Читать книгу Private Confessions - Lori Borrill - Страница 2

Don’t look at his eyes…

Trisha quickly glanced to her boss’s hair – those dark, wavy curls that she’d threaded her fingers through on a number of imaginary occasions.

Hair, bad.

She shot her gaze down to his chest.

Oh no, not the chest.

His ear. She could focus on his ear, she thought, before remembering she’d nibbled on it in cyberspace last Tuesday.

As her eyes scanned Logan’s fine features like a pinball darting from one cushioned side to another, she realised she was sinking fast with no net.

She focused on the bronze Remington statue on the credenza behind him. How fitting. A team of wild horses. ’Cause it would take a team of wild horses to jolt the lust from my brain.