Page 107 of Not Since Ewe
“Where exactly would you put this tattoo?”
“Maybe I’ll let you pick where it should go.”
My eyebrows lifted. “Dangerous. I’m not sure I can be trusted with that much power.”
“I trust you completely.” He fit his mouth to mine and slid his tongue past my lips, kissing me senseless despite all the people around us. Someone wolf-whistled, but I hardly noticed. All that mattered was kissing Donal.
When he finally finished, I was weak in the knees and breathing heavy. Thank God he was holding me up.
“Sorry,” he said, grinning down at me. “I got carried away.”
I snuggled closer and laid my head against his chest. “Me too.”
Want more of the Common Threads series? The series continues with Lost Track by Heidi Hutchinson. Read to the end for a sneak peek!
Do you love opposites attract romance? Then check out these other books by Smartypants Romance!
Code of Conduct -- He's a security expert and she doesn't need help from anyone.
My Bare Lady -- What happens when a sassy stripper and a buttoned up professor work together for a common goal? Sparks fly and some buttons get loosened.
Under Pressure -- They're college students who'll need to work together to make the grade.
Baking Me Crazy -- She's an independent tomboy and he's been in love with her for years.
Sneak Peek of Lost Track by Heidi Hutchinson
*SABINE*
In retrospect, she should not have taken her sweater off.
She should have suffered in silence until she was home.
She was an adult after all. Self-control was a cornerstone of her brand.
Wait.
Did tutors have a brand?
Probably not in the modern sense.
It didn’t matter.
Because instead of waiting, she’d gone full toddler—tried to strip without a plan—and now she was in a pickle.
Hopefully Piper would be along shortly and she’d be rescued. Though being rescued by one of her students wasn’t exactly the most professional thing she could have happen, it was better than having to wander out into the streets of Avondale to find a stranger to cut her out of her sweater.
She tried to calm her breathing, even as perspiration began to run down her cheeks.
She would not panic.
It was a sweater. She could breathe just fine. She would not die here—trapped with her arms over her head and the super soft sweater she justhadto wear that day stuck to her earrings.
At least she had worn a camisole under the sweater. That made it a little less scandalous.
This was a perfect example of why she needed to practice dressing up more often. Except maybe at home. With supervision.
The sweater had been a hand-me-down from her roommate Kara who was a foot taller and two cup sizes smaller than Sabine. It was an orange, cowl neck, form fitting chiffon beauty that had very little stretch.
