Sharon Horton

Author of Romantic Fiction

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Artwork by Tamra Westberry (c) 2007 The Wild Rose Press

        First Sight To Last


Evan was showing room service out. When he turned, she gasped at the sight of him. Bare feet and wet hair indicated Evan had also washed the day’s events from his body. Comfortably dressed in the same faded jeans Singer silently admired once before, his blue t-shirt lent the finishing touch. It was faded and bore signs of a long, but appreciated existence.

In her own way, Singer, too, had opted for a more casual look. Though most of her upscale wardrobe for their mission had been provided, she’d brought a few of her most comfortable clothes. In a dress that resembled an elongated V-neck -shirt, and just snug enough to highlight her figure without being tight, Singer felt as relaxed as Evan seemed to be.

Evan couldn’t seem to lift his eyes from her legs. He did when Singer spoke.

“I know this frock is a little ragged, but I figured none of the spies out there would be seeing me any more tonight.”

“You look fine,” he nearly groaned. “I ordered that room service you wanted.”

Her eyes brightened. “Oh, good. What’d you order?” Still trying to shake free of Singer’s distracting appearance, Evan gestured toward the fireplace. “Fondue.”

“Ooh, I haven’t had that in ages,” Singer said following Evan to the hearth.

An indoor picnic was set up in front of a crackling fire. Her excitement gave way to confusion when she spied a silver platter holding an array of fresh fruit. “Strawberries? I’ve never had fondue with fruit before, although I have had fruit and cheese served as dessert.”

From the look on her face Evan knew she wasn’t joking. Then he understood. “Singer, this isn’t cheese fondue. It’s chocolate.”

“Oh,” Singer said lamely. “I guess that explains the toothpicks instead of those goofy overgrown forks.”

Smiling at her description of utensils, Evan extended his hand towards the floor. “Shall we? And for the record, the toothpicks are verboten. Observe,” he said picking up a strawberry with his fingers. “If you’re careful, you can dip the berry almost completely and not get your fingers sticky.”

“But if you want to have fun,” Singer said grabbing a small berry, “you paint it with those fingers.” In a gliding motion, she dipped her finger across the surface of the chocolate then trailed it along the fruit. She continued this several times until the fruit and her fingers were both covered with the syrupy liquid. Her demonstration complete, she held up the chocolate encased berry for Evan’s inspection.

Evan watched mesmerized. His original secret thoughts of hand feeding Singer the berry he’d dipped had given way to much more lascivious thoughts.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—his mind and his actions weren’t paying attention to each other. He leaned forward, gently took Singer’s hand, and bringing it to his mouth, slid the berry from her fingers. She didn’t pull away, but he could feel her tremble.

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