up then studied it in the bedside light.
There were four people in the picture, the gorgeous woman from the portrait in the dining room (but older), a rather funny-looking, thin, bald man, Sibyl and what had to be her sister, almost her equal in magnificence, with red hair instead of blonde, blue eyes instead of hazel.
His gaze moved over Sibyl’s face in the photograph. He noted the colour of her eyes and it came to him there was another reason he knew she’d cl**axed. Her eyes shifted to the colour of sherry the moment before it happened. He knew, he’d watched in triumphant satisfaction.
He mentally shook off the pleasant memories of watching Sibyl’s orgasm and focussed again on the photo.
The family was obviously loving, their arms thrown around each other. Sibyl and her father were caught amidst laughter (something he had still never seen, although he’d heard it) while the two red-headed women, old and young, were making faces at the camera.
Colin put the frame down and his eyes moved to glance around the room. They stopped at the window seat which had a book sitting in it like someone had just been interrupted while reading. Then they went to the dressing table which had a feminine mess of cosmetics but also held a variety of delicate, exquisite bottles, all with no labels.
As he was studying the bottles, the cat jumped agilely on the bed and surveyed him curiously for about two seconds then lay gracefully on his side and started cleaning his back foot.
Colin had the distinct feeling that something was not right with this picture.
Before he could decide what that was, there was a clamour somewhere in the house and he knew that Sibyl and Mallory were back.
The clamour spread, Colin heard it come up the stairs and then the dog bounded in the room and stopped clumsily at his side of the bed. He lifted Colin’s hand with his nose and bumped it up so it was resting on the dog’s head.
“Do you want something to eat?” He heard Sibyl ask.
Colin’s attention turned from the dog to see Sibyl was standing at the door. Regardless of her makeup, she looked about sixteen years old.
He felt his gut clench with unease.
When he didn’t answer, she went on, “Drink?”
“I’m fine, Sibyl,” Colin answered, surveying her closely.
He fought his body’s demand to drag her back into bed while she looked over her shoulder and out the door.
“Do you want a…” she hesitated, looked back at him and then tossed her head in an act of frustration, about what only she was privy, “tour of my house?”
There was something meaningful to that offer, something outside the realm of their bargain, something that made that unease in his gut spread.
He forced his tone to be gentle. “I’d very much like a tour of your house but later. Now I want you to come back to bed.”
She hesitated then walked to the side of the bed. Her hands at the waistband of her jeans, she kicked off her shoes.
Something made him ask quietly, “You’ve never done this before, have you?”
Her eyes flew to his. They were back to the colour of sherry, with but a hint of green close to the pupils.
Without a word, she shook her head.
Then she took off her clothes swiftly and, with a graceful gesture of her arm, tossed them across the room. Then even more swiftly, she lifted the covers and slid under them.
She resumed her position on her belly, her head turned away from him. Even na**d in bed at his side, her position closed her off to him, removing herself from him and Colin didn’t like it.
At all.
He slid the covers down again to expose her back and ran the flat of his palm up from the gentle curve of her rounded bottom up to the expanse of smooth skin between her shoulders.
And again, as he did, Sibyl trembled.
He stared at her back, her hair and realised she was all his.