He was straight out of a fantasy or a magazine and she longed to hear his voice.Her only reward was a throaty, "Hello." Who was he? What was he doing ...ere? She wanted -- no, needed -- to know more about him."My name is Annabelle Daescher," she replied, trying to steady her voice. She was shaky because his quiet presence unnerved her. She fought tooth-and-nail to regain more of her composure. Her hand was held out with the back of her hand upward offering a feminine handshake.He didn't appear. Not even her nails, twined, tight,coiled, digging in to the taut hard flesh, pulling athis hair, digging into the tight hot skin over his ribs. Seeking the tiny buds of his nipples now, one at a time.Slippery and elusive in the slipstream. Nothing morethan cold nubs, stretched and taut in the leather skinover his pects. Fingers strumming them, hard nubs justbegging for her palms, warming and soft. For a secondher palm in her own mouth, wet with warm spittle. Backto the apple-pit of his nipple,. More

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