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a painting. She was taller than Cassia by quite a few inches.
Cassia wondered what it would be like to be wrapped up in
Adalynn’s arms, to run her tongue along the juncture of her
neck and shoulder, to bite into the fleshy spot. She wondered
how they would fit together, soft curves against soft curves,
long limbs, supple breasts and shapely hips, and she had to
clear her head before she panted with want.
She’d never felt desire like this before. Not even for another
woman. Certainly not for a man. She was a virgin, yes, but she
knew. She just knew she only ever wanted to be with women.
The elemental, rugged handsomeness of men had never made
her burn and shiver or even feel so much as a twinge.
Adalynn’s forehead creased. “I’m not making myself very
clear.” She smiled softly and it made her even more
astoundingly beautiful. “My late husband had a reputation. He
was quite well known. He was a good man and people loved
him. I’d like to keep that reputation intact. If people knew that
I was…seeing a woman, or was seen with a woman, then… A
lot of people already think I was only with Pierre for the
money or the fame or what he could do for my career. I don’t
mind them saying things about me, but it would destroy me if I
destroyed what he’d spent a lifetime building.”
“I understand,” Cassia whispered. She did. Sort of, even
though she didn’t know Adalynn’s history.
“He was a photographer,” she said. “So am I. You know
that, though. I said so the other night.”
“Yes.”
“We were thirty-six years apart in age It raised a lot of
eyebrows.”
Cassia let out a low exhale which sounded like a whistle.
