
She laughed at his story, but there was something in her gaze—steady, searching, almost devouring. She looked at him like a man she had waited for. And when her fingers brushed his wrist, it wasn’t by accident.
She laughed at his story, but there was something in her gaze—steady, searching, almost devouring. She looked at him like a man she had waited for. And when her fingers brushed his wrist, it wasn’t by accident.