She heard male laughter, low, amused, mocking. Raven sank down onto the bed, her heart beginning to pound. His voice was black velvet, a weapon in itself. She forced her mind to be calm even as she felt the brush of his fingers on her face. How did he do that? It was the lightest caress, but she felt it down to her toes. He was stretching lazily, his body refreshed from his sleep, his mind once more alive with feeling. He was enjoying sparring with her.
( Christine Feehan )
[ Dark Prince ]
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