Words could be uttered in the harsh light of day, could be parried and exchanged, volleyed and thrown like a weapon, a curse, a balm, and prayer.
But touch? There was really only one way to properly touch a woman.
And I needed so badly to show Charlotte exactly how I did it.
Her hand sank into my hair, roamed down my sweaty back, slid over my jeans-covered ass, making me clench and push into her, driving my hard self into her soft curves. My hands filled with her, the lean and the lush hills and valleys of that body that had changed so much in five years, yet felt exquisitely the same.
God, I’d missed her.
And then, with a massive shove, the cold air between us shocked me. Her eyes glittered in the security light that warped everything I saw in the dark room, and she wiped her lips with the back of her hand in a way that felt like I was being accused of something I didn’t intend.
-- Liam, from Random Acts of Hope, coming July 29!