From Ava Miles' NORA ROBERTS LAND, on sale now--. Meredith dropped her
gaze from his face and studied the strong arms filling out his gray dressshirt.
From Ava Miles' NORA ROBERTS LAND, on sale now-Meredith dropped her gaze from his face and studied the strong arms filling out his gray dressshirt. She remembered what those muscles looked like dripping wet. Whimpering would be totally inappropriate, but she wanted to. God, the man was as intoxicating as Valrhona bittersweet chocolate. He put his hands on either side of her, brushing their bodies together in a wildly tempting caress. “Maybe we could go out for breakfast after our next swim.” The idea of going out for breakfast with this man fired up her imagination about other things…like wild sex and a sleep over. She leaned back for breathing room, but there was nowhere to go. He surrounded her. She couldn’t smell anything but him, and the counter was biting into her back. He had her body purring, but that damn wounded part of her was sounding the alarms. Her lack of confidence—courtesy of Rick-the-Dick’s hurtful parting words—clanged like a train trolley. And Tanner was a journalist. Just. Like. Rick. She pushed him back with a hand to his hard, muscular chest, needing space. She searched for the caramel apple pie Jill had brought home from the coffee shop and raced over to it. Her hands shook as she took out the plates and dessert forks. Deep breaths seemed like a good idea to clear out Tanner’s musky smell, but she couldn’t seem to take in a full one. Her lungs had deflated like balloons after a disappointing party. “I can’t…have breakfast with you,” she rasped, frantically touching her bustier. Even that wasn’t doing much to restore her confidence. Damn it.
Tanner’s boots scraped across the tile floor. She could feel the heat of his body behind her, and she imagined him gazing at that mole he’d mentioned. She wanted to lean back against him, but was suddenly afraid of how much she wanted him and where it could lead—especially with her family in the next room. “Why can’t you?” “I don’t date journalists. Ever.” He turned her around. She stood stiffly in his hold. “Neither do I…usually. But I don’t want to talk about journalism with you, Meredith.”
