Forever Spring Read Free Page B

at the window, her trembling fingers clutching the old-fashioned carved wood frame. Her breathing was ragged and uneven; her stomach felt queasy.
    What had come over her? The silent cry battered her mind. Her senses were jangling; her emotions were freaking out! And all because of a man who was almost twenty years her senior!
    But, oh, glory, what a man! Shutting her eyes tightly, Karen shivered deliciously in response to the image of him that consumed her mind. Aristocratic. Patrician. Handsome. Cultured. Endearingly preoccupied. The adjectives crashed into each other as they rushed forward. At fifty-whatever, Paul Vanzant was the most compelling man Karen had ever met.
    And he probably thinks you’re an absolute idiot! A sigh whispered through her lips as Karen accepted the mental rebuke. She was thirty-seven years old and the mother of two teenage sons. She had experienced the satisfaction of a successful career and—though briefly—the love of a dynamic man on the way up. She was well educated and well traveled. And she had conducted herself with all the aplomb of a wide-eyed, tongue-tied, backward young girl being presented at court.
    But Lord, the man was fantastic ! Feeling as if she were melting inside, Karen tightened her grip on the windowframe and leaned forward to press her forehead against the cold pane. She longed to stroke the white wings highlighting his black hair at his temples— No! She longed to stroke the entire length of his tall, muscular body. Sensual awareness flared to life, and she quivered in response to the mere thought of touching Paul.
    Was she losing her mind? Or had she simply been too long alone? It had been five years since Karen had been with a man, five years since the separation and subsequent divorce that had shredded the fabric of her marriage and life. Embittered, she had embraced celibacy, not grown frustrated because of it. Karen hadn’t wanted anything to do with a man, and she certainly hadn’t wanted to share intimacy with one.
    Intimacy. Karen moaned softly as the word echoed inside her whirling mind. Male-female intimacy meant silken touches and deep, hungry kisses and an even deeper, all-consuming possession.
    Suddenly weak and shaking, Karen turned her head to press her flushed cheek to the cool window. With her mind’s eye she could see Paul, naked and beautiful, his dark eyes shadowed by passion, a sensuous smile on his sculpted masculine lips.
    “Yes, yes.”
    The jagged, breathless sound of her own voice startled Karen into awareness. Breathing deeply, she glanced around in confusion. What in the world was she doing? Her face grew hot and then cold at the answer. Her movements jerky and uncoordinated, she walked to the low double dresser and picked up her hairbrush. Drawing the brush through her wind-tossed curls, she frowned at the slumbrous glow in the brown eyes reflected in the mirror. Was this the same self-contained woman who had turned her back on her career and all her activities in the city to return to her childhood home? Karen wondered tiredly. Could the woman in the mirror possibly be the same person who had determinedly removed herself physically and mentally from the pleasures of the flesh?
    Karen shook her head and dropped the brush onto the dresser. This would not do. Paul was, for whatever reason, obviously in transit. He would stay a while, and then he would go. And unless she was very careful, he could take a part of her with him. Karen knew she could not let that happen.
    She was vulnerable to him. Why she was vulnerable to this particular man was unimportant—at least for the moment. She had to get herself firmly under control. Paul Vanzant was the stuff dreams were made of, she decided sadly. And dreams of that sort were for the young and innocent, not the wise and embittered.
    Drawing a deep breath, Karen squared her shoulders and smiled at her reflected image. “He’s in his fifties,” she said in a soft but bracing tone. “He has grown