Yeah, well, I’m regretting every letting you catch me that night,” she huffed, taking no notice of his machinations as she blew back her hair in that charming habit she had. It was an invitation he could not resist. His hands crept into her gorgeous hair, the luxuriant strands settling between his fingers.
“Hey, sweetheart, it was either me or the concrete. One of us had to do it.”
“At this point I’m thinking the concrete would’ve been less painful . . . and less complicated.

Author: Jacquelyn Frank