Category: Christina Phillips

Anything she might have said died in her throat at the sight of him. His black hair was disheveled, his morning stubble hypnotic, and the rakish way his shirt was undone at the throat and his tie hung in abandoned disarray beneath the collar, was just plain panty-melting.I’m not wearing any panties.

These shoes were made for dancing, not propping up a bar stool.””Those shoes were made for something,” Alex said. “And it sure as hell isn’t dancing.