Something was different. Bridget knew it, and it worried her. Yesterday, when she had danced with Trystan, she had lost herself in the moment and done as he had told her to. She became the waltz. She had been moonlight, flowers and music. And for one brief moment, Trystan had been right there with her, the magic of the waltz transforming them from two beings into one.
becameShe had never experienced that before, except perhaps with her mother when she was young. They had been reading a book together about faraway lands with names like India, and the story had come alive like some wonderful kind of magic. Being connected to Trystan had been just as wonderful, but in a different way. There was something about dancing this way with him, feeling the heat of his body against her own. She wante
