Hell's Belles

“And you just blew it.”

Mattie grinned, intrigued. “How’s that?”

Jack traced his thumb over his jawline. “In my opinion, most people are basically uncomfortable in their own skin.”

She felt her eyes go round with surprise. All this time Mattie had thought it was just her.

“That being the case, my theory is that people feel the need to wrap themselves in a shell. And that shell is a vehicle. People therefore choose a vehicle based on who they feel they are inside.”

Mattie looked at the Crown Vic. It was plain, ugly as sin, and its paint was crackling like the makeup of an old woman. Tears welled in her eyes.

But when she looked up at Jack, she found his gaze trailing over her bare legs. She watched in amazement as he paused at her breasts before meeting her eyes. She shivered.

“You, Mattie Harold—” he lowered his head to whisper in her ear “are not a beat-up Crown Vic.” He sighed and little shivers danced across her bare shoulders. “You’re a red Mustang. Convertible.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.