by Norah Wilson
~*~
Suzannah sagged against the wall when John closed the door behind him. Had she imagined it, the hunger in those hooded, sleepy eyes as he’d watched her fix her hair? She closed her eyes and saw it again, felt the awareness arc between them. No, she hadn’t imagined anything.
She pressed a hand to her chest to try to slow her racing heart. Lord, what was she doing here?
Because he said he cared about her and she believed him.
Because he could offer her safety.
Because she was tired of pretending she didn’t want to be near him, close enough to feel the pull of his magnetic energy. Because when he looked at her, she swore she could feel his gaze brush her very skin. Because he made her feel like she hadn’t dared to feel since she was seventeen.
Oh, God, she wanted him, more than she could ever remember wanting a man. And he wanted her. She’d known it from the first. But did she have the courage to reach out and take what she wanted? Or would it be the same as every other time? She gnawed her lower lip. Would this precious, sweet desire wither on the vine? Could she afford the price of finding out?
Kitchen. Drink. Now.
