Читать книгу Under the Mistletoe with John Doe - Judy Duarte - Страница 2

Unable to help herself, Betsy reached out and stroked his cheek, fingering his solid, square-cut jaw, the faint bristle of his beard.

His gaze locked on hers, stirring up something deep within her, and any reservations about getting involved with him flew out the window.

As he lowered his mouth to hers, his musky, masculine scent assaulted her better judgment and set her mind swirling in a maelstrom of desire.

This was so not what she’d planned, but it no longer seemed to matter.

He brushed his lips against hers—once, twice, a third time. Then he took her mouth and claimed it.