9
Isabelle blocked out the sight of Lyle’s mussed bedcovers as she hurried to the closet. Her scalp still tingled from the sensation of his hands in her hair.
It brought to mind that night in Rome, when he’d cradled her head in his hands, tilting it for his kiss. The strength in those hands had made her weak in the knees. As a surgeon, she valued hands greatly and always paid attention to them, especially in men. If hands expressed personality, then Lyle’s revealed a lot. They were big, broad, and scarred, with prominent knuckles. In a word, his hands had suffered. They were strong, able to bear burdens, able to battle, able to disentangle a knot in her hair.
Able to arouse her wildly.
Don’t think about that.
She threw open the door of the closet and scanned the contents. Lyle had hun
