bodies, making her gasp in shock.
“‘I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body.’” His teeth grazed down her body to her quivering stomach.
Her breathing grew ragged.
“‘. . . the sovereign nose of your arrogant face.’” He glided back up to kiss her nose.
“‘I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes.’” He pressed a butterfly kiss to each eyelid.
“‘And I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.’”
He gently rolled her onto her back, his eyes black with desire, and captured her mouth in a kiss both so tender and fierce she thought it would consume her.
Chapter 8
Sitting at a delicate writing desk in one of the manor’s many rooms, Sarah responded to an e-mail from Ann, contemplating how to answer her question about what Brooke was like.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but ‘she is a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper.’ Despite her frequent declaration that she just adores Jane Austen, she wouldn’t get an allusion to her if it came up and slapped her on the back of her vapid little head. Uh oh. Speak of the devil . . .
“Oh, Sarah. I thought you might be Alex. Have you seen him?”
“I haven’t seen him. Did you check the library?”
She made a little face before saying, “Thanks.”
She couldn’t understand their fascination with the collection of essays, novels, and poetry the well-stocked library offered.
Sarah returned to her e-mail, finishing with a rundown of the schedule over the next week. If all went as planned, the crew would wrap up the shoot here and return to London soon. However, she would be returning to London tomorrow. Elizabeth, her agent, was stopping over on her way to Hong Kong to meet with her about another two-book deal. She sighed, as if that were a bad thing.
She hated leaving Alex, especially with Brooke on the prowl. Even with her previous experience with infidelity, it wasn’t that she didn’t trust Alex. She didn’t trust Brooke. She reminded herself it was only for one night. She’d return on the early morning train the following day and stay for the remainder of the shoot.
She looked forward to the end of the filming. She was tired of sneaking around with Alex like they were having some sort of torrid affair. The pretense was wearing on her. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t already slipped. It was hard to believe her love for him wasn’t tattooed on her face for all to see.
She closed her laptop before returning to the library in search of her script to review it before tomorrow’s shoot, particularly since she wasn’t going to be here. Would there be any kissing tomorrow? Speaking of kissing, if she got lucky, she might run into Alex and corner him for a little make-out session before dinner.
Opening the library door, Sarah froze. Brooke stood close to Alex, face lifted to his. He held her wrists up in front of his chest. Sarah gasped.
“Sarah.” He dropped Brooke’s wrists, pushing her away from him. “It’s not what you think. . . ” He grimaced at the trite expression.
“I know—”
“I was trying to remove her unwelcome hands from my chest—” The anguish was plain on his face.
Sarah glared at Brooke, gritting her teeth to hold back the unladylike string of expletives that threatened to erupt.
“Now I know why you’re producing this claptrap.” Brooke returned Sarah’s astonished look with one of smug satisfaction.
“What?” Sarah looked at Alex, confused. “What did she just say? What did she mean?” It finally dawned on her. She was more shocked by the revelation that Alex was apparently producing the movie, than by Brooke’s blatant attempt to seduce him. “I thought Michael was the producer . . .” Her voice trailed off. She already knew the answer. “Alex?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“All this time, I thought I’d succeeded on my own merits . . . someone had read my book and genuinely loved it enough to make it into a movie . . . and all along it was you,” she said as if to herself. “I should have known. The coincidences were so obvious.” She shook her head.
“Bloody hell. Sarah, can you just forget your damnable pride for one minute.” He strode over to her, his hands raised as if to grab her shoulders.
“My pride?” She took a step back. “This isn’t about my pride.” She