Sarah's Sin

Dangerous

Dance

Matt pulled her gently against him as the song built to its soulful crescendo, and felt the most incredible sense of lightness and peace. It felt so good, it ached inside him. He brushed his lips against Sarah's temple, his breath stirring the baby-fine tendrils of hair that curled there like wisps of silk.

As the last strains of the melody drifted away Sarah stepped back and looked up at him, her eyes so dark a blue, they looked the color of pansies. She stared up at him for a long moment, saying nothing, her expression carefully blank.

“Sarah.” He didn't know what he meant to say. All that came out was her name as soft as a secret.

“I … I'd best say good night,” she whispered, backing slowly away from him.

He stayed where he was, watching her go, saying nothing. Then she was in the comforting dark of the hall. She curbed the uqje to run. By the time she got to the stairs, she stopped altogether, her hands clutching the polished oak newel post.

“Oh, dear heaven,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Please don't let this happen. Please don't let me fall in love with him.”

But as she climbed the stairs to her room, she had the terrible feeling it was already too late for prayers.