By Charlotte Boyett-Compo
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Additional info for Dancing on the Wind
The glint in his eyes tightened along with the hold he had on her arm. ” she challenged, and found herself falling into the amber glow of his gaze. He pulled her to him and slanted his mouth recklessly across hers, claiming her with a kiss that made her toes curl. When he pulled back, there was molten heat staring back at her. “I know so, baby,” he said. He released her and turned away, striding down the corridor without a backward glance. “Conceited prick,” she said, but the words were soft and spoken in a tone that surprised her.
He was standing with his hands wrapped around a horizontal support pole as he regarded her. “I work at not having one unless it’s needed. If I’m in Russia, I speak Russian. If I’m in Germany, I speak German. I have a talent for mimicry so I have the accents of the different languages down pat. You should hear my Scots burr. ” She tore her gaze from the steady amber stare locked upon her. “Go ahead and ask,” he said. ” She felt heat flooding her cheeks. “I don’t have the right to…” “Whether we like it or not, we bonded, myneeast caillagh, with all that implies.
Vaguely, she heard the bathroom door open, but already the steam was clouding the glass, hiding her from him. She could see him standing at the toilet, bending over to lift the lid. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to be sure to lower the seat when he was finished but thought better of it. Instead, she reached for the bottle of mango-scented body wash and the net scrubby. Though she expected him to flush the toilet, he didn’t, and when she heard the bathroom door close, felt slightly disappointed.
Dancing on the Wind by Charlotte Boyett-Compo