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308 pages, Paperback
First published July 31, 2012
Stacia loses it in 5...
4...
3...
2...
1...
Cade (yes, this is the chick) thinks : He was so delicious. How unfortunate that he was such a jerk.
Sylvain's response: He gritted his teeth on a surge of fury. What did they teach people in that country?
All around her, the sorcerer lurked, in every darkest shadow. He was not there, of course. Logic told her he was home asleep. But logic had little to do with the feel of him. He was here. She felt him here. Watching her explore his lair - his eyes gleaming in the shadows.
She looked at him as if he had hit her. Or, worse, stripped her naked in a pretense of seduction and then smirked and turned her around to see a thousand ridiculing eyes.
She stared at him, something rising in her with a powerful force. His pulse quickened as he prepared for anything, anything--
She turned abruptly and strode toward the entryway. Without a word. Without letting him find out what that powerful force rising in her was.
He found himself following, hoping she would say a word. He was kicking himself already. He hadn't really wanted her to leave.
He just . . . thought it would be in his own best interest to make sure she did.
"I believe you still have our coat, mademoiselle," he mentioned as she reached for the doorknob, trying to pry that word he wanted out of her.
Her flush deepened furhter, her jaw as tense as it was possible for her to hold it. Her hands trembled so much on the buttons, she couldn't get them undone.
"Tenez," he said, troubled, his own hands lifting. He was an idiot. There was more than one way to be an idiot, and he had just proven it. He had just cut off his own nose to spite his face. "May I help?"
"Don't. You. Touch. Me." So much anger vibrated through her voice that he dropped his hands, that fourteen-year-old teenager waking in him, the kind girls didn't want to be touched by.
So he stood there as she struggled with button after button, making her slow, miserable way down the coat, everyone watching them, her cheeks deeply red now. He wondered why she didn't just destroy it--rip it off, pop the buttons, drop it on the floor, and maybe drop a few bills on it to cover the damage as she stalked out. It seemed like something an American billionaire would do.
At last she got it off, to reveal the most ridiculous enormous sweatshirt. He started to smile despite himself. "What are you wearing? Did you come to my workshop in your pajamas?" Americans. All the money in the world and not a gram of taste.
She gave him a look like a slap, thrust the coat at him, and strode out.
And now, finally, here she was. Speaking. About to put la cerise sur le gâteau of the whole new line she was planning for the company. The cherry on the cake... maybe they could do something with La Cerise as one of the new line’s products....
He had been a gangly, awkward adolescent with shaggy hair, so it was a good thing he had discovered very early in his teenage years What Women Wanted.
Chocolat. If you wanted to lure a woman who wouldn't otherwise have looked twice at you, good chocolate was better than a love potion.