As she reached back for the buckle, her fingers met Mr. Meisner’s. She jumped. “I can do this... Sir.”“Ah.” He brushed aside her fingers. “I see you’ve at least remembered the sir.”“One always calls gentlemen that, just as you--”With only a rustle of cloth to warn her, his teeth met in the lobe of her ear, sending a spark into her middle. Like the melt of winter snow, she felt heat pool in her lower body. Her fingers curled against her collarbone where her hands still rested either side of her neck.“I’m not a gentleman, Faith.
~ Cari Silverwood
