Fearless (Dartmoor, #1)

by Lauren Gilley

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. ― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

Ronnie. Oh, Ronnie, you don’t have a prayer. Ava had grown up with decisive, unshrinking men, not stuttering yuppies.

Little girl. It means little girl.” And then he entered her fully on one fatal thrust, and her whole world was pain.

It was so perfect, and it was so disastrous. And they’d be sliced to bits before it was all over.

Yeah, fillette.” He breathed a thin laugh. “I’ll be your god.”

She gave her mom a questioning look. “Make him reach for it,” Maggie said. “He owes you that.”