“You remind me of whisky,” Easton murmured. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” “Depends on how long I stay within arm’s reach.” River wasn’t sure what to say about that, but if she was whisky, he was the biggest, most decadent brownie. And chocolate sauce. Easton was all the chocolate sauce. “Why do I have a feeling I don’t want to know what you’re thinking?” “My mind’s a wild, sticky, confusing place,” River admitted. “Trust me, I don’t want to think what I’m thinking either.”
