She was a very attractive woman. A desirable woman. It wasn't the first time the thought had occurred to him. Her face hinted at distant Scandinavian ancestry, with her high cheekbones her sculpted jaw line and her clear blue gaze. There were some fine lines gathering at the corners of her eyes and across her forehead, but otherwise, her complexion was flawless, and she bore those few scars that time had inflicted upon her extremely well. Her fine hair – a pale, wintery blonde – hung down about her face in loose tousles that beckoned to his fingers.

She was still looking out of the window. Michael's gaze slipped lower, resting upon her wonderfully full breasts. His eyes drank her in, and though he felt a sense of sordid guilt, he was powerless to resist the temptation. He could tell that at least the top half of her body was naked beneath the robe from the way that the satin adhered to her curves. The temperature downstairs was still a little cool, and her semi-hard nipples were easily discernible through the thin material.