romantic-thriller

Is it weird that I think it's hot when you boss me around?" Her gaze snapped up to his, her blue eyes darkening with unmistakable hunger.... "I can take bossing you around to a whole other level if you'd like," she murmured.

My eyes meet his and I understand exactly what he's saying. He's my person. He's my home.

And when whatever happened in that barn happened, it was a moment I__l never forget. Like a missing key slid into a dusty old lock. Click. My world opened.

Did you mean what you said before? About the dead hanging around? You really believe it?

What is your secret? What could you possibly know, more than 80 years after you death, that someone doesn't want us to find out?

I look away, but we've caught each other. And I know this wasn't just a ghost story to him, even if it was to the others.

The blank sheet stares up at me, its emptiness like a slap. Those were the last words Ginny ever wrote before she and her family were murdered.

I can be badass and still like pedicures." - Liz Harper, Secret Need

She averted his eyes, but not before he recognized the pain in them, a tormented and languished gaze, a stare preserved for people who were able to love deeply enough that they could be destroyed by it.

She averted his eyes, but not before he recognized the pain in them, a tormented and languished gaze, a stare preserved for people who were able to love deeply enough that they could be destroyed by it. For a moment, he knew that gaze intimately, remembering it from a time long gone. The ache of a shattered belief once known. He knew that feeling.

Because of that, he didn't know how to love someone who actually loved him. He had learned a twisted, tormented kind of love filled with pain and exploitation.

Nothing looked the same, and everything looked the same.

Something dropped on her shoulder, but even as she screamed, her heart stopping midbeat, the next oncoming branch swept the tarantula away. Aww! Ick! She manically brushed her shoulder with her free hand, every inch of her covered in goose bumps. "When running from people who're trying to kill you," Walker advised as he kept dragging her, "it's better to stay quiet. Generally speaking.

He tsked. "No tits, no manners." He shook his head. "You should try to have at least one or the other. A pair of great tits covers a multitude of sins.

He nipped her bottom lip teasingly, his breath warm against her face, his spicy scent a total aphrodisiac. As he kissed a hot path along her jawline, she raked her fingers down his back. Whatever he had in mind, she was game.

She sighed. "You're not without fault, but you're not rotten. Although you're very disorderly. You're pigheaded, cocky beyond bearing, arrogant." She stopped when she realized she'd just said the same thing three times over. "You have a troubling obsession with vigilante justice." She cleared her throat. "Well, I'm sure there are things you don't like about me." "You're not naked, and you're not under me." His voice was thick with passion.

Kane couldn't remember the last time he'd had a real conversation with a female. His chats with women consisted of sentences like "Do you like that, babe?" or "Roll over, I want to screw you from behind.

She rubbed her lips over him, then lifted her head to meet his eyes. "Tell me what you like." "Everything," he choked out. "I like everything you're doing." "Tell me," she insisted.... Although it nearly killed him to say it, he mumbled, "Start slow. Make me beg for it.