"It took effort to suppress his emotions enough to think."
[Potential spoilers for Stephanie Laurens's The Taste of Innocence under the cut.]
I took a break from -ologies and -ographies this afternoon to devour the latest Cynster novel, and there's a marvelous scene that includes the following:
He didn't look away, didn't turn to conceal what she would see in his eyes, even though his muscles tensed and she knew the impulse rode him.
Instead, he stood there, looking down at her, and she saw the first crack appear in his wall, saw it widen, saw the whole edifice sway, buckle, then fall, tumbling down until there was nothing left, no barrier between them.
For a moment, silence reigned, absolute and compelling, then he drew a long, painfully tight breath, blindly moved to the armchair opposite and sank down, his eyes never leaving hers.
Unshuttered, no more shields.
"I've changed my mind."
There. There is what I find irresistible in Snape/Lupin ... in the Cynster chronicles ... in other stories of love. This is what draws me to revisit triumvirate!Snape and the Snape in musigneus's The Tilting Earth (my favorite of A Short Measure series) when I want a comfort read. When I think about it, overprotective!undercommunicative!Snape and stubborn!smart!Lupin are not far removed from the typical Cynster hero (who characteristically spends twenty out of twenty-two chapters avoiding declarations of love because he fears it represents a loss of power and control) and the typical Cynster heroine (who is characteristically independent to a fault and almost always realizes that the hero truly loves her long before he can bring himself to actually say so).
Oh, saints and silverplate. Snape as an honorary Cynster...! *shoves bunny into linen chest*
I took a break from -ologies and -ographies this afternoon to devour the latest Cynster novel, and there's a marvelous scene that includes the following:
He didn't look away, didn't turn to conceal what she would see in his eyes, even though his muscles tensed and she knew the impulse rode him.
Instead, he stood there, looking down at her, and she saw the first crack appear in his wall, saw it widen, saw the whole edifice sway, buckle, then fall, tumbling down until there was nothing left, no barrier between them.
For a moment, silence reigned, absolute and compelling, then he drew a long, painfully tight breath, blindly moved to the armchair opposite and sank down, his eyes never leaving hers.
Unshuttered, no more shields.
"I've changed my mind."
There. There is what I find irresistible in Snape/Lupin ... in the Cynster chronicles ... in other stories of love. This is what draws me to revisit triumvirate!Snape and the Snape in musigneus's The Tilting Earth (my favorite of A Short Measure series) when I want a comfort read. When I think about it, overprotective!undercommunicative!Snape and stubborn!smart!Lupin are not far removed from the typical Cynster hero (who characteristically spends twenty out of twenty-two chapters avoiding declarations of love because he fears it represents a loss of power and control) and the typical Cynster heroine (who is characteristically independent to a fault and almost always realizes that the hero truly loves her long before he can bring himself to actually say so).
Oh, saints and silverplate. Snape as an honorary Cynster...! *shoves bunny into linen chest*