68. Roman
Isaw the way she reacted. That was not a woman who detested me. Perhaps Isabel hated my guts, and rightfully so, but that little whimper and the way her breaths came in short feathery bursts… And most importantly the rapid pulse beating in the hollow of her throat. That silky hollow where the tiny dewdrops formed when I was ravishing her and she was on the verge of succumbing to her release.
The big mystery was why she was knocking on my door and what she meant to say before fleeing the scene. My honey badger wasn’t someone who hesitated or had any problem making her feelings and intentions crystal clear.
Her incoherence was adorable, and if I weren’t so surprised by her sudden appearance I would simply have told her how much I loved her, and that being slowly nibbled to death by ducks was preferable to being without her for the rest of my life.
Instead I’d released a primal grunt completely unbefitting a man like myself, and destroyed the one chance I had to tell her I was a free man.
For a harrowing second, I now wondered what I’d do if the nymph really didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. Not a thought I cared to entertain. But Steven had mentioned a monastery nearby, and if this courtship went to hell in a handbasket, becoming a monk was always an option. Did they accept sinners or only saints? Because taking into account the things I was willing to do to get Isabel back…I was no saint.