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Burning Soup
My Candidate For The Week
Lord help her, she didn’t care where
Byrne took her. Let hellfire consume her and the devil steal her soul. Because any hell with Byrne in it
was better than a heaven without him.
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“Oh, for pity’s sake,” she muttered, but stopped fighting him. After a moment of enduring the indignity of
having his hands on her, she snapped,
“My pistol is in my reticule, which is sitting in Lord Draker’s
drawing room. All right?”
The woman was a walking arsenal.
“All right.”
He released her, not because of what she’d said, but
because running his hands over her petite but surprisingly womanly figure had perversely aroused him. He
didn’t want her to know it, however—the female was liable to shoot off his cock for its impertinence.”
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“So, Byrne, did you and Christabel get lost on the way down? Perhaps we should send you a floor plan for next time. The drawing room is the one that doesn't have a bed.”
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