The Hollow Heart Part 33

"At last," he smiled into her face. A light breeze was coming off the water, the air sweet and clean. They stood shoulder to shoulder looking out. It stretched before them, a smooth of green, a rustle of blond and then the sea; deep, dark and glistening. She s.h.i.+vered. He put an arm around her shoulders.

She inhaled deeply and nestled into him, his scent mixing pleasingly with the salt air. She put her head on his shoulder, he leaned down to her, rubbing his cheek briefly on her hair, breathing her in. She lifted her chin to speak, her lips almost touching the small, soft s.p.a.ce of skin beneath his ear. The sun had turned into a huge, orange orb.

"This is so beautiful," he whispered, staring straight ahead. "I could stay here, like this, forever."

"Me too," she replied, the breath from her words tickled his skin. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close, a gentle, brotherly embrace she was free to release herself at any point. She looked up at him, his eyes were soft, kind, loving. She was suddenly tearful.

"Hey, hey," he said cupping her chin in his hand. "You're too beautiful to be always so sad."

She blinked the tears away, then standing on tiptoe she kissed him, the lightest kiss, her mouth just brus.h.i.+ng his lips and releasing herself, she went back into the house. He turned to follow her and then stopped. Pus.h.i.+ng his hands into his pockets he frowned out towards the sea, breathing deeply, willing the desire away. He watched the sun start to sink.

"Come inside," she called out to him, "I've something to show you."

The room was gloomy now the sun had dipped, he went to switch on the lights.

"Don't, come here." She said softly, her voice was coming from behind the screen, near the drapes. He could not see her, he followed her voice, his foot caught in something soft, he kicked it aside.

"Are you hiding?" He asked, with a smile in his voice. He pulled the drapes aside. She stood there in the half light, her hair loose around her shoulders, her blouse open to the waist, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s barely covered by a sheer vest top. She had taken off her long chambray skirt and her smooth legs shone like marble against the dark, full length curtains. She raised her arms above her head, leaning back against the wall so he could see all of her, every inch of her from head to toe. She was smiling, a low sweet smile, her lips parted.

He was stunned, too shocked to speak. His eyes flickered as his gaze swept over her. He tried to look away but his body was responding in a way he had not felt for years. Seeing him struggle, she gasped and pulled her blouse closed, stooping to collect her skirt.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice a rasp in her throat.

"Oh G.o.d, don't be." He begged, taking her hand, letting the skirt fall.

Acknowledgements.

Literally dozens of fabulous people have put up with me writing this book. I would like to thank you all, especially my fantastic family, the folks, the sis, the other half and one's aunts Tricia Broome and Alice Hall; those dear friends and colleagues who have listened, trying not to yawn, for your unlimited patience, encouragement and support. Far too many to mention but you know who you are.

A sincere and heartfelt thanks to those who helped make it physically happen...Jan Brigden, Julie Cohen, Rebecca Connell, Helen Corner and the partic.i.p.ants in the 2010 Cornerstones Writing Women's Commercial Fiction Course, Amanda Grange, Sue Peebles and the wonderful writers at the Arvon Centre in Inverness, June Tate, Mich.e.l.le Tayton, Natalie Thew and not forgetting David Burton, a far from token male!

My very special friends and colleagues in the Romantic Novelists' a.s.sociation, and particularly the Leicester Chapter, including Jean Chapman, Lynda Dunwell, Margaret Kaine, Cathy Mansell, Katharine Garbera and Alex Gutteridge, they are one of the most amazing groups of talented and feisty females I have ever encountered.

And last but not least, the New Romantics4,

Mags Cullingford, June Kearns and Lizzie Lamb.

a force to be reckoned with!.

About the Author.

Adrienne Vaughan has been making up stories since she could speak; primarily to entertain her sister Reta, who from a very early age never allowed a plot or character to be repeated tough audience. As soon as she could pick up a pen, she started writing them down. It was no surprise she wanted to be a journalist; ideally, the editor of a glossy music and fas.h.i.+on magazine, so she could meet and marry a pop star some of that came true and in common with so many, still holds the burning ambition to be a 'Bond Girl'!

She now runs a busy PR practice and writes poems, short stories and ideas for books, in her spare time. She is a member of the Romantic Novelists' a.s.sociation and a founder member of the indie publis.h.i.+ng group The New Romantics4.

Adrienne lives in Leicesters.h.i.+re with her husband, two c.o.c.ker spaniels and a retired dressage horse called Marco. The Hollow Heart is her debut novel. The sequel, A Change of Heart.

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