Devlin suggested, as another enormous clap of thunder rattled the rooftop. He traced the curve of his wife’s bare shoulder with the tip of his finger. “A bedtime story. Something distracting. Something to keep us warm on a wicked night.”“What sort of a story?” Maeve turned her head, hiding her ey...
Maeve mumbled. Devlin said nothing. She felt his hum, basso profundo, in the acoustic curve of her neck. It reverberated all the way to her feet. She kicked at the cloud of comforter surrounding them. “Tickle.” Devlin exhaled audibly. “That, too!” Maeve cocked her shoulders toward her ears for pr...