Freedom by Jenn LeBlanc

Now, why don’t you tell me something of yourself?”
     
    He challenged her with his gaze, with his stance—his legs spread slightly, his hands clasped at his back, his spine straight and his shoulders rigid. She exhaled slowly, gawking at the vision before her. But she advanced toward him, carefully attempting to speak.
     
    “Well, um. Hmmm.” She tried to clear her throat once more but failed. She patted it gently with her fingers then tried again. Finally she whispered. “My name is Francine Larrabee, and I have no idea how I came to be in your wood, on your estate, or under your horses,” she said sardonically as she returned his gaze head on.
     
    She caught the heady scent of him, an intoxicating blend of clean male skin matched with a spicy soap and the tang of sweat, and her skin pricked in reaction. His very presence was dizzying. She floated between his half-raised arms, electricity sizzling across her flesh. She blushed as he continued to stare at her, a half-terrified look on his face. There was something else in those eyes—anger, yes; trepidation, absolutely. But beneath those: fear, longing…and pain. She desperately wanted to allay his anxious demeanor.
     
    “I was lonely,” she whispered. “I very much appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and if there is any way I can repay your kindness—”
     
    She looked down, breaking the connection, suddenly embarrassed by the expression on his face. She realized too late that she shouldn’t have said something like that to this obviously virile man who also happened to be a complete stranger. “I just meant that someday, somehow, I would like to repay your kindnesses toward me, even if it is just a token.”
     
    When she lifted her chin she took in more of him. She liked the way his hair curled slightly at his nape and wanted to run her fingers through the thick waves. She wanted to smell it, rest her cheek against it, float her fingers across his skin. Before she knew it, she was moving forward again.
     
    Francine realized how much pleasure she took in watching him. His movements made her skin over-sensitive, with a keen awareness that gathered in her belly. She could see he was concentrating greatly, his breath steady and determined, his muscles undulating the fabric of his shirt. She also noticed the outline of the large muscles of his legs against the fabric of his pants. She looked back up to his sharp white shirt, which fell open at the neck, and watched as his ribcage moved.
     
    Roxleigh realized his posturing had done nothing to faze her as she quietly swept forward like a spirit. She drew up to him, whispering closely so he could hear her over the rushing water of the fountain. He felt a ripple of tension extend from his core, lifting his arms and tingling in his fingertips. He tensed as he looked into her eyes and stood perfectly still, hands flung out, entirely unsure of her nearness.
     
    He nodded once, very aware of her proximity, and backed up a pace, then leaned against the edge of the fountain, drawing a broad smile from her. He cocked his eyebrow.
     
    “May I?” she whispered, quietly motioning to the fountain. Her eyes were sparkling, the color of the sea washing up on a sandy beach, and he nodded, captivated by the intensity of her gaze. She took three steps and sat on the edge of the fountain, then swept her feet over the side and into the water, sighing heavily as she pulled her skirts up to her knees.
     
    He watched her small feet, her delicate ankles and surprisingly muscular legs, as they lowered into the water. His gaze moved up as her legs descended, catching sight of the exquisite bones of her knee, the crease which circled the back of her leg and was covered with sensitive flesh. His mouth went dry and his stomach clenched as he imagined his finger running along that line. He jerked and turned, pushing away from the fountain as she looked up.
     
    “You don’t have electricity. How is this possible?” she