“No.” She bit her lower lip. “Maybe.”
She opened her mouth and then shook her head. “My mom taught me to show not tell.” And then her hands went to his chest, one of them right over the band aid, which she touched gently, running her fingers over it as if she wished she could take away the pain. “I just … need to see …”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth and again she hesitated. Tenderness mixed with his sudden pervasive hunger and need, a dizzying combination for a guy who prided himself on not feeling much. “Pru—“
“Shh a second,” she whispered. And then closing the gap, she brushed her lips over his."
"“You want to come upstairs, Willa?”
What she wanted was to put her hands back on his chest now that she knew it was as hard as it looked. Instead she gripped either side of her seat with white knuckles. “Of course not.”
“I think you do. I think you want something else too.”
“What I want,” she said as coolly as she could, “is dinner as promised.”
“Liar,” he chided softly.
“Well that’s just rude, calling your date a liar.”
“So it is a date.” His tone was very male and very smug. It should’ve pissed her off but instead it did something hot and erotic to her insides."
"Christmas Eve had the nerve to show up just like it did every year: way too quickly and with ridiculous fanfare.
Rory Andrews stood in the courtyard of the Pacific Pier Building in San Francisco, surrounded by sparkly holiday lights and enough garlands to give the place its own ozone, and told herself things could be worse.
She just wasn’t sure how.
It was the unknown, she decided. Because this year, unlike the past six, she’d be spending Christmas with her family, a thought that caused a swarm of butterflies to take flight in her belly.
Not an uncommon feeling since she’d turned twenty-three a few months back and decided it was time to become a person she could be proud of if it killed her. And given the guy leaning against one of the lamp poles clearly waiting for her, arms crossed, frown in place, it just might."
"He wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Stop.”
Yeah, that would have been the wise thing to do. Definitely. But she’d never been all that wise when it came to him so she used her free hand to tell him he was number one. With her middle finger. “How’s that for icy, you overgrown, knuckle-dragging oaf—”
Swearing beneath his breath, he caught that wrist too and stepped into her, making her not only shut the hell up but also stumble back a few steps, off balance. A tree came up against her back and Archer used that to his advantage, pinning her there with lots of solid muscle.
Her breath caught. At the sound he froze, his gaze going heavy-lidded as he stared at her mouth. Then he planted both hands flat on the huge tree on either side of her, framing her shoulders as he let out a long, careful exhale, resting his cheek against her hair. “You drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice reverberating through his chest and into hers."
"Colbie Albright stood in the crowded LaGuardia Airport staring up at the flight departure board. Her chest was tight and her throat felt like it was closing in.
Classic anxiety, she told herself. Just breathe right through it.
Not that her body listened to her brain. Her body rarely listened to good sense.
In any case, it was December 1 and people were rushing all around her like chickens without their heads, while she stood still trying to figure out her choice of destination. Her only requirements were warm and tropical. An exotic beach would fit the bill perfectly.
Oooh, I wanna take you…
Great, and now that Beach Boys song was stuck in her head. Doing her best to shake it off, she eyed the board again. So many choices for a twenty-eight-year-old runaway with a packed bag and no regrets."