Cole’s mouth crushed hers, his potent kiss delivering a burst of electric fire that sizzled through her, melting her completely. He tilted her head and angled his mouth, hard and slashing, his tongue tracing the outline of her lips. He tasted like the coffee he’d swilled on the two-hour drive from the city, but hotter and more exciting--a double shot of pure caffeine spiked with single malt Irish whisky.
Her thirst for him ratcheted out of control and she could not drink enough, her hands traveling from his hair to his shoulders, her fingers digging into thick muscle.
“Holy cow, Brannigan,” she murmured, her lips vibrating against his.
“I know,” he said. “Shut up.”
My free Christmas read, I'll Be Home for Christmas, is up for anyone looking for something a little more warm and fuzzy.
