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February 16, 2012
He said her kiss tasted like gingerbread. Not the hard, stale kind used to build houses. No. The real kind. The moist, homemade kind. The good stuff.

Such a strange creature she was. Unpredictable. Like a child sometimes--soft and vulnerable and almost cuddly. And then, in a blink of those dark green eyes, she became something else. Something hot and angry and so very, very hungry.

Yes, her kiss tasted like gingerbread. Gingerbread and alcohol and that deep, dark burn of sin.

He spent more than one night with her body pressed against his, but he never touched skin.