Cathryn Parry - Secret Garden

Rhiannon would have laughed if not for Colin’s presence. He stood with a looming charisma that she couldn’t ignore; he had a tall, rangy body, with a rugged masculinity about him that destroyed her composure.

“Rhiannon,” he murmured, in a deep, husky voice.

Nobody spoke her name that way. A long, lazy breath of longing, of desire.

She didn’t know how she dared to keep her gaze on him. She wished she could have studied him from behind a one-way mirror. That way she could look at him to her heart’s content, without worrying about being touched or seen.

He smiled at her, seemingly entranced. His lips moved. So...erotic...and so dangerous, and yet she couldn’t turn away. She’d forgotten that she was wearing her painting smock. Well-worn denim, old and comfortable—it was essentially a halter top that she didn’t need to wear a bra with. It was a weird quirk of hers—she had so many weird quirks, it seemed—but Rhiannon hated wearing a bra when she painted; she preferred to be comfortable. Usually, no one saw her, so she wasn’t concerned about the fact that she showed...well, cleavage. Possibly the outlines of everything she had.

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