Six Sentence Sunday
Finished my second book last week, so have a sample of RUINED (which is getting a new title, but it’s not quite official yet). In which the hero is helping the heroine out of her wet clothing. Rainstorms in England can be so inconvenient (or not, depending on your point of view), and sodden stay lacing is the worst: His breath feathered along her neck, rhythmic little wafts of warm air that increased in tempo as he worked. Something deep inside clenched at the realization. He was reacting. He wanted just as badly. Perhaps needed… Any moment now, he might give into the temptation and press his lips to the pulse that fluttered just beneath her ear.