You drank my blood." With one arched brow, Rachel seared Rees with her stare. "Yes, but only because he commanded it.
When her gaze landed upon his lips, he scooted closer and brushed his mouth over hers. Fire ignited low in his belly and desire coursed through his veins. No doubt, his John Thomas was doing all the thinking; he knew he should listen to the head betw...
It's beautiful here," Rees murmured, watching the light play upon the water before returning his gaze to her. Mrs. Hollingsworth, his newest client, turned to him and forced a stiff smile. "Yes, money can buy all kinds of beautiful things," she said ...
Rachel hiccupped. "What are you, Wordsworth, now?" "Do you like Wordsworth?" Rees asked. "Not especially." "Then, no, I'm not.
Rachel shook her head, as if casting out the memories from her mind. Something he'd been unable to do in one hundred and ninety-eight years. Memories, painful and stark, failed to retreat, instead they clung to him like a Rottweiler to a bone.
