She imagined him leaning against the shuttle, entertaining thoughts of scolding her for dressing like a ragged commoner. Never mind that her present outfit was light years ahead in comfort.(Actually, hes wishing he had been less critical of you earlier. He feels bad that you wont acknowledge his presence, and he blames himself.)(Quit it, Ian. Im not going to feel sorry for him.)She caught her protectors shrewd grin, highlighted by the fires glow. (You already do, Queenie.)(This talent of yours is really annoying.)He leaned close to her ear and whispered, Thats not what you thought earlier when you wanted to get ahold of Efren. One tiny rosebud in a handful of thorns, she retorted.

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About Richelle E. Goodrich

Richelle E. Goodrich.

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