By LaVyrle Spencer
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Additional info for Forsaking All Others
As fast as she snapped out the words, he expressed them. ” she threw out. For the first time his eyes settled on hers, remained on them, in full, while he leaned toward her as if only the merest thread of restraint compelled him not to touch. His eyes spoke poems, his lips hinted kisses, and his stance was so questing that she actually straightened and took a quick step backward. Immediately he dropped the pose and took up his own lazy, loose-boned stance again, his eyes asking how he’d done.
He had long cheeks and a strong jaw. And the mouth—ah, what a mouth. She studied it as an artist, but reacted as a woman. The upper lip was utter perfection, its outline crisp, bowed with two peaks into perfect symmetry—a rare thing, no matter what the untutored layman might think. The lower lip was fuller than the upper, and the half smile seemed to hint at amusing things on his mind. Flat ears, strong neck—but not too thick—good shoulders, one leaning at an angle into the picture. He wore what appeared to be a wrinkled dress shirt with its collar askew, not the customary satin showman’s costume, nor what Allison had come to think of as the “Tom Jones Look”—open-necked shirt plunging low underneath a body-hugging, open suit jacket.
She suddenly realized she was blubbering to hide her embarrassment, so fell silent. Being at a disadvantage was something new to Allison Scott, and letting it show was even rarer. Rick laughed engagingly, managing at the same time to admire her upbeat look, the sleek jeans and body sweater ending nearly at her knees, and her face, now pink and flushed with embarrassment. ” She told herself to cool down, that he was just another handsome face, another ego, another Jason. Yet even at first glance she sensed a difference.