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Judd kissed him like it was the punctuation mark at the end of a sentence – a purposeful pause in time and breath. Contemplative and thorough. It had been a really good kiss.
Americans didn’t have the concept of afternoon tea, a fact that, even all these years later, Judd still found a grave character flaw.
Risa’s skin was artificially tan and artificially tight, sort of stretched back from a beaky nose, towards blonde hair cut in a sharp bob. She was like a human corn chip, the kind with the powdered cheese flavoring.
His actions were all understated. Which didn’t mean they should be discounted or devalued, because they added good into the world in small doses.
Judd trailed fingertips from his mate’s hot cheek down his slender throat to the top of his chest. He felt reverent, worshipful. There was a godless divinity to this moment.
Max had a beastly tongue, and admirable skill at applying it. He was a weapon of mass discussion.
