"Christopher's numbness started melting like spring ice. And it had nothing to do with the Armagnac. It was all Beatrix. God, he adored her. But the more he thawed, the more volatile he felt. Need surged beneath the thin veneer of self-control. Too much need. Setting the unfinished liquor on the carpeted floor, Christopher drew Beatrix between his knees. He bent forward to press his lips to her forehead. He could smell the tantalizing sweetness of her skin. Settling back in the chair, he studied her. She looked angelic and guileless, as if sugar wouldn't melt in her mouth. , he thought with tender amusement. He stroked one of her slender hands, which was resting on his thigh. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. "So your middle name is Heloise," he said. "Yes, after the medieval French nun. My father loved her writings. In fact, it occurs to me...Heloise was renowned for the love letters she exchanged with Abelard." Beatrix's expression brightened. "I've rather lived up to my namesake, haven't I?" "Since Abelard was eventually castrated by Heloise's family, I'm not especially fond of the comparison." Beatrix grinned. "You have nothing to worry about."