From BETROTHED ~ A Russian Betrothal!
Scanning her attire, her chest tightened. The Russian embroidered blouse suddenly looked like an overeager mistake. The red jacket with the epaulets flashed in her mind, it would have looked so much smarter. She would change. He had made her wait; he could wait a further ten minutes.
Georgie walked briskly to the stairs and started up them as the parlor door opened.
“Ah, there you are Georgie,” her father called, and her fingers curled into her palms. This clearly was not going to be her best day.
Georgie turned to face the parlor door and in an instant, over her father’s shoulder, she locked gazes with her betrothed. Her father’s voice faded as a cacophony of sensations burst under her skin and her legs turned oddly weak. She gripped the railing tighter to steady herself, to stop from turning into a pool of aspic as she stared.
His return stare raced to fill every corner of her being. She was no longer in the overeager blouse. She was entirely exposed; heart, body and soul, in the most alarming and yet delicious way. There would be no defenses against this man. There would be no protecting her heart from him as he had, in a very instant, sucked it straight out of her too-tight chest and taken it captive.