Prospero's Daughter
Nancy Butler


Bold as love

Miranda wanted to tell Morgan how much his appearance pleased her, had always pleased her, but it would be totally improper to say such a thing. Though she didn’t know why that should stop her, her daily encounters with him were hardly high on propriety.

“You look fine today,” she said brightly, trying not to blush at her boldness. “I’ve grown used to seeing you only in dark colors.”

“The devil cloaked in darkness,” he quipped. “And I am a cawker for not paying you the first compliment. I can only plead in my defense that the sight of you this morning was so delightful that I became hopelessly tongue-tied.”

“Fustian,” she retorted, getting some of her nerve back. “And besides, these are merely borrowed feathers.”

Morgan said in a low, rasping voice, “It was not the feathers I was admiring.”

Heat swept over Miranda. Not the blushing sort that skimmed up from her chest, but a truly sizzling heat, sweeping upward from deep inside her.

She was nearly breathless and a little fearful. He rarely came this close, rarely spoke in such an unguarded tone. But here he was now, virile and powerful. No teasing tormentor, determined teacher or fledgling friend, but a man…in his rugged, very potent prime.