by Anna Windsor
But it wasn’t Houri who had hold of me.
It was Shant.
My heart throbbed so hard I almost shouted from the sensation.
He had caught my arm, mid-swing. He caught my other hand, too, as I raised it to slap him for leaving me without saying goodbye.
He held me there for an endless moment, his grip firm on my wrists, his green eyes dark with intensity. He still smelled like everything fresh and clean, mixed with cinnamon and a hint of cloves. He was wearing jeans again, no shoes, no shirt. His black hair rippled in the mountain wind, but I couldn’t feel the cold any more, or the bite of the air on my ears and cheeks.
I couldn’t feel anything but his hands on my arms.
So strong.
So warm.
He was here. He was actually here. He had come to me when I called. Even though I had only spent part of a day and night with him, he was so familiar, so right, like a piece fitting into the jigsaw puzzle of my existence with a tight, certain snap. How empty my old life would have been if I had tried to keep going without at least trying to get to know him. The ache of the truth struck me so deeply and suddenly that my chin trembled.
Shant pulled me forwards and we pressed against each other in the mountain sunlight.
Then, before I could start sobbing like a complete idiot, Shant let go of my wrists, wrapped me in his powerful arms, and kissed me.
The taste of him, the heat of him stole my breath and reason. I felt free and captured, safe and completely at risk. I was alive. I was eternal when he touched me. Everything in the world had to be as warm and bright as this moment, this place, and I didn’t think I’d ever mind daytime again.
Shant nibbled at my bottom lip, then moved his mouth to my ear, my nape, then lower, to that perfect, sensitive spot between my neck and shoulder. Shivers and chills covered every inch of me, and I laughed as I ran my fingers through the black silk of his curls.
He lifted his head and gazed at me, searching my soul, asking a dozen questions without saying a word.
I had the answer, just one answer, to all of them.
I suppose I had known it the first time I saw him, or at least the moment he finally touched me in my apartment. I just hadn’t admitted it to him, like he had been brave enough to admit it to me.
“You,” I whispered, then kissed him again, and pulled back to gaze into his liquid emerald eyes. “You change everything.”
Author Biographies
Anna Windsor
Author of the Dark Crescent Sisterhood series.
annawindsor.net
Constable & Robinson Ltd
3 The Lanchesters 162 Fulham Palace Road
London W6 9ER www.constablerobinson.com
First published in the UK by Robinson, an imprint of Constable & Robinson, 2009
“John Doe” © by Anna Windsor. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
The right of Trisha Telep to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
UK ISBN 978-1-84529-941-5
First published in the United States in 2009 by Running Press Book Publishers
All rights reserved under the Pan-American and International Copyright Conventions
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without written permission from the publisher.
US Library of Congress number: 2008942197 US ISBN 978-7624-3651-4
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