Prelude to Heaven by Laura Lee Guhrke Page B

wide shoulders and powerful arms.
    He was so different from Nigel. Taller, wider—brawny where Nigel had been wiry. She thought of how Nigel had thrown her across the room with one push, had sent her spinning with one blow, had cracked her ribs with one kick. Nigel had possessed lightning-quick strength, the ability to lash out, inflict pain, and withdraw. Like a whip.
    Alexandre Dumond had a different sort of strength. She thought of how he'd lifted her so easily, carried her up those stairs as if she weighed no more than the weeds he was now tossing aside. Alexandre had a hard, unyielding strength. Like a wall.
    She knew what a man's strength meant, how it could hurt, but Alexandre hadn't hurt her. He could. He could decimate her with one stroke, more easily even than Nigel could have done. But he hadn't.
    He was in the middle of the garden now, moving between the rows at that same steady pace. A fine patina of sweat made his tanned skin gleam like polished oak, and his long black hair had come loose from its ribbon. He paused again to wipe the sweat from his brow, making her appreciate that he was probably hot and thirsty. Tess rose and walked down to the well, where she drew up the bucket. She removed the jar of that morning's milk, setting it in the shade, and unhooked the bucket from the rope. She also removed the ladle from its hook beside the well and carried both to the garden.
    Alexandre had not resumed work. Instead, he was watching her as she approached, and as she came to where he stood, she saw that wide, brilliant smile curve his lips. “I thought you might be thirsty,” she said, feeling suddenly, inexplicably shy.
    “ Merci .” He scooped a ladleful of water and swallowed it in one draught, then he refilled it and drank again. When he dipped the ladle into the bucket for the third time, she chuckled. “I think I was right.”
    But to her surprise, he didn't drink it. Instead, he offered it to her. “Do you want any more?” he asked after she’d swallowed a few mouthfuls. When she shook her head, he added, “Then stand away.”
    When she stepped back, he tossed the ladle aside and lifted the bucket and poured the remaining water slowly over his head. “Ahh,” he said with obvious pleasure.
    Tess stared, watching the water flow over him, forming tiny rivers between the muscles of his body and glossing his smooth brown skin. A queer little ache hit her in the belly, forming a knot of heat and radiating outward, up her spine and down her legs, to the top of her head and the tips of her toes. She felt strange, suddenly, restless and fluttery, her gaze riveted.
    When he flung back his head, drops of water spattered her like a light drizzle of rain, but it didn’t bring her out of this strange reverie. When he held out the bucket to her, it took her several moments to realize it.
    “Thank you again, mademoiselle,” he said as she took the bucket from his hand, then he turned to resume his task.
    “Can't I help you?” she called after him.
    “ Non . You have done enough for one day.” He paused amid the weedy garden and nodded toward the shade. “Lie down and rest. Have a nap.”
    He resumed his task and she returned to the well, where she put the jar of milk back in the bucket and lowered it into the cool water far below. She then returned to the shade of the chestnut tree. She had no intention of napping, not while he was doing all the work, but the day was warm, and she did feel very sleepy, and some things were difficult to resist. It wasn’t long before her eyes fluttered shut and she drifted off to sleep.
    That didn’t take long, Alexandre thought, smiling as he looked over to the chestnut tree and saw that the mademoiselle’s eyes were closed and her hands had fallen to her sides. He'd finish this row, he decided, and then he’d join her. A beautiful summer day like this almost demanded a nap. Besides, he hated gardening.
    Tess was still sound asleep by the time he approached the