Running Blind. Shirlee McCoy

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      Ash couldn’t speak. The air in the cave was filled with emotion, ripe with desire. Even in the indirect light from his headlamp, her eyes were the clearest, purest blue, the expression in them heartbreakingly untouched. He would have given anything, anything to assure her she was right. And at that moment he almost felt he could assure her that he’d make his dream come true. Make her dream come true.

      He didn’t know how he might make it happen for her, make it happen for them both. But it just might be possible—if they did it together.

      “I can’t say as I completely buy your reasoning, but you make a pretty convincing argument, powder puff,” he said roughly.

      She frowned engagingly. Adorably. Her lower lip pouted, and he knew just what he wanted to do with it. With her.

      “Apparently I haven’t convinced you how singularly unappealing I find that nickname to be,” she said in that oh-so-proper manner he’d witnessed earlier that evening. He wondered where she’d picked it up, being as how she was as elemental as the fire outside.

      “Really,” Ash drawled. “’Cause I find it—and you—smack dab the opposite.”

      And he lowered his head to take her mouth with his.