I felt his eyes devour me as I moved around the room. He assessed me head to toe without blinking, and a hot ache shivered through me. A kiss would've been less intimate.

I tended to be more a romantic than a realist, and chose blind faith over cold logic.

Before I could stop myself, I punched his arm. “Careful,” he said in a low voice. “They might think we’re flirting.

I’m not going anywhere near a motel with you.

I need to brush my teeth. And I need a shower." He grinned, hopping off the bike. "Now that is an invitation.

Mr. Green Sweater looks normal, but his wingman looks hard-core bad boy,” said Vee. “Emits a certain don’t-mess-with-me signal. Tell me he doesn’t look like Dracula’s spawn. Tell me I’m imagining things.

I gave a relenting sigh. "Fine! I'll throw on some clothes. Turn around. I'm in my pj's." Pj's that consisted of nothing but a tank top and boy shorts--an image I didn't want to sear into Scott's mind. Scott smiled. "I'm a guy. That's like asking a kid not to glance at the candy counter." Ugh. The dimple in his cheek deepened. And it was not in any way cute... pg 196