She felt impaled, and that was the only way she could describe the torture. But she loved it. "Sweet Jesus," she moaned. "No, Devon," he corrected gruffly. On anyone else, that would have been declaration. An arrogant, smug response. To Devon, though, it was a statement of fact. His name wasn't Jesus, but Devon. How could he do this to her? Make her want to laugh when she felt like her entire world was suddenly experiencing an earthquake?
