Fiorella forgot to write a blog last night so she's running s couple of paragraphs from one of her works in progress, AND TO HOLD. You may have already seen them on Facebook, but Fio thinks they're worth a rerun.
So why hadn’t
Sex-on-the-Hoof taken the bait? Lolly could tell he was interested so why didn’t he make a move on her? Was she losing her touch?
She winced as an errant
sunbeam hit her closed eyelids. The
funny thing was that she’d actually been sort of interested in him, which
surprised her. He wasn’t her type. She usually went for dark guys. Damn, he
was a real cottontop. His eyebrows,
though, were light brown and well-defined, and his beard stubble a couple of
shades darker. To top it off, the guy
was a hunk—tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Chelsea was right—he did resemble
McConaughey, but only from a distance.
He had that same loping Western guy walk, but up close, he looked even
better—those high cheekbones and that aristocratic hauteur. Those pale blue eyes that saw right through
to your soul.
She moved uncomfortably
as a shiver of heat shot down her. Not
that it mattered. Austin was a big city,
and she’d never see him again.
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