"Thank you."Paul couldn't help himself. He leaned down and kissed Robin's neck. He felt her heart beat beneath the surface of her skin. Felt her shive...."Paul..." Robin sighed. It was supposed to be a warning--a "this is too far" plea--but Paul took it as encouragement. The hand on her back swept around her as he pressed his hard torso against her.She should have pulled away, but it felt too good for that. Instead, she slumped into his embrace, rolling her head back onto his shoulder.Paul kissed. His only vice a love of the fairer sex. Since he had abandoned his own country for England, taking service as a valet, he had in vain searched for a master after his own heart. Passepartout was by no means one of those pert dunces depicted by Moliere with a bold gaze and a nose held high in the air; he was an honest fellow, with a pleasant face, lips a trifle protruding, soft-mannered and serviceable, with a good round head, such as one likes to see on the shoulders of a friend. His eyes were. More

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