“Go on!” she commanded. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. ” She shifted again. He was carelessly dressed, and there were marks of unrest upon his features. He was as hard as a rock. That was Leonardo’s motto. ” She laughed. She wondered why he was so distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some time that this might be because she was falling in love with him. ‘I know, Melusine.
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