Sensing Her


He couldn't quite identify just what it was about Anne that made him feel such boiling passion. All he knew was that each time their paths crossed he had to forcibly restrain himself from taking her then and there.

The brush of silk against her thighs made his heart skip a beat; the scent of her hair, smelling of Lavender made his mouth water; the swell of her décolletage, exposed so tantalizingly for all, had him feeling weak in the knees; her laughter, like tiny bells gave him shivers. Anne was his obsession, his weakness.

He had to have her.


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