Sweetie

Published by: eXtasy Books

Author : Evelyn Starr

ISBN :978-1-55487-047-9

Page :306

Word Count :76500

Publication Date :2010-08-25

Series : #

Heat Level :

Available Formats : Sweetie (pdf) , Sweetie (prc) , Sweetie (epub) , Sweetie (mobi)

Category : Contemporary Romance , Erotic Romance , Romance

Product Code: 978-1-55487-047-9

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Chantal Forman had never thought about being alone. Never thought about everything she’d been missing. She’d been too busy trying to survive. Too busy trying to reassemble her life after the loss of her job and the inability to find another had reduced it to its most basic state. But then Sweetie came along. And changed everything. Because Sweetie led her to Brad.

“You promise she’s going to be all right?” Chantal directed another anxious look at the sleeping ball of fur that hadn’t twitched so much as a whisker.

“She’s going to be as okay as I can make her. And that’s plenty okay. She’s tougher than she looks. Tougher than anything that small has any right to be. She survived out there on the highway, didn’t she?”

Chantal nodded, allowing him to guide her at last into the small back room that served as a combination lab, library, and office.

“I think that’s because she wouldn’t give up. A lot like you won’t give up. Unless I’m bitterly, sadly mistaken.”

Chantal smiled again, sadly, and seemed to shrink back inside herself. “You’re wrong about that,” she almost whispered. “I think I gave up a long, long time ago.”

“Now why don’t I believe that?” Freeing a hand, one only, Brad used the curled knuckle of his index finger to find the underside of her chin and urge it to lift. Oh, so gently.

It only seemed natural to kiss her then.

It only seemed right, only seemed proper.

In the first instant of contact, Chantal’s lips moved beneath his. Not like he’d startled her or spooked her, but more like the entire exercise…the entire concept…intrigued her.

She seemed to search for something.

Seemed to want to test him in some way.

For sincerity, perhaps?

And in some inexplicable, indefinable way that slight quivering of exploration was a hundred times, a thousand times, more sexy than if she’d just flat out ripped off her clothes and tossed herself, panting, onto the nearest flat surface.

“Mmmm,” she said, and for a second Brad thought she was starting to purr.

But that was just wishful thinking.

That couldn’t happen yet. Not until later. Not until, as his newly throbbing, awakened and aroused body desperately hoped, they had a chance to get to know each other a hell of a lot better. The way Brad felt increasingly certain they’d been made to know each other. The way he wanted to and would get to know her the very minute…make that the very nanosecond…he sensed she was ready.

Backing away slowly, not nearly quickly enough to run any risk of breaking the tenuous contact that continued between their lips, Chantal slumped against the edge of his desk. As if she feared her legs were about to give out beneath her.

Sure as hell, his had started to shake. Right around the knees. Like they were getting ready to do the same thing. Just collapse, and dump him all over the floor in a mindless, spineless heap of aroused need.

“Mmmm-hmmm,” he replied, half-sighing and half-groaning.

Chantal’s hands had found their way beneath his sweater. Locating the back of his shirt, they tugged. Not gently, but clawing. Carelessly. Seeming not to care if they ripped the sturdy fabric.

She was about to undress him.

His heart skipped. It danced, it raced.

Small and silken fingertips reached the super-sensitized skin of his back, and his heart felt like it would stutter completely to a stop.

Or maybe it already had.

Maybe he had died, and this was heaven.

It was hard to know. Hard to keep his wits about him, when…

For sure those were angel’s wings he felt stroking the elongated ridges and valleys of his spine. Exploring them. For sure those were not human fingers at all, and that brushing of sheer fire came from the whisper of dream-feathers and not…never!…from anything even remotely of this earth or this existence.

He was being overly romantic.

Maybe even ridiculously romantic.