After stepping past the entrance to the library, Devorlane stepped back. The movement was not just against his better judgment, but after last night, instinct screamed not to. The only saving grace, when his feet did it anyway, was his boots were noiseless on the tiled floor. He was on his way out, a ride to clear his head, freshen his body of the chills that had swept it all night. He'd no idea of the time. The darkness outside didn't tell him a thing, not at this time of the year with Christmas four weeks off. But the library was lit and in the grate a smoldering fire offset the chill of the cavernous room with its quiet corners and arched alcoves.
She was dressed as ever in black. Was he mistaken to think the bodice of this dress was lower, displaying the faintest hint of creamy cleava
