Maria Luis
Blurb:
“I feel you starin’,” I hear him rumble, as the Keurig beeps and he fills our mugs to the brim.
Caught red-handed.
Warmth dashes across my cheeks. “I was thinking about that time I asked how many tattoos you have.”
He stills, giving me his profile. The crooked nose. The furrowed brows. That full, soft mouth that could tempt any woman into dropping her panties, myself included. “You asked if I had any ink on my butt.”
The blush sweeps down, fanning over my collarbone. “I was tipsy.”
He turns, one mug clasped in each hand, and comes forward with his right arm extended. “You hadn’t even had two sips of your chardonnay.”
“Potent sips,” I counter swiftly, aware of how off course our conversation has gone but unwilling to push us back into line. I’ve missed the banter. I’ve missed him. “They went straight to my head. I didn’t stand a chance.”
“Likely excuse.”
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