Where are you published? Where can readers reach you?
Her arms knotted across her chest for protection. A wounded heart? He’d have to tread carefully. The emerald eyes shimmering in the waning light telegraphed her pain, but her lips were pursed thin with determination. The woman was a walking enigma. Damon suspected she had no idea how damn sexy she looked standing there, inviting him to explain himself–daring him to breach her defenses.
“Look, Julie. I’m not going to lie to you. Demon Jones is very popular with the ladies. Damon Corey … not so much. If you’re looking for the person I was last night, well, you’re in for a big surprise. He’s as fake as Santa Claus.”
“I still believe in Santa Claus.”
She would. “The Easter bunny, then.”
“But he doesn’t try to pass himself off as anything but the chocolate peddler that he is. I don’t think any hearts have ever been broken by the Easter bunny.”
“Julie…” Damon’s hand found its way to her cheek, his fingers tangling in her hair. She smelled earthy and fresh, and he gulped in great breaths of heaven, not sure he could ever completely fill his lungs. When he pressed his lips to hers, she didn’t resist. Julie opened to him, and their tongues meshed and explored, and he walked her backward into the living room and shut out the neighbor’s prying eyes.
“Damon.” The husky way she spoke sent blood rushing from his head straight to his throbbing dick. He wanted her like no woman he’d known.
“Julie, I haven’t stopped thinking about you all day. You crawled into my head last night, and all I’ve thought about is how to get a repeat performance.”
She pulled from him, her lips swollen from his assault. “I don’t do this…” Her hand stirred the heated air between them. “…very well. I’ve been told I’m not good at it. I think you lucked out last night.”
He scooped her into his arms. “Oh, you let me be the judge of that. And your bedroom would be where?” He was already heading down the hall.