Moonglow (Darkest London, #2)

by Kristen Callihan

“Fuck me,” he breathed with genuine surprise. So rare that anything truly shocked him these days. Her flush grew. “Thank you, but no.”

Memory was a cruel thing. It could attack without warning. All it needed was for the scene to be laid, a seemingly random sequence of events, a certain combination of scents, the quality of light hitting the street just so. A sound, a touch, if set just right, could suddenly fell a man and bring him to his knees.