Truth and Measure (Carlisle, #1)

by Roslyn Sinclair

Vivian Carlisle had happened to her, like an avalanche or tsunami, as sudden and unforgiving as any natural disaster.

Well, heck, if Vivian could get some postcoital bliss from eating a pizza once in a while, good for her. It’d be good for everybody else around her too.

Then to Jules’s shock, she reached out and took both of her hands. Skin on skin. Specifically, Vivian’s skin on Jules’s skin. Heat swept through Jules’s entire body, and she barely suppressed a whimper, already aching more from touching Vivian’s hands than she had during entire naked nights with Aaron.

This couldn’t possibly be what people meant when they talked about the glow of pregnancy, could it? Wasn’t that supposed to be more of a maternal thing? Not a throw-me-down-and-fuck-me-now kind of thing?