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ANYTHING BUT VANILLA…

Sorrel had assumed Alexander would take the spoon from her, but instead he leaned forward and put his lips around it.

His hair fell forward and brushed against her wrist, giving her goose bumps. He put his hand beneath hers to steady it when it began to shake, then raised heavy lids to look straight into her eyes.

They were dangerously close.

She’d taken an involuntary step back, shocked by such a powerful response to a man who, while undeniably attractive, she was not predisposed to like. But lust had nothing to do with liking. It was an unthinking, mindless live-now-pay-later physical response to the atavistic need of a species to reproduce itself. A lingering madness, as outdated, as unnecessary, as troublesome as the appendix. Something she’d have had removed if it was an option.

And yet, with his palm cradling her hand, face-to-face, the effect was amplified; not so much a ripple as a tsunami…