Again with that slow, lordly smile. Perfectly shaped for Luc's fist.
Ingrid released a pent-up breath against Luc's shoulder, her nose brushing against him. He let go of her wrist, feeling absurd that he'd been so worried about Vincent's presence. The Notre Dame gargoyle was a rotten crab apple with antihuman sentimen...
What she felt for him wasn't a sin. "If you'll remain a gentleman?" she asked. Nolan swiveled on his heels and twirled her into the shadowy booth. He stepped inside the small space with her, their bodies forced even closer together. "Define gentleman...
It's not always so easy," she said softly. "Why not? It's a part of who you are, isn't it?" he asked with all the sympathy of an asp being prodded with a stick.
He barred his forearm across Marco's brawny chest and shoved him against the stone door. "She may not be mine, but I am still hers.
