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In honor of Flirt-Fest Blogfest, I’ve posted a short excerpt from my completed romance The Secret Dreams of Sarah-Jane Quinn. I hope you enjoy!
“Bet I can get you there first.”
His grin goes from wicked to satanic, and without warning he scoops a handful of flour out of the five-pound bag he brought and flings it at me just as I grab the wooden spoon from the mixing bowl and launch a wad of sticky chocolate chip dough at him. A cloud of flour envelopes me so that I can’t see my sweet bomb hit its target. But I hear the satisfying splat and his startled yelp before I succumb to flour inhalation.
“Nice,” he says, scooping cookie dough off his forehead and out of his hair—which only makes it worse since his hands are coated with flour. “Real nice, Quinn. That could have been a cookie.”
“It was worth the sacrifice,” I retort, chuckling and choking. He’s a mess.
“You look like a ghost,” he remarks.
“I don’t know what you look like, but I’m pretty sure you got the worst of that exchange.”
“Stellar.” He holds my gaze, still smiling.
And God knows what comes over me. Call it a random act of boldness if you will. I reach out and take his hand, and lead him—walking backward—toward the bathroom, still holding his gaze, still smiling.
He pauses at the bathroom door as though unsure he wants to follow me in, but in the end he steps across the threshold willingly. I pop open the shower stall door (thanking God I gave the stall a thorough cleaning yesterday) and turn on the water, adjusting the temperature so it’s not too hot or too cold.
Collie’s smile has mostly faded from his mouth but still hovers around his eyes as though he’s wondering just how far I’ll take this. I drop his hand and grab the front of his shirt, spinning him around as my fingers slip the first button from its moorings.
He opens his mouth, possibly to protest, and I give him a hearty shove backwards. His foot catches on the inch-high lip of the tiled shower base and he stumbles right underneath the spray with a surprised shout.
“Shampoo’s on the rack. You owe me a dime, Tate.”