Michael looked every inch the dark and compelling archangel he was named for as he bore down on where she and Pierre were standing talking together in the reception area of the gallery. And Michael was right—Eva should have been in his office on the third floor ten minutes ago for that twelve o’clock appointment he had suggested over breakfast this morning. She just hadn’t been able to resist stopping and talking to his assistant manager, when the charmingly flirtatious Pierre had approached and spoken to her as she entered the gallery. Or trying to pump him for information on Rachel and Rafe while she was about it! And she hadn’t got very far in that endeavour, had only just got around to casually mentioning her sister’s visit to Paris last year, when Michael so rudely interrupted them. A Michael, eyes glittering like black onyx, nostrils flared, skin taut over the sharpness of his cheekbones, sculptured lips thinned, jaw tensed, who looked absolutely nothing like the sexily tousled, stubble-jawed man she’d had breakfast with this morning, let alone the sensual and sensitive man who had made such exquisite love to her the evening before...
What do You think about A D'Angelo Like No Other (2014)?
