The Excerpt
Confronting her was the nicest denim-molded backside she’d ever seen. Whoever was rummaging about in the vegetable crisper of her refrigerator, it definitely wasn’t Alan Peters!
Charley must have made some noise, for the forager called back cheerfully, “Good morning. Over easy or scrambled?” With one look at her stunned features, he nodded to himself. “Scrambled.”
( . . . and a bit more . . .)
Charley’s mouth opened and closed several times in soundless wonder. Who on earth was this absolutely gorgeous man taking control of her kitchen with more natural ease than she’d ever managed? She just stared—she couldn’t help it. With his untidy brown hair finger-combed back from a moody brow and startlingly gray eyes, an overnight stubble darkening his firm jaw to make his mouth appear disarmingly soft in contrast, white cotton sweatshirt clinging to broad shoulders and exposing very masculine forearms, bare feet beneath the hem of the blue jeans she’d already noticed in far too much detail, “ruggedly bed-rumpled” was the only way to describe him. And that evoked a more alarming question.
Where had he spent the night?
I can picture her taking quick glances at him to capture each of the details you speak of.
ReplyDeleteI'd just be staring, stunned stupid.
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