Redeeming-Love-By-Francine-Rivers

F R A N C I N E R I V E R S
He could deny her nothing, but there was a strange uneasiness in the pit
of his stomach. Something was wrong. He took the quilts from the bed and
led the way. Perhaps she would talk to him and tell him what preyed on her
mind. Maybe she would open up to him finally.
But her mood changed, swinging from pensive to abandoned. She ran to
the top of the hill ahead of him and spun around, her arms spread wide. All
around her, crickets sang, and the soft breeze stirred the grasses. “It’s beautiful,
isn’t it? The vastness of it all. I’m utterly insignificant.”
“Not to me.”
“Yes,” she said, turning to him. “Even to you.” He frowned, and she
turned again. “There shall be no other gods before me,” she cried out to the
heavens. “None but you, my lord.” She turned and looked at him. None but
you, Michael Hosea.
He frowned. “Are you mocking me, beloved?”
“Never,” she said and meant it.
She took her hair down. It spilled over her shoulders and back, white in
the moonlight. “Do you remember reading to me of the Shulammite bride
dancing for her husband?”
He couldn’t breathe as he watched her in the moonlight. Every movement
drew his gaze to her and made him aware. When he tried to take hold
of her, she moved away again, her arms outstretched in invitation. Her hair
floated about her, and her voice came husky and enticing in the wind.
“I’ll do anything for you, Michael. Anything.”
And suddenly he knew what she was doing. She was saying good-bye,
just as she had the last time. She was deadening his mind with physical
pleasure.
When she came close again, Michael caught hold of her. “Why are you
doing this?”
“For you,” she said, pulling his head down and kissing him.
Digging his fingers into her hair, he slanted his mouth across hers. He
wanted to consume her. Her hands were like flame on his body.
God, I won’t let her go again. I can’t!
She moved against him, and he had no thought except for her, and it
was not enough.
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